And there it lay until the night; for this I planned, that being of such great strength for a woman, I could bear his body in my arms to the farthest of that labyrinth of cellars I had commanded to be cut off from the rest and closed; and so I did when all were sleeping--but you, poor Anne--but you! And there I laid him, and there he lies to-day--an evil thing turned to a handful of dust." "It was not murder," whispered Anne--"no, it was not." She lifted to her sister's gaze a quivering lip.

"And yet once I had loved him--years I had loved him," she said, whispering still.

"And in a woman there is ever somewhat that the mother creature feels"-- the hand which held her sister's shook as with an ague, and her poor lip quivered--"Sister, I--saw him again!" The duchess drew closer as she gasped, "Again!" "I could not rest," the poor voice said.

"He had been so base, he was so beautiful, and so unworthy love--and he was dead,--none knowing, untouched by any hand that even pitied him that he was so base a thing, for that indeed is piteous when death comes and none can be repentant.
And he lay so hard, so hard upon the stones." Her teeth were chattering, and with a breath drawn like a wild sob of terror, the duchess threw her arm about her and drew her nearer.
"Sweet Anne," she shuddered--"sweet Anne--come back--you wander!" "Nay, 'tis not wandering," Anne said.

"'Tis true, sister.