found her way herself
and learned that a tall, strong beauty can do more to reach hearts than
a red-faced old man can. Lord, how they love and fear her! And among
the honest folk Jack Oxon wronged--poor tradesmen he ruined by his
trickery, and simple working-folk who lost their all through him--they
would kiss the dust her shoe hath trod. His debts she hath paid, his
victims she hath rescued, the wounds he dealt she hath healed and made
sound flesh, and for ten years she hath done it!"

Her Grace rose to her feet, the rose uplifted in a listening gesture.
From the park below there floated up the lilting music of a dance, a
light, unrustic measure played by their own musicians.

"The dancing begins," she said. "Hark! the dancing begins."

Mistress Anne put out her hand and caught at her sister's dress and
held a fold of its richness in her trembling hand, though her Grace was
not aware of what she did.

"How sweet the music sounds," the poor gentlewoman said, nervously.
"How sweet it sounds."

My Lady Betty Tantillion held up her hand as the Duchess, a moment
since, had held the rose.

"I have heard that tune before," she cried.

"And I," said Lord Charles.

"And I," Sir Harry Granville echoed.

Lady Betty broke into a shiver.

"Why," she cried, "how strange--at just this moment. We danced to it at
the ball at Dunstanwolde House the very night 'twas made known Sir John
Oxon had disappeared."

The Duchess held the rose poised in her hand and slowly bent her head.

"Yes," she said, "'tis the very tune."

She stood among them--my lord Duke remembered it later--the centre
figure of a sort of circle, some sitting, some standing--his Grace of
Marlborough, Mistress Anne, Osmonde himself, the country gentlemen, my
Lady Betty and her swains, and others who drew near. She was the
centre, standing in the starlight, her rose held in her hand.

"Lord, 'twas a strange thing," said Sir Christopher, thoughtfully,
"that a man could disappear like that and leave no trace--no trace."

"Has--all enquiry--ceased?" her Grace asked, quietly.

"There was not much even at first, save from his creditors," said Lord
Charles, with a laugh.

"Ay, but 'twas strange," said old Sir Christopher. "I've thought and
thought what could have come of him. Why, Clo, _thou_ wast the one who
saw him last. What dost _thou_ think?"

In the park below there was a sudden sweet swelling of the music: the
dancers had joined in with their voices.