[Illustration: "'SIR, ' SAID THE LADY IN ITALIAN, 'I NEED APOSTILLION. '"--_Page 2_. ]

Clementina

By A. E. W. Mason

Author of "The Courtship of Morrice Buckler" "Parson Kelly" etc. 

Illustrated by Bernard Partridge

New YorkFrederick A. Stokes CompanyPublishers

1901

THIRD EDITION

UNIVERSITY PRESS JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. 

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATEDTOANDREW LANG, ESQ. AS A TOKEN OF MUCHFRIENDSHIP

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. A CHANCE MEETING II. BAD NEWS III. WOGAN MAKES A PROPOSAL IV. SHOWS THAT THERE ARE BETTER HIDING-PLACES THAN A WINDOW-CURTAIN V. SHOWS THAT A DISHONEST LANDLORD SHOULD AVOID WHITE PAINT VI. WOGAN CONTINUES HIS JOURNEY VII. WOGAN IS MISTAKEN FOR A MORE NOTABLE MAN VIII. AT SCHLESTADT IX. GAYDON MINDS HIS OWN BUSINESS X. A MONTH OF WAITING XI. THE PRINCE OF BADEN VISITS CLEMENTINA XII. THE NIGHT OF THE 27TH. IN THE STREETS OF INNSPRUCK XIII. THE NIGHT OF THE 27TH. IN CLEMENTINA'S APARTMENTS XIV. THE ESCAPE XV. THE FLIGHT TO ITALY: WOGAN'S CITY OF DREAMS XVI. THE FLIGHT TO ITALY: THE POTENT EFFECTS OF A WATER-JUG XVII. THE FLIGHT TO ITALY: A GROWING CLOUD XVIII. WOGAN AND CLEMENTINA CONTINUE THEIR JOURNEY ALONE XIX. THE ATTACK AT PERI XX. THE GOD OF THE MACHINE DOES NOT APPEAR XXI. COMPLICATIONS AT BOLOGNA XXII. CLEMENTINA TAKES MR. WOGAN TO VISIT THE CAPRARA PALACE XXIII. WOGAN LEARNS THAT HE HAS MEDDLED XXIV. MARIA VITTORIA REAPPEARS XXV. THE LAST THE EPILOGUE

CLEMENTINA

CHAPTER I

The landlord, the lady, and Mr. Charles Wogan were all three, it seemed, in luck's way that September morning of the year 1719. Wogan was notsurprised, his luck for the moment was altogether in, so that even whenhis horse stumbled and went lame at a desolate part of the road fromFlorence to Bologna, he had no doubt but that somehow fortune wouldserve him. His horse stepped gingerly on for a few yards, stopped, andlooked round at his master. Wogan and his horse were on the best ofterms. "Is it so bad as that?" said he, and dismounting he gently feltthe strained leg. Then he took the bridle in his hand and walkedforward, whistling as he walked. 

Yet the place and the hour were most unlikely to give him succour. Itwas early morning, and he walked across an empty basin of the hills. Thesun was not visible, though the upper air was golden and the green peaksof the hills rosy. The basin itself was filled with a broad uncolouredlight, and lay naked to it and extraordinarily still. There were as yetno shadows; the road rose and dipped across low ridges of turf, aribbon of dead and unillumined white; and the grass at any distance fromthe road had the darkness of peat. He led his horse forward for perhapsa mile, and then turning a corner by a knot of trees came unexpectedlyupon a wayside inn. In front of the inn stood a travelling carriage withits team of horses. The backs of the horses smoked, and the candles ofthe lamps were still burning in the broad daylight. Mr. Wogan quickenedhis pace. He would beg a seat on the box to the next posting stage. Fortune had served him. As he came near he heard from the interior ofthe inn a woman's voice, not unmusical so much as shrill withimpatience, which perpetually ordered and protested. As he came nearerhe heard a man's voice obsequiously answering the protests, and as thesound of his footsteps rang in front of the inn both voices immediatelystopped. The door was flung hastily open, and the landlord and the ladyran out onto the road. 

"Sir, " said the lady in Italian, "I need a postillion. "

To Wogan's thinking she needed much more than a postillion. She neededcertainly a retinue of servants. He was not quite sure that she did notneed a nurse, for she was a creature of an exquisite fragility, with thepouting face of a child, and the childishness was exaggerated by a greatmuslin bow she wore at her throat. Her pale hair, where it showedbeneath her hood, was fine as silk and as glossy; her eyes had thecolour of an Italian sky at noon, and her cheeks the delicate tinge ofa carnation. The many laces and ribbons, knotted about her dress in amanner most mysterious to Wogan, added to her gossamer appearance; and, in a word, she seemed to him something too flowerlike for the world'srough usage. 

"I must have a postillion, " she continued. 

"Presently, madam, " said the landlord, smiling with all a Tuscanpeasant's desire to please. "In a minute. In less than a minute. "

He looked complacently about him as though at any moment now a crop ofpostillions might be expected to flower by the roadside. The lady turnedfrom him with a stamp of the foot and saw that Wogan was curiouslyregarding her carriage. A boy stood at the horses' heads, but his dressand sleepy face showed that he had not been half an hour out of bed, andthere was no one else. Wogan was wondering how in the world she hadtravelled as far as this inn. The lady explained. 

"The postillion who drove me from Florence was drunk--oh, but drunk! Herolled off his horse just here, opposite the door. See, I beat him, " andshe raised the beribboned handle of a toy-like cane. "But it was no use. I broke my cane over his back, but he would not get up. He crawled intothe passage where he lies. "

Wogan had some ado not to smile. Neither the cane nor the hand whichwielded it would be likely to interfere even with a sober man'sslumbers. 

"And I must reach Bologna to-day, " she cried in an extreme agitation. "It is of the last importance. "

"Fortune is kind to us both, madam, " said Wogan, with a bow. "My horseis lamed, as you see. I will be your charioteer, for I too am in adesperate hurry to reach Bologna. "

Immediately the lady drew back. 

"Oh!" she said with a start, looking at Wogan. 

Wogan looked at her. 

"Ah!" said he, thoughtfully. 

They eyed each other for a moment, each silently speculating what theother was doing alone at this hour and in such a haste to reach Bologna. 

"You are English?" she said with a great deal of unconcern, and sheasked in English. That _she_ was English, Wogan already knew from heraccent. His Italian, however, was more than passable, and he was a waryman by nature as well as by some ten years' training in a service wherewariness was the first need, though it was seldom acquired. He couldhave answered "No" quite truthfully, being Irish. He preferred to answerher in Italian as though he had not understood. 

"I beg your pardon. Yes, I will drive you to Bologna if the landlordwill swear to look after my horse. " And he was very precise in hisdirections. 

The landlord swore very readily. His anxiety to be rid of his vociferousguest and to get back to bed was extreme. Wogan climbed into thepostillion's saddle, describing the while such remedies as he desiredto be applied to the sprained leg. 

"The horse is a favourite?" asked the lady. 

"Madam, " said Wogan, with a laugh, "I would not lose that horse for allthe world, for the woman I shall marry will ride on it into my city ofdreams. "

The lady stared, as she well might. She hesitated with her foot upon thestep. 

"Is he sober?" she asked of the landlord. 

"Madam, " said the landlord, unabashed, "in this district he is nicknamedthe water drinker. "

"You know him, then? He is Italian?"

"He is more. He is of Tuscany. "

The landlord had never seen Wogan in his life before, but the ladyseemed to wish some assurance on the point, so he gave it. He shut thecarriage door, and Wogan cracked his whip. 

The postillion's desires were of a piece with the lady's. They racedacross the valley, and as they climbed the slope beyond, the sun cameover the crests. One moment the dew upon the grass was like raindrops, the next it shone like polished jewels. The postillion shouted a welcometo the sun, and the lady proceeded to breakfast in her carriage. Woganhad to snatch a meal as best he could while the horses were changed atthe posting stage. The lady would not wait, and Wogan for his part wasused to a light fare. He drove into Bologna that afternoon. 

The lady put her head from the window and called out the name of astreet. Her postillion, however, paid no heed: he seemed suddenly tohave grown deaf; he whipped up his horses, shouted encouragements tothem and warnings to the pedestrians on the roads. The carriage rockedround corners and bounced over the uneven stones. Wogan had cleanforgotten the fragility of the traveller within. He saw men going busilyabout, talking in groups and standing alone, and all with consternationupon their faces. The quiet streets were alive with them. Something hadhappened that day in Bologna, --some catastrophe. Or news had come thatday, --bad news. Wogan did not stop to inquire. He drove at a gallopstraight to a long white house which fronted the street. The greenlatticed shutters were closed against the sun, but there were servantsabout the doorway, and in their aspect, too, there was something ofdisorder. Wogan called to one of them, jumped down from his saddle, andran through the open doorway into a great hall with frescoed walls allruined by neglect. At the back of the hall a marble staircase, guardedby a pair of marble lions, ran up to a landing and divided. Wogan setfoot on the staircase and heard an exclamation of surprise. He lookedup. A burly, good-humoured man in the gay embroideries of a courtier wasdescending towards him. 

"You?" cried the courtier. "Already?" and then laughed. He was the onlyman whom Wogan had seen laugh since he drove into Bologna, and he drew agreat breath of hope. 

"Then nothing has happened, Whittington? There is no bad news?"

"There is news so bad, my friend, that you might have jogged here on amule and still have lost no time. Your hurry is clean wasted, " answeredWhittington. 

Wogan ran past him up the stairs, and so left the hall and the opendoorway clear. Whittington looked now straight through the doorway, andsaw the carriage and the lady on the point of stepping down onto thekerb. His face assumed a look of extreme surprise. Then he glanced upthe staircase after Wogan and laughed as though the conjunction of thelady and Mr. Wogan was a rare piece of amusement. Mr. Wogan did not hearthe laugh, but the lady did. She raised her head, and at the same momentthe courtier came across the hall to meet her. As soon as he had comeclose, "Harry, " said she, and gave him her hand. 

He bent over it and kissed it, and there was more than courtesy in thewarmth of the kiss. 

"But I'm glad you've come. I did not look for you for another week, " hesaid in a low voice. He did not, however, offer to help her to alight. 

"This is your lodging?" she asked. 

"No, " said he, "the King's;" and the woman shrank suddenly back amongsther cushions. In a moment, however, her face was again at the door. 

"Then who was he, --my postillion?"

"Your postillion?" asked Whittington, glancing at the servant who heldthe horses. 

"Yes, the tall man who looked as if he should have been a scholar andhad twisted himself all awry into a soldier. You must have passed him inthe hall. "

Whittington stared at her. Then he burst again into a laugh. 

"Your postillion, was he? That's the oddest thing, " and he lowered hisvoice. "Your postillion was Mr. Charles Wogan, who comes from Romepost-haste with the Pope's procuration for the marriage. You have helpedhim on his way, it seems. Here's a good beginning, to be sure. "

The lady uttered a little cry of anger, and her face hardened out of allits softness. She clenched her fists viciously, and her blue eyes grewcold and dangerous as steel. At this moment she hardly looked thedelicate flower she had appeared to Wogan's fancy. 

"But you need not blame yourself, " said Whittington, and he lowered hishead to a level with hers. "All the procurations in Christendom will notmarry James Stuart to Clementina Sobieski. "

"She has not come, then?"

"No, nor will she come. There is news to-day. Lean back from the window, and I will tell you. She has been arrested at Innspruck. "

The lady could not repress a crow of delight. 

"Hush, " said Whittington. Then he withdrew his head and resumed in hisordinary voice, "I have hired a house for your Ladyship, which I trustwill be found convenient. My servant will drive you thither. "

He summoned his servant from the group of footmen about the entrance, gave him his orders, bowed to the ground, and twisting his canesauntered idly down the street. 

CHAPTER II

Wogan mounted the stairs, not daring to speculate upon the nature of thebad news. But his face was pale beneath its sunburn, and his handtrembled on the balustrade; for he knew--in his heart he knew. Therecould be only one piece of news which would make his haste or tardinessmatters of no account. 

Both branches of the stairs ran up to a common landing, and in the wallfacing him, midway between the two stairheads, was a great door of tulipwood. An usher stood by the door, and at Wogan's approach opened it. Wogan, however, signed to him to be silent. He wished to hear, not tospeak, and so he slipped into the room unannounced. The door was closedsilently behind him, and at once he was surprised by the remarkablesilence, almost a cessation of life it seemed, in a room which was quitefull. Wherever the broad bars of sunshine fell, as they slanted dustywith motes through the open lattices of the shutters, they striped awoman's dress or a man's velvet coat. Yet if anyone shuffled a foot orallowed a petticoat to rustle, that person glanced on each sideguiltily. A group of people were gathered in front of the doorway. Theirbacks were towards Wogan, and they were looking towards the centre ofthe room. Wogan raised himself on his toes and looked that way too. Having looked he sank down again, aware at once that he had travelled oflate a long way in a little time, and that he was intolerably tired. Forthat one glance was enough to deprive him of his last possibility ofdoubt. He had seen the Chevalier de St. George, his King, sitting apartin a little open space, and over against him a short squarish man, dustyas Wogan himself, who stood and sullenly waited. It was Sir John Hay, the man who had been sent to fetch the Princess Clementina privately toBologna, and here he now was back at Bologna and alone. 

Wogan had counted much upon this marriage, more indeed than any of hiscomrades. It was to be the first step of the pedestal in the building upof a throne. It was to establish in Europe a party for James Stuart asstrong as the party of Hanover. But so much was known to everyone inthat room; to Wogan the marriage meant more. For even while he foundhimself muttering over and over with dry lips, as white and exhausted heleaned against the door, Clementina's qualifications, --"Daughter of theKing of Poland, cousin to the Emperor and to the King of Portugal, nieceto the Electors of Treves, Bavaria, and Palatine, "--the image of thegirl herself rose up before his eyes and struck her titles from histhoughts. She was the chosen woman, chosen by him out of all Europe--andlost by John Hay!

He remembered very clearly at that moment his first meeting with her. He had travelled from court to court in search of the fitting wife, andhad come at last to the palace at Ohlau in Silesia. It was in the duskof the evening, and as he was ushered into the great stone hall, hungabout and carpeted with barbaric skins, he had seen standing by theblazing wood fire in the huge chimney a girl in a riding dress. Sheraised her head, and the firelight struck upwards on her face, adding awarmth to its bright colours and a dancing light to the depths of herdark eyes. Her hair was drawn backwards from her forehead, and thefrank, sweet face revealed to him from the broad forehead to the roundedchin told him that here was one who joined to a royal dignity the simplenature of a peasant girl who works in the fields and knows more ofanimals than of mankind. Wogan was back again in that stone hall whenthe voice of the Chevalier with its strong French accent broke in uponhis vision. 

"Well, we will hear the story. Well, you left Ohlau with the Princessand her mother and a mile-long train of servants in spite of my commandsof secrecy. "

There was more anger and less despondency than was often heard in hisvoice. Wogan raised himself again on tiptoes and noticed that theChevalier's face was flushed and his eyes bright with wrath. 

"Sir, " pleaded Hay, "the Princess's mother would not abate a man. "

"Well, you reached Ratisbon. And there?"

"There the English minister came forward from the town to flout us withan address of welcome in which he used not our incognitos but our truenames. "

"From Ratisbon then no doubt you hurried? Since you were discovered, youshed your retinue and hurried?"

"Sir, we hurried--to Augsburg, " faltered Hay. He stopped, and then in aburst of desperation he said, "At Augsburg we stayed eight days. "

"Eight days?"

There was a stir throughout the room; a murmur began and ceased. Woganwiped his forehead and crushed his handkerchief into a hard ball in hispalm. It seemed to him that here in this room he could see the PrincessClementina's face flushed with the humiliation of that loitering. 

"And why eight days in Augsburg?"

"The Princess's mother would have her jewels reset. Augsburg is famousfor its jewellers, " stammered Hay. 

The murmur rose again; it became almost a cry of stupefaction. TheChevalier sprang from his chair. "Her jewels reset!" he said. Herepeated the words in bewilderment. "Her jewels reset!" Then he droppedagain into his seat. 

"I lose a wife, gentlemen, and very likely a kingdom too, so that a ladymay have her jewels reset at Augsburg, where, to be sure, there arefamous jewellers. "

His glance, wandering in a dazed way about the room, settled again onHay. He stamped his foot on the ground in a feverish irritation. 

"And those eight days gave just the time for a courier from the Emperorat Vienna to pass you on the road and not press his horse. One should beglad of that. It would have been a pity had the courier killed hishorse. Oh, I can fashion the rest of the story for myself. You trailedon to Innspruck, where the Governor marched out with a troop and herdedyou in. They let _you_ go, however. No doubt they bade you hurry back tome. "

"Sir, I did hurry, " said Hay, who was now in a pitiable confusion. "Itravelled hither without rest. "

The anger waned in the Chevalier's eyes as he heard the plea, and agreat dejection crept over his face. 

"Yes, you would do that, " said he. "That would be the time for you tohurry with a pigeon's swiftness so that your King might taste his bitternews not a minute later than need be. And what said she upon herarrest?"

"The Princess's mother?" asked Hay, barely aware of what he said. 

"No. Her Highness, the Princess Clementina. What said she?"

"Sir, she covered her face with her hands for perhaps the space of aminute. Then she leaned forward to the Governor, who stood by hercarriage, and cried, 'Shut four walls about me quick! I could sink intothe earth for shame. '"

Wogan in those words heard her voice as clearly as he saw her face andthe dry lips between which the voice passed. He had it in his heart tocry aloud, to send the words ringing through that hushed room, "Shewould have tramped here barefoot had she had one guide with a spirit tomatch hers. " For a moment he almost fancied that he had spoken them, andthat he heard the echo of his voice vibrating down to silence. But hehad not, and as he realised that he had not, a new thought occurred tohim. No one had remarked his entrance into the room. The group in frontstill stood with their backs towards him. Since his entrance no one hadremarked his presence. At once he turned and opened the door so gentlythat there was not so much as a click of the latch. He opened it justwide enough for himself to slip through, and he closed it behind himwith the same caution. On the landing there was only the usher. Woganlooked over the balustrade; there was no one in the hall below. 

"You can keep a silent tongue, " he said to the usher. "There's profit init;" and Wogan put his hand into his pocket. "You have not seen me ifany ask. "

"Sir, " said the man, "any bright object disturbs my vision. "

"You can see a crown, though, " said Wogan. 

"Through a breeches pocket. But if I held it in my hand--"

"It would dazzle you. "

"So much that I should be blind to the giver. "

The crown was offered and taken. 

Wogan went quietly down the stairs into the hall. There were a fewlackeys at the door, but they would not concern themselves at allbecause Mr. Wogan had returned to Bologna. He looked carefully out intothe street, chose a moment when it was empty, and hurried across it. Hedived into the first dark alley that he came to, and following the wyndsand byways of the town made his way quickly to his lodging. He had thekey to his door in his pocket, and he now kept it ready in his hand. From the shelter of a corner he watched again till the road was clear;he even examined the windows of the neighbouring houses lest somewhere apair of eyes might happen to be alert. Then he made a run for his door, opened it without noise, and crept secretly as a thief up the stairs tohis rooms, where he had the good fortune to find his servant. Wogan hadno need to sign to him to be silent. The man was a veteran corporal ofFrench Guards who after many seasons of campaigning in Spain and the LowCountries had now for five years served Mr. Wogan. He looked at hismaster and without a word went off to make his bed. 

Wogan sat down and went carefully over in his mind every minute of thetime since he had entered Bologna. No one had noticed him when he rodein as the lady's postillion, --no one. He was sure of that. The ladyherself did not know him from Adam, and fancied him an Italian into thebargain--of that, too, he had no doubt. The handful of lackeys at thedoor of the King's house need not be taken into account. They mightgossip among themselves, but Wogan's appearances and disappearances wereso ordinary a matter, even that was unlikely. The usher's silence he hadalready secured. There was only one acquaintance who had met and spokenwith him, and that by the best of good fortune was HarryWhittington, --the idler who took his banishment and his King'smisfortunes with an equally light heart, and gave never a thought at allto anything weightier than a gamecock. 

Wogan's spirits revived. He had not yet come to the end of his luck. Hesat down and wrote a short letter and sealed it up. 

"Marnier, " he called out in a low voice, and his servant came from theadjoining room, "take this to Mr. Edgar, the King's secretary, as soonas it grows dusk. Have a care that no one sees you deliver it. Lock theparlour door when you go, and take the key. I am not yet back fromRome. " With that Wogan remembered that he had not slept for forty-eighthours. Within two minutes he was between the sheets; within five he wasasleep. 

CHAPTER III

Wogan waked up in the dark and was seized with a fear that he had slepttoo long. He jumped out of bed and pushed open the door of his parlour. There was a lighted lamp in the room, and Marnier was quietly laying hismaster's supper. 

"At what hour?" asked Wogan. 

"Ten o'clock, monsieur, at the little postern in the garden wall. "

"And the time now?"

"Nine. "

Wogan dressed with some ceremony, supped, and at eight minutes to tenslipped down the stairs and out of doors. He had crushed his hat downupon his forehead and he carried his handkerchief at his face. But thestreets were dark and few people were abroad. At a little distance tohis left he saw above the housetops a glow of light in the air whichmarked the Opera-House. Wogan avoided it; he kept again to the alleysand emerged before the Chevalier's lodging. This he passed, but ahundred yards farther on he turned down a side street and doubled backupon his steps along a little byway between small houses. The line ofhouses, however, at one point was broken by a garden wall. Under thiswall Wogan waited until a clock struck ten, and while the clock wasstill striking he heard on the other side of the wall the brushing offootsteps amongst leaves and grass. Wogan tapped gently on a little doorin the wall. It was opened no less gently, and Edgar the secretaryadmitted him, led him across the garden and up a narrow flight of stairsinto a small lighted cabinet. Two men were waiting in that room. One ofthem wore the scarlet robe, an old man with white hair and a broadbucolic face, whom Wogan knew for the Pope's Legate, Cardinal Origo. Theslender figure of the other, clad all in black but for the blue ribbonof the Garter across his breast, brought Wogan to his knee. 

Wogan held out the Pope's procuration to the Chevalier, who took it anddevoutly kissed the signature. Then he gave his hand to Wogan with asmile of friendliness. 

"You have outsped your time by two days, Mr. Wogan. That is unwise, since it may lead us to expect again the impossible of you. But here, alas, your speed for once brings us no profit. You have heard, no doubt. Her Highness the Princess Clementina is held at Innspruck in prison. "

Wogan rose to his feet. 

"Prisons, sir, " he said quietly, "have been broken before to-day. Imyself was once put to that necessity. " The words took the Chevaliercompletely by surprise. He leaned back in his chair and stared at Wogan. 

"An army could not rescue her, " he said. 

"No, but one man might. "

"You?" he exclaimed. He pressed down the shade of the lamp to throw thelight fully upon Wogan's face. "It is impossible!"

"Then I beg your Majesty to expect the impossible again. "

The Chevalier drew his hand across his eyes and stared afresh at Wogan. The audacity of the exploit and the imperturbable manner of its proposalcaught his breath away. He rose from his chair and took a turn or twoacross the room. 

Wogan watched his every gesture. It would be difficult he knew to wringthe permission he needed from his dejected master, and his unruffleddemeanour was a calculated means of persuasion. An air of confidence wasthe first requisite. In reality, however, Wogan was not troubled at thismoment by any thought of failure. It was not that he had any plan in hishead; but he was fired with a conviction that somehow this chosen womanwas not to be wasted, that some day, released by some means in spite ofall the pressure English Ministers could bring upon the Emperor, shewould come riding into Bologna. 

The Chevalier paused in his walk and looked towards the Cardinal. 

"What does your Eminence say?"

"That to the old the impulsiveness of youth is eternally charming, " saidthe Cardinal, with a foppish delicacy of speaking in an odd contrast tohis person. 

Mr. Wogan understood that he had a second antagonist. 

"I am not a youth, your Eminence, " he exclaimed with all the indignationof twenty-seven years. "I am a man. "

"But an Irishman, and that spells youth. You write poetry too, Ibelieve, Mr. Wogan. It is a heady practice. "

Wogan made no answer, though the words stung. An argument with theCardinal would be sure to ruin his chance of obtaining the Chevalier'sconsent. He merely bowed to the Cardinal and waited for the Chevalier tospeak. 

"Look you, Mr. Wogan; while the Emperor's at war with Spain, whileEngland's fleet could strip him of Sicily, he's England's henchman. Hedare not let the Princess go. We know it. General Heister, the Governorof Innspruck, is under pain of death to hold her safe. "

"But, sir, would the world stop if General Heister died?"

"A German scaffold if you fail. "

"In the matter of scaffolds I have no leaning towards any onenationality. "

The Cardinal smiled. He liked a man of spirit, though he might think himabsurd. The Chevalier resumed his restless pacing to and fro. 

"It is impossible. "

But he seemed to utter the phrase with less decision this second time. Wogan pressed his advantage at the expense of his modesty. 

"Sir, will you allow me to tell you a story, --a story of an impossibleescape from Newgate in the heart of London by a man in fetters? Therewere nine grenadiers with loaded muskets standing over him. There weretwo courtyards to cross, two walls to climb, and beyond the walls theunfriendly streets. The man hoodwinked his sentries, climbed his twowalls, crossed the unfriendly streets, and took refuge in a cellar, where he was discovered. From the cellar in broad daylight he fought hisway to the roofs, and on the roofs he played such a game ofhide-and-seek among the chimney-tops--" Wogan broke off from his storywith a clear thrill of laughter; it was a laugh of enjoyment at apleasing recollection. Then he suddenly flung himself down on his kneeat the feet of his sovereign. "Give me leave, your Majesty, " he criedpassionately. "Let me go upon this errand. If I fail, if the scaffold'sdressed for me, why where's the harm? Your Majesty loses one servant outof his many. Whereas, if I win--" and he drew a long breath. "Aye, and Ishall win! There's the Princess, too, a prisoner. Sir, she has venturedmuch. I beg you give me leave. "

The Chevalier laid his hand gently upon Wogan's shoulder, but he did notassent. He looked again doubtfully to the Cardinal, who said with hispleasant smile, "I will wager Mr. Wogan a box at the Opera on the firstnight that he returns, that he will return empty-handed. "

Wogan rose to his feet and replied good-humouredly, "It's a wager Itake the more readily in that your Eminence cannot win, though you maylose. For if I return empty-handed, upon my honour I'll not return atall. "

The Cardinal condescended to laugh. Mr. Wogan laughed too. He had goodreason, for here was his Eminence in a kindly temper and the Chevalierwarming out of his melancholy. And, indeed, while he was still laughingthe Chevalier caught him by the arm as a friend might do, and in anoutburst of confidence, very rare with him, he said, "I would that Icould laugh so. You and Whittington, I do envy you. An honest laugh, there's the purge for melancholy. But I cannot compass it, " and heturned away. 

"Sure, sir, you'll put us all to shame when I bring her Royal Highnessout of Innspruck. "

"Oh, that!" said the Chevalier, as though for the moment he hadforgotten. "It is impossible, " and the phrase was spoken now in anaccent of hesitation. Moreover, he sat down at a table, and drawing asheet of paper written over with memoranda, he began to read aloud witha glance towards Wogan at the end of each sentence. 

"The house stands in the _faubourgs_ of Innspruck. There is an avenue oftrees in front of the house; on the opposite side of the avenue there isa tavern with the sign of 'The White Chamois. '"

Wogan committed the words to memory. 

"The Princess and her mother, " continued the Chevalier, "are imprisonedin the east side of the house. "

"And how guarded, sir?" asked Wogan. 

The Chevalier read again from his paper. 

"A sentry at each door, a third beneath the prisoners' windows. Theykeep watch night and day. Besides, twice a day the magistrate visits thehouse. "

"At what hours?"

"At ten in the morning. The same hour at night. "

"And on each visit the magistrate sees the Princess?"

"Yes, though she lies abed. "

Wogan stroked his chin. The Cardinal regarded him quizzically. 

"I trust, Mr. Wogan, that we shall hear Farini. There is talk of hiscoming to Bologna. "

Wogan did not answer. He was silent; he saw the three sentinels standingwatchfully about the house; he heard them calling "All's well" each tothe other. Then he asked, "Has the Princess her own servants to attendher?"

"Only M. Chateaudoux, her chamberlain. "

"Ah!"

Wogan leaned forward with a question on his tongue he hardly dared toask. So much hung upon the answer. 

"And M. Chateaudoux is allowed to come and go?"

"In the daylight. "

Wogan turned to the Cardinal. "The box will be the best box in thehouse, " Wogan suggested. 

"Oh, sir, " replied the Cardinal, "on the first tier, to be sure. "

Wogan turned back to the Chevalier. 

"All that I need now is a letter from your Majesty to the King of Polandand a few rascally guineas. I can leave Bologna before a soul's astir inthe morning. No one but Whittington saw me to-day, and a word will keephim silent. There will be secrecy--" but the Chevalier suddenly cut himshort. 

"No, " said he, bringing the palm of his hand down upon the table. "Here's a blow that we must bend to! It's a dream, this plan of yours. "

"But a dream I'll dream so hard, sir, that I'll dream it true, " criedWogan, in despair. 

"No, no, " said the Chevalier. "We'll talk no more of it. There's God'swill evident in this arrest, and we must bend to it;" and at once Woganremembered his one crowning argument. It was so familiar to histhoughts, it had lain so close at his heart, that he had left itunspoken, taking it as it were for granted that others were as familiarwith it as he. 

"Sir, " said he, eagerly, "I have never told you, but the PrincessClementina when a child amongst her playmates had a favourite game. Theycalled it kings and queens. And in that game the Princess was alwayschosen Queen of England. "

The Chevalier started. 

"Is that so?" and he gazed into Wogan's eyes, making sure that he spokethe truth. 

"In very truth it is, " and the two men stood looking each at the otherand quite silent. 

It was the truth, a mere coincidence if you will, but to both these menomens and auguries were the gravest matters. 

"There indeed is God's finger pointing, " cried Wogan. "Sir, give meleave to follow it. "

The Chevalier still stood looking at him in silence. Then he saidsuddenly, "Go, then, and God speed you! You are a gallant gentleman. "

He sat down thereupon and wrote a letter to the King of Poland, askinghim to entrust the rescue of his daughter into Wogan's hands. Thisletter Wogan took and money for his journey. 

"You will have preparations to make, " said the Chevalier. "I will notkeep you. You have horses?"

Mr. Wogan had two in a stable at Bologna. "But, " he added, "there is ahorse I left this morning six miles this side of Fiesole, a black horse, and I would not lose it. "

"Nor shall you, " said the Chevalier. 

Wogan crept back to his lodging as cautiously as he had left it. Therewas no light in any window but in his own, where his servant, Marnier, awaited him. Wogan opened the door softly and found the porter asleep inhis chair. He stole upstairs and made his preparations. These, however, were of the simplest kind, and consisted of half-a-dozen orders toMarnier and the getting into bed. In the morning he woke before daybreakand found Marnier already up. They went silently out of the house asthe dawn was breaking. Marnier had the key to the stables, and theysaddled the two horses and rode through the blind and silent streetswith their faces muffled in their cloaks. 

They met no one, however, until they were come to the outskirts of thetown. But then as they passed the mouth of an alley a man came suddenlyout and as suddenly drew back. The morning was chill, and the man wasclosely wrapped. 

Wogan could not distinguish his face or person, and looking down thealley he saw at the end of it only a garden wall, and over the top ofthe wall a thicket of trees and the chimney-tops of a low houseembosomed amongst them. He rode on, secure in the secrecy of hisdesperate adventure. But that same morning Mr. Whittington paid a visitto Wogan's lodging and asked to be admitted. He was told that Mr. Woganhad not yet returned to Bologna. 

"So, indeed, I thought, " said he; and he sauntered carelessly along, notto his own house, but to one smaller, situated at the bottom of a_cul-de-sac_ and secluded amongst trees. At the door he asked whetherher Ladyship was yet visible, and was at once shown into a room withlong windows which stood open to the garden. Her Ladyship lay upon asofa sipping her coffee and teasing a spaniel with the toe of herslipper. 

"You are early, " she said with some surprise. 

"And yet no earlier than your Ladyship, " said Whittington. 

"I have to make my obeisance to my King, " said she, stifling a yawn. "Could one, I ask you, sleep on so important a day?"

Mr. Whittington laughed genially. Then he opened the door and glancedalong the passage. When he turned back into the room her Ladyship hadkicked the spaniel from the sofa and was sitting bolt upright with allher languor gone. 

"Well?" she asked quickly. 

Whittington took a seat on the sofa by her side. 

"Charles Wogan left Bologna at daybreak. Moreover, I have had a messagefrom the Chevalier bidding me not to mention that I saw him in Bolognayesterday. One could hazard a guess at the goal of so secret a journey. "

"Ohlau!" exclaimed the lady, in a whisper. Then she nestled back uponthe sofa and bit the fragment of lace she called her handkerchief. 

"So there's an end of Mr. Wogan, " she said pleasantly. 

Whittington made no answer. 

"For there's no chance that he'll succeed, " she continued with a touchof anxiety in her voice. 

Whittington neither agreed nor contradicted. He asked a questioninstead. 

"What is the sharpest spur a man can know? What is it that gives a manaudacity to attempt and wit to accomplish the impossible?"

The lady smiled. 

"The poets tell us love, " said she, demurely. 

Whittington nodded his head. 

"Wogan speaks very warmly of the Princess Clementina. "

Her Ladyship's red lips lost their curve. Her eyes became thoughtful, apprehensive. 

"I wonder, " she said slowly. 

"Yes, I too wonder, " said Whittington. 

Outside the branches of the trees rustled in the wind and flung shadows, swift as ripples, across the sunlit grass. But within the little roomthere was a long silence. 

CHAPTER IV

M. Chateaudoux, the chamberlain, was a little portly person with around, red face like a cherub's. He was a creature of the house, onethat walked with delicate steps, a conductor of ceremonies, an expert inthe subtleties of etiquette; and once he held his wand of office in hishand, there was nowhere to be found a being so precise andconsequential. But out of doors he had the timidity of a cat. He lived, however, by rule and rote, and since it had always been his habit totake the air between three and four of the afternoon, he was to be seenbetween those hours at Innspruck on any fine day mincing along theavenue of trees before the villa in which his mistress was heldprisoner. 

On one afternoon during the month of October he passed a hawker, who, tired with his day's tramp, was resting on a bench in the avenue, andwho carried upon his arm a half-empty basket of cheap wares. The man wasragged; his toes were thrusting through his shoes; it was evident thathe wore no linen, and a week's growth of beard dirtily stubbled hischin, --in a word, he was a man from whom M. Chateaudoux's prim soulpositively shrank. M. Chateaudoux went quickly by, fearing to bepestered for alms. The hawker, however, remained seated upon the bench, drawing idle patterns upon the gravel with a hazel stick stolen from ahedgerow. 

The next afternoon the hawker was in the avenue again, only this time ona bench at the opposite end; and again he paid no heed to M. Chateaudoux, but sat moodily scraping the gravel with his stick. 

On the third afternoon M. Chateaudoux found the hawker seated in themiddle of the avenue and over against the door of the guarded villa. M. Chateaudoux, when his timidity slept, was capable of good nature. Therewas a soldier with a loaded musket in full view. The hawker, besides, had not pestered him. He determined to buy some small thing, --a mirror, perhaps, which was always useful, --and he approached the hawker, who forhis part wearily flicked the gravel with his stick and drew a curve hereand a line there until, as M. Chateaudoux stopped before the bench, there lay sketched at his feet the rude semblance of a crown. The stickswept over it the next instant and left the gravel smooth. 

But M. Chateaudoux had seen, and his heart fluttered and sank. For herewere plots, possibly dangers, most certainly trepidations. He turned hisback as though he had seen nothing, and constraining himself to a slowpace walked towards the door of the villa. But the hawker was now at hisside, whining in execrable German and a strong French accent theremarkable value of his wares. There were samplers most exquisitelyworked, jewels for the most noble gentleman's honoured sweetheart, andpurses which emperors would give a deal to buy. Chateaudoux was urged totake notice that emperors would give sums to lay a hand on the hawker'spurses. 

M. Chateaudoux pretended not to hear. 

"I want nothing, " he said, "nothing in the world;" and he repeated thestatement in order to drown the other's voice. 

"A purse, good gentleman, " persisted the hawker, and he dangled onebefore Chateaudoux's eyes. Not for anything would Chateaudoux take thatpurse. 

"Go away, " he cried; "I have a sufficiency of purses, and I will not beplagued by you. "

They were now at the steps of the villa, and the sentry, lifting thebutt of his musket, roughly thrust the hawker back. 

"What have you there? Bring your basket here, " said he; and toChateaudoux's consternation the hawker immediately offered the purse tothe sentinel. 

"It is only the poor who have kind hearts, " he said; "here's the properpurse for a soldier. It is so hard to get the money out that a man issaved an ocean of drink. "

The hawker's readiness destroyed any suspicions the sentinel may havefelt. 

"Go away, " he said, "quick!"

"You will buy the purse?"

The sentinel raised his musket again. 

"Then the kind gentleman will, " said the hawker, and he thrust the purseinto M. Chateaudoux's reluctant hand. Chateaudoux could feel within thepurse a folded paper. He was committed now without a doubt, and in anextreme alarm he flung a coin into the roadway and got him into thehouse. The sentinel carelessly dropped the butt of his musket on thecoin. 

"Go, " said he, and with a sudden kick he lifted the hawker half acrossthe road. The hawker happened to be Charles Wogan, who took a littlematter like that with the necessary philosophy. He picked himself up andlimped off. 

Now the next day a remarkable thing happened. M. Chateaudoux swervedfrom the regularity of his habits. He walked along the avenue, it istrue; but at the end of it he tripped down a street and turned out ofthat into another which brought him to the arcades. He did not appear toenjoy his walk; indeed, any hurrying footsteps behind startled himexceedingly and made his face turn white and red, and his body hot andcold. However, he proceeded along the arcades to the cathedral, which heentered; and just as the clock struck half-past three, in a dark corneropposite to the third of the great statues he drew his handkerchief fromhis pocket. 

The handkerchief flipped out a letter which fell onto the ground. In thegloom it was barely visible; and M. Chateaudoux walked on, apparentlyunconscious of his loss. But a comfortable citizen in a snuff-colouredsuit picked it up and walked straight out of the cathedral to the GoldenFleece Inn in the Hochstrasse, where he lodged. He went up into his roomand examined the letter. It was superscribed "To M. Chateaudoux, " andthe seal was broken. Nevertheless, the finder did not scruple to readit. It was a love-letter to the little gentleman from one Friederika. 

"I am heart-broken, " wrote Friederika, "but my fidelity to myChateaudoux has not faltered, nor will not, whatever I may be calledupon to endure. I cannot, however, be so undutiful as to accept myChateaudoux's addresses without my father's consent; and my mother, whois of the same mind with me, insists that even with that consent arunaway marriage is not to be thought of unless my Chateaudoux canprovide me with a suitable woman for an attendant. "

These conditions fulfilled, Friederika was willing to follow herChateaudoux to the world's end. The comfortable citizen in thesnuff-coloured suit sat for some while over that letter with a strangelight upon his face and a smile of great happiness. The comfortablecitizen was Charles Wogan, and he could dissociate the obstructions ofthe mother from the willingness of the girl. 

The October evening wove its veils from the mountain crests across thevalleys; the sun and the daylight had gone from the room before Wogantore that letter up and wrote another to the Chevalier at Bologna, telling him that the Princess Clementina would venture herself gladly ifhe could secure the consent of Prince Sobieski, her father. And the nextmorning he drove out in a carriage towards Ohlau in Silesia. 

It was as the Chevalier Warner that he had first journeyed thither tosolicit for his King the Princess Clementina's hand. Consequently heused the name again. Winter came upon him as he went; the snow gatheredthick upon the hills and crept down into the valleys, encumbering hispath. The cold nipped his bones; he drove beneath great clouds andthrough a stinging air, but of these discomforts he was not sensible. For the mission he was set upon filled his thoughts and ran like a feverin his blood. He lay awake at nights inventing schemes of evasion, andeach morning showed a flaw, and the schemes crumbled. Not that his faithfaltered. At some one moment he felt sure the perfect plan, swift andsecret, would be revealed to him, and he lived to seize the moment. Thepeople with whom he spoke became as shadows; the inns where he restedwere confused into a common semblance. He was like a man in a trance, seeing ever before his eyes the guarded villa at Innspruck, and behindthe walls, patient and watchful, the face of the chosen woman; so thatit was almost with surprise that he looked down one afternoon from thebrim of a pass in the hills and saw beneath him, hooded with snow, theroofs and towers of Ohlau. 

At Ohlau Wogan came to the end of his luck. From the moment when hepresented his letter he was aware of it. The Prince was broken by hishumiliation and the sufferings of his wife and daughter. He was eveninclined to resent them at the expense of the Chevalier, for in hiswelcome to Wogan there was a measure of embarrassment. His shoulders, which had before been erect, now stooped, his eyes were veiled, the firehad burnt out in him; he was an old man visibly ageing to his grave. Heread the letter and re-read it. 

"No, " said he, impatiently; "I must now think of my daughter. Herdignity and her birth forbid that she should run like a criminal in fearof capture, and at the peril very likely of her life, to a king who, after all, is as yet without a crown. " And then seeing Wogan flush atthe words, he softened them. "I frankly say to you, Mr. Warner, that Iknow no one to whom I would sooner entrust my daughter than yourself, were I persuaded to this project. But it is doomed to fail. It wouldmake us the laughing-stock of Europe, and I ask you to forget it. Do youfancy the Emperor guards my daughter so ill that you, single-handed, cantake her from beneath his hand?"

"Your Highness, I shall choose some tried friends to help me. "

"There is no single chance of success. I ask you to forget it and topass your Christmas here as my very good friend. The sight is longer inage, Mr. Warner, than in youth, and I see far enough now to know thatthe days of Don Quixote are dead. Here is a matter where all Europe isranged and alert on one side or the other. You cannot practise secrecy. At Ohlau your face is known, your incognito too. Mr. Warner came toOhlau once before, and the business on which he came is commonknowledge. The motive of your visit now, which I tell you openly is verygrateful to me, will surely be suspected. "

Wogan had reason that night to acknowledge the justice of the Prince'sargument. He accepted his hospitality, thinking that with time he wouldpersuade him to allow the attempt; and after supper, while makingriddles in verse to amuse some of the ladies of the court, one of them, the Countess of Berg, came forward from a corner where she had been busywith pencil and paper and said, "It is our turn now. Here, Mr. Warner, is an acrostic which I ask you to solve for me. " And with a smile whichheld a spice of malice she handed him the paper. Upon it there were tenrhymed couplets. Wogan solved the first four, and found that the initialletters of the words were C, L, E, M. The answer to the acrostic was"Clementina. " Wogan gave the paper back. 

"I can make neither head nor tail of it, " said he. "The attempt isbeyond my powers. "

"Ah, " said she, drily, "you own as much? I would never have believed youwould have owned it. "

"But what is the answer?" asked a voice at which Wogan started. 

"The answer, " replied the Countess, "is Mary, Queen of Scots, who wasmost unjustly imprisoned in Fotheringay, " and she tore the paper intotiny pieces. 

Wogan turned towards the voice which had so startled him and saw thegossamer lady whom he had befriended on the road from Florence. At oncehe rose and bowed to her. 

"I should have presented you before to my friend, Lady Featherstone, "said the Countess, "but it seems you are already acquainted. "

"Indeed, Mr. Warner did me a great service at a pinch, " said LadyFeatherstone. "He was my postillion, though I never paid him, as I donow in thanks. "

"Your postillion!" cried one or two of the ladies, and they gatheredabout the great stove as Lady Featherstone told the story of Wogan'scharioting. 

"I bade him hurry, " said she, "and he outsped my bidding. Never wasthere a postillion so considerately inconsiderate. I was tossed like atennis ball, I was one black bruise, I bounced from cushion to cushion;and then he drew up with a jerk, sprang off his horse, vanished into ahouse and left me, panting and dishevelled, a twist of torn ribbons andlace, alone in my carriage in the streets of Bologna. "

"Bologna. Ah!" said the Countess, with a smile of significance at Wogan. 

Wogan was looking at Lady Featherstone. His curiosity, thrust into theback of his mind by the more important matter of his mission nowrevived. What had been this lady's business who travelled alone toBologna and in such desperate haste?

"Your Ladyship, I remember, " he said, "gave me to understand that youwere sorely put to it to reach Bologna. "

Her Ladyship turned her blue eyes frankly upon Wogan. Then she loweredthem. 

"My brother, " she explained, "lay at death's door in Venice. I had justlanded at Leghorn, where I left my maid to recover from the sea, andhurrying across Italy as I did, I still feared that I should not see himalive. "

The explanation was made readily in a low voice natural to oneremembering a great distress, but without any affectation of gesture orso much as a glance sideways to note whether Wogan received ittrustfully or not. Wogan, indeed, was reassured in a great measure. True, the Countess of Berg was now his declared enemy, but he need notjoin all her friends in that hostility. 

"I was able, most happily, " continued Lady Featherstone, "to send mybrother homewards in a ship a fortnight back, and so to stay with myfriend here on my way to Vienna, for we English are all bitten with themadness of travel. Mr. Warner will bear me out?"

"To be sure I will, " said Wogan, stoutly. "For here am I in the depthsof winter journeying to the carnival in Italy. "

The Countess smiled, all disbelief and amusement, and Lady Featherstoneturned quickly towards him. 

"For my frankness I claim a like frankness in return, " said she, with apretty imperiousness. 

Wogan was a little startled. He suddenly remembered that he hadpretended to know no English on the road to Bologna, nor had he givenany reason for his haste. But it was upon neither of these matters thatshe desired to question him. 

"You spoke in parables, " said she, "which are detestable things. Yousaid you would not lose your black horse for the world because the ladyyou were to marry would ride upon it into your city of dreams. There's asaying that has a provoking prettiness. I claim a frank answer. "

Wogan was silent, and his face took on the look of a dreamer. 

"Come, " said one. It was the Princess Charlotte, the second daughter ofthe Prince Sobieski, who spoke. "We shall not let you off, " said she. 

Wogan knew that she would not. She was a girl who was never checked byany inconvenience her speech might cause. Her tongue was a watchman'srattle, and she never spoke but she laughed to point the speech. 

"Be frank, " said the Countess; "it is a matter of the heart, and soproper food for women. "

"True, " answered Wogan, lightly, "it is a matter of the heart, and insuch matters can one be frank--even to oneself?"

Wogan was immediately puzzled by the curious look Lady Featherstonegave him. The words were a mere excuse, yet she seemed to take them veryseriously. Her eyes sounded him. 

"Yes, " she said slowly; "are you frank, even to yourself?" and she spokeas though a knowledge of the answer would make a task easier to her. 

Wogan's speculations, however, were interrupted by the entrance ofPrincess Casimira, Sobieski's eldest daughter. Wogan welcomed her comingfor the first time in all his life, for she was a kill-joy, a person ofan extraordinary decorum. According to Wogan, she was "that black careupon the horseman's back which the poets write about. " Her firstquestion if she was spoken to was whether the speaker was from top totoe fitly attired; her second, whether the words spoken were well-bred. At this moment, however, her mere presence put an end to the demands foran explanation of Wogan's saying about his horse, and in a grateful moodto her he slipped from the room. 

This evening was but one of many during that Christmastide. Wogan mustwear an easy countenance, though his heart grew heavy as lead. TheCountess of Berg was the Prince Constantine's favourite; and Wogan wasnot slow to discover that her smiling face and quiet eyes hid the mostmasterful woman at that court. He made himself her assiduous servant, whether in hunting amid the snow or in the entertainments at the palace, but a quizzical deliberate word would now and again show him that shewas still his enemy. With the Princess Casimira he was a profoundcritic of observances: he invented a new cravat and was most carefulthat there should never be a wrinkle in his stockings; with the PrincessCharlotte he laughed till his head sang. He played all manner of parts;the palace might have been the stage of a pantomime and himself theharlequin. But for all his efforts it did not seem that he advanced hiscause; and if he made headway one evening with the Prince, the nextmorning he had lost it, and so Christmas came and passed. 

But two days after Christmas a courier brought a letter to the castle. He came in the evening, and the letter was carried to Wogan while he wasat table. He noticed at once that it was in his King's hand, and heslipped it quickly into his pocket. It may have been somethingprecipitate in his manner, or it may have been merely that all were onthe alert to mark his actions, but at once curiosity was aroused. Noplain words were said; but here and there heads nodded together andwhispered, and while some eyed Wogan suspiciously, a few women whosehearts were tuned to a sympathy with the Princess in her imprisonment, or touched with the notion of a romantic attachment, smiled upon himtheir encouragement. The Countess of Berg for once was unobservant, however. 

Wogan made his escape from the company as soon as he could, and going upto his apartments read the letter. The moon was at its full, and whatwith the clear, frosty air, and the snow stretched over the world likea white counterpane, he was able to read the letter by the windowwithout the light of a candle. It was written in the Chevalier's owncipher and hand; it asked anxiously for news and gave some. Wogan hadhad occasion before to learn that cipher by heart. He stood by thewindow and spelled the meaning. Then he turned to go down; but at thedoor his foot slipped upon the polished boards, and he stumbled onto hisknee. He picked himself up, and thinking no more of the matter rejoinedthe company in a room where the Countess of Berg was playing upon aharp. 

"The King, " said Wogan, drawing the Prince apart, "leaves Bologna forRome. "

"So the letter came from him?" asked the Prince, with an eagerness whichcould not but seem hopeful to his companion. 

"And in his own hand, " replied Wogan. 

The Prince shuffled and hesitated as though he was curious to hearparticulars. Wogan thought it wise to provoke his curiosity bydisregarding it. It seemed that there was wisdom in his reticence, for alittle later the Prince took him aside while the Countess of Berg wasstill playing upon her harp, and said, --

"Single-handed you could do nothing. You would need friends. "

Wogan took a slip of paper from his pocket and gave it to the Prince. 

"On that slip, " said he, "I wrote down the names of all the friendswhom I could trust, and by the side of the names the places where Icould lay my hands upon them. One after the other I erased the namesuntil only three remained. "

The Prince nodded and read out the names. 

"Gaydon, Misset, O'Toole. They are good men?"

"The flower of Ireland. Those three names have been my comfort theselast three weeks. "

"And all the three at Schlestadt. How comes that about?"

"Your Highness, they are all three officers in Dillon's Irish regiment, and so have that further advantage. "

"Advantage?"

"Your Highness, " said Wogan, "Schlestadt is near to Strasbourg, whichagain is not far from Innspruck, and being in French territory would bethe most convenient place to set off from. "

There was a sound of a door shutting; the Prince started, looked atWogan, and laughed. He had been upon the verge of yielding; but for thatdoor Wogan felt sure he would have yielded. Now, however, he merelywalked away to the Countess of Berg, and sitting beside her asked her toplay a particular tune. But he still held the slip of paper in his handand paid but a scanty heed to the music, now and then looking doubtfullytowards Wogan, now and then scanning that long list of names. His lips, too, moved as though he was framing the three selected names, Gaydon, Misset, O'Toole, and "Schlestadt" as a bracket uniting them. Then hesuddenly rose up and crossed the room to Wogan. 

"My daughter wrote that a woman must attend her. It is a necessaryprovision. "

"Your Highness, Misset has a wife, and the wife matches him. "

"They are warned to be ready?"

"At your Highness's first word that slip of paper travels to Schlestadt. It is unsigned, it imperils no one, it betrays nothing. But it will tellits story none the less surely to those three men, for Gaydon knows myhand. "

The Prince smiled in approval. 

"You have prudence, Mr. Warner, as well as audacity, " said he. He gavethe paper back, listened for a little to the Countess, who was bendingover her harp-strings, and then remarked, "The Prince's letter was inhis own hand too?"

"But in cipher. "

"Ah!"

The Prince was silent for a while. He balanced himself first on onefoot, then on the other. 

"Ciphers, " said he, "are curious things, compelling to the imaginationand a provocation to the intellect. "

Mr. Wogan kept a grave face and he replied with unconcern, though hisheart beat quick; for if the Prince had so much desire to see theChevalier's letter, he must be well upon his way to consenting toWogan's plan. 

"If your Highness will do me the honour to look at this cipher. It hasbaffled the most expert. "

His Highness condescended to be pleased with Wogan's suggestion. Wogancrossed the room towards the door; but before he reached it, theCountess of Berg suddenly took her fingers from her harp-strings with agesture of annoyance. 

"Mr. Warner, " she said, "will you do me the favour to screw this wiretighter?" And once or twice she struck it with her fingers. 

"May I claim that privilege?" said the Prince. 

"Your Highness does me too much honour, " said the Countess, but thePrince was already at her side. At once she pointed out to him theparticular string. Wogan went from the room and up the great staircase. He was lodged in a wing of the palace. From the head of the staircase heproceeded down a long passage. Towards the end of this passage anothershort passage branched off at a right angle on the left-hand side. Atthe corner of the two passages stood a table with a lamp and somecandlesticks. This time Wogan took a candle, and lighting it at the lampturned into the short passage. It was dark but for the light of Wogan'scandle, and at the end of it facing him were two doors side by side. Both doors were closed, and of these the one on the left gave onto hisroom. 

Wogan had walked perhaps halfway from the corner to his door before hestopped. He stopped suddenly and held his breath. Then he shaded hiscandle with the palm of his hand and looked forward. Immediately heturned, and walking on tiptoe came silently back into the big passage. Even this was not well lighted; it stretched away upon his right andleft, full of shadows. But it was silent. The only sounds which reachedWogan as he stood there and listened were the sounds of people movingand speaking at a great distance. He blew out his candle, cautiouslyreplaced it on the table, and crept down again towards his room. Therewas no window in this small passage, there was no light there at allexcept a gleam of silver in front of him and close to the ground. Thatgleam of silver was the moonlight shining between the bottom of one ofthe doors and the boards of the passage. And that door was not the doorof Wogan's room, but the room beside it. Where his door stood, theremight have been no door at all. 

Yet the moon which shone through the windows of one room must needs alsoshine into the other, unless, indeed, the curtains were drawn. Butearlier in the evening Wogan had read a letter by the moonlight at hiswindow; the curtains were not drawn. There was, therefore, a rug, anobstruction of some sort against the bottom of the door. But earlier inthe evening Wogan's foot had slipped upon the polished boards; there hadbeen no mat or skin at all. It had been pushed there since. Wogan couldnot doubt for what reason. It was to conceal the light of a lamp orcandle within the room. Someone, in a word, was prying in Wogan's room, and Wogan began to consider who. It was not the Countess, who wasengaged upon her harp, but the Countess had tried to detain him. Woganwas startled as he understood the reason of her harp becoming sosuddenly untuned. She had spoken to him with so natural a spontaneity, she had accepted the Prince's aid with so complete an absence ofembarrassment; but none the less Wogan was sure that she knew. Moreover, a door had shut--yes, while he was speaking to the Prince a door hadshut. 

So far Wogan's speculations had travelled when the moonlight streamedout beneath his door too. It made now a silver line across the passagebroken at the middle by the wall between the rooms. The mat had beenremoved, the candle put out, the prying was at an end; in another momentthe door would surely open. Now Wogan, however anxious to discover whoit was that spied, was yet more anxious that the spy should not discoverthat the spying was detected. He himself knew, and so was armed; he didnot wish to arm his enemies with a like knowledge. There was no cornerin the passage to conceal him; there was no other door behind which hecould slip. When the spy came out, Wogan would inevitably be discovered. He made up his mind on the instant. He crept back quickly and silentlyout of the mouth of the passage, then he made a noise with his feet, turned again into the passage, and walked loudly towards his door. Evenso he was only just in time. Had he waited a moment longer, he wouldhave been detected. For even as he turned the corner there was already avertical line of silver on the passage wall; the door had been alreadyopened. But as his footsteps sounded on the boards, that linedisappeared. 

He walked slowly, giving his spy time to replace the letter, time tohide. He purposely carried no candle, he reached his door and opened it. The room to all seeming was empty. Wogan crossed to a table, lookingneither to the right nor the left, above all not looking towards the bedhangings. He found the letter upon the table just as he had left it. Itcould convey no knowledge of his mission, he was sure. It had not eventhe appearance of a letter in cipher; it might have been a mereexpression of Christmas good wishes from one friend to another. But tomake his certainty more sure, and at the same time to show that he hadno suspicion anyone was hiding in the room, he carried the letter overto the window, and at once he was aware of the spy's hiding-place. Itwas not the bed hangings, but close at his side the heavy window curtainbulged. The spy was at his very elbow; he had but to lift his arm--andof a sudden the letter slipped from his hand to the floor. He did notdrop it on purpose, he was fairly surprised; for looking down to readthe letter he had seen protruding from the curtain a jewelled shoebuckle, and the foot which the buckle adorned seemed too small andslender for a man's. 

Wogan had an opportunity to make certain. He knelt down and picked upthe letter; the foot was a woman's. As he rose up again, the curtainever so slightly stirred. Wogan pretended to have remarked nothing; hestood easily by the window with his eyes upon his letter and his mindbusy with guessing what woman his spy might be. And he remained onpurpose for some while in this attitude, designing it as a punishment. So long as he stood by the window that unknown woman cheek by jowl withhim must hold her breath, must never stir, must silently endure an agonyof fear at each movement that he made. 

At last he moved, and as he turned away he saw something so unexpectedthat it startled him. Indeed, for the moment it did more than startlehim, it chilled him. He understood that slight stirring of the curtain. The woman now held a dagger in her hand, and the point of the bladestuck out and shone in the moonlight like a flame. 

Wogan became angry. It was all very well for the woman to come spyinginto his room; but to take a dagger to him, to think a dagger in awoman's hand could cope with him, --that was too preposterous. Wogan feltvery much inclined to sweep that curtain aside and tell his visitor howhe had escaped from Newgate and played hide-and-seek amongst thechimney-pots. And although he restrained himself from that, he allowedhis anger to get the better of his prudence. Under the impulse of hisanger he acted. It was a whimsical thing that he did, and though hesuffered for it he could never afterwards bring himself to regret it. Hedeliberately knelt down and kissed the instep of the foot whichprotruded from the curtain. He felt the muscles of the foot tighten, butthe foot was not withdrawn. The curtain shivered and shook, but no crycame from behind it, and again the curtain hung motionless. Wogan wentout of the room and carried the letter to the Prince. The Countess ofBerg was still playing upon her harp, and she gave no sign that sheremarked his entrance. She did not so much as shoot one glance ofcuriosity towards him. The Prince carried the letter off to his cabinet, while Wogan sat down beside the Countess and looked about the room. 

"I have not seen Lady Featherstone this evening, " said he. 

"Have you not?" asked the Countess, easily. 

"Not so much as her foot, " replied Wogan. 

The conviction came upon him suddenly. Her hurried journey to Bolognaand her presence at Ohlau were explained to him now by her absence fromthe room. His own arrival at Bologna had not remained so secret as hehad imagined. The fragile and gossamer lady, too flowerlike for theworld's rough usage, was the woman who had spied in his room and who hadpossessed the courage to stand silent and motionless behind the curtainafter her presence there had been discovered. Wogan had a picture beforehis eyes of the dagger she had held. It was plain that she would stop atnothing to hinder this marriage, to prevent the success of his design;and somehow the contrast between her appearance and her actions hadsomething uncanny about it. Wogan was inclined to shiver as he satchatting with the Countess. He was not reassured when Lady Featherstoneboldly entered the room; she meant to face him out. He remarked, however, with a trifle of satisfaction that for the first time she worerouge upon her cheeks. 

CHAPTER V

Wogan, however, was not immediately benefited by his discovery. He knewthat if a single whisper of it reached the Prince's ear there would beat once an end to his small chances. The old man would take alarm; hemight punish the offender, but he would none the less surely refuse hisconsent to Wogan's project. Wogan must keep his lips quite closed andlet his antagonists do boldly what they would. 

And that they were active he found a way to discover. The Countess fromthis time plied him with kindness. He must play cards with her andPrince Constantine in the evening; he must take his coffee in herprivate apartments in the morning. So upon one of these occasions hespoke of his departure from Ohlau. 

"I shall go by way of Prague;" and he stopped in confusion and correctedhimself quickly. "At least, I am not sure. There are other ways intoItaly. "

The Countess showed no more concern than she had shown over herharp-string. She talked indifferently of other matters as though she hadbarely heard his remark; but she fell into the trap. Wogan was awarethat the Governor of Prague was her kinsman; and that afternoon he leftthe castle alone, and taking the road to Vienna, turned as soon as hewas out of sight and hurried round the town until he came out upon theroad to Prague. He hid himself behind a hedge a mile from Ohlau, and hadnot waited half an hour before a man came riding by in hot haste. Theman wore the Countess's livery of green and scarlet; Wogan decided notto travel by way of Prague, and returned to the castle content with hisafternoon's work. He had indeed more reason to be content with it thanhe knew, for he happened to have remarked the servant's face as well ashis livery, and so at a later time was able to recognise it again. Hehad no longer any doubt that a servant in the same livery was well uponhis way to Vienna. The roads were bad, it was true, and the journeylong; but Wogan had not the Prince's consent, and could not tell when hewould obtain it. The servant might return with the Emperor's order forhis arrest before he had obtained it. Wogan was powerless. He sent hislist of names to Gaydon in Schlestadt, but that was the only precautionhe could take. The days passed; Wogan spent them in unavailingpersuasions, and New Year's Day came and found him still at Ohlau and ina great agitation and distress. 

Upon that morning, however, while he was dressing, there came a rap uponhis door, and when he opened it he saw the Prince's treasurer, a foppishgentleman, very dainty in his words. 

"Mr. Warner, " said the treasurer, "his Highness has hinted to me hisdesires; he has moulded them into the shape of a prayer or a request. "

"In a word, he has bidden you, " said Wogan. 

"Fie, sir! There's a barbarous and improper word, an ill-sounding word;upon my honour, a word without dignity or merit and banishable frompolite speech. His Highness did most prettily entreat me with a finegentleness of condescension befitting a Sunday or a New Year's Day tobring and present and communicate from hand to hand a gift, --a mostincomparable proper gift, the mirror and image of his most incomparableproper friendship. "

Wogan bowed, and requested the treasurer to enter and be seated thewhile he recovered his breath. 

"Nay, Mr. Warner, I must be concise, puritanical, and unadorned in mylanguage as any raw-head or bloody-bones. The cruel, irrevocable momentspass. I could consume an hour, sir, before I touched as I may say thehem of the reason of my coming. "

"Sir, I do not doubt it, " said Wogan. 

"But I will not hinder you from forthwith immediately and at onceincorporating with your most particular and inestimable treasures thisjewel, this turquoise of heaven's own charming blue, encased anddecorated with gold. "

The treasurer drew the turquoise from his pocket. It was of the size ofan egg. He placed it in Wogan's hand, who gently returned it. 

"I cannot take it, " said he. 

"Gemini!" cried the treasurer. "But it is more than a turquoise, Mr. Warner. Jewellers have delved in it. It has become subservient to man'snecessities. It is a snuff-box. "

"I cannot take it. "

"King John of Poland, he whom the vulgar call Glorious John, did rescueand enlarge it from its slavery to the Grand Vizier of Turkey at thegreat battle of Vienna. There is no other in the world--"

Wogan cut the treasurer short. 

"You will take it again to his Highness. You will express to him mygratitude for his kindness, and you will say furthermore these words:'Mr. Warner cannot carry back into Italy a present for himself and arefusal for his Prince. '"

Wogan spoke with so much dignity that the treasurer had no words toanswer him. He stood utterly bewildered; he stared at the jewel. 

"Here is a quandary!" he exclaimed. "I do declare every circumstance ofme trembles, " and shaking his head he went away. But in a little he cameagain. 

"His Highness distinguishes you, Mr. Warner, with imperishable honours. His Highness solicits your company to a solitary dinner. You shall dinewith him alone. His presence and unfettered conversation shall seasonyour soup and be the condiments of your meat. "

Wogan's heart jumped. There could be only one reason for so unusual aninvitation on such a day, and he was not mistaken; for as soon as thePrince was served in a little room, he dismissed the lackeys andpresented again the turquoise snuff-box with his own hands. 

"See, Mr. Wogan, your persuasions and your conduct have gained me over, "said he. "Your refusal of this bagatelle assures me of your honour. Itrust myself entirely to your discretion; I confide my beloved daughterto your care. Take from my hands the gift you refused this morning, andbe assured that no prince ever gave to any man such full powers as Iwill give to you to-night. "

Wogan's gratitude wellnigh overcame him. The thing that he had workedfor and almost despaired of had come to pass. For a while he could notspeak; he flung himself upon his knees and kissed the Prince's hand. That very night he received the letter giving him full powers, and thenext morning he drove off in a carriage of his Highness drawn by sixPolish horses towards the town of Strahlen on the road to Prague. AtStrahlen he stayed a day, feigning a malady, and sent the carriage back. The following day, however, he took horse, and riding along by-roads andlanes avoided Prague and hurried towards Schlestadt. 

He rode watchfully, avoiding towns, and with an eye alert for everypasser-by. That he was ahead of any courier from the Emperor at Viennahe did not doubt, but, on the other hand, the Countess of Berg and LadyFeatherstone had the advantage of him by some four days. There would beno lack of money to hinder him; there would be no scruple as to themeans. Wogan remembered the moment in his bedroom when he had seen thedagger bright in the moon's rays. If he could not be arrested, therewere other ways to stop him. Accidents may happen to any man. 

However, he rode unhindered with the Prince's commission safe againsthis breast. He felt the paper a hundred times a day to make sure that itwas not stolen nor lost, nor reduced to powder by a miracle. Day by dayhis fears diminished, since day by day he drew a day's journey nearer toSchlestadt. The paper became a talisman in his thoughts, --a thingendowed with magic properties to make him invisible like the cloak orcap of the fairy tales. Those few lines in writing not a week back hadseemed an unattainable prize, yet he had them; and so now they promisedhim that other unattainable thing, the enlargement of the Princess. Itwas in his nature, too, to grow buoyant in proportion to thedifficulties of his task. He rode forward, therefore, with a good heart, and one sombre evening of rain came to a village some miles beyondAugsburg. 

The village was a straggling half-mile of low cottages, lost as it wereon the level of a wide plain. Across this plain, bare but for a fewlines of poplars and stunted willow-trees, Wogan had ridden all theafternoon; and so little did the thatched cottages break the monotony ofthe plain's appearance, that though he had had the village within hisvision all that while, he came upon it unawares. The dusk was gathering, and already through the tiny windows the meagre lights gleamed upon theroad and gave to the falling raindrops the look of steel beads. Fourdays would now bring Wogan to Schlestadt. The road was bad and full ofholes. He determined to go no farther that night if he could find alodging in the village, and coming upon a man who stood in his path hestopped his horse. 

"Is there an inn where a traveller may sleep?" he asked. 

"Assuredly, " replied the man, "and find forage for his horse. The lasthouse--but I will myself show your Honour the way. "

"There is no need, my friend, that you should take a colic, " said Wogan. 

"I shall earn enough drink to correct the colic, " said the man. He had asack over his head and shoulders to protect him from the rain, andstepped out in front of Wogan's horse. They came to the end of thestreet and passed on into the open darkness. About twenty yards farthera house stood by itself at the roadside, but there were only lights inone or two of the upper windows, and it held out no promise ofhospitality. In front of it, however, the man stopped; he opened thedoor and halloaed into the passage. Wogan stopped too, and above hishead something creaked and groaned like a gibbet in the wind. He lookedup and saw a sign-board glimmering in the dusk with a new coat of whitepaint. He had undoubtedly come to the inn, and he dismounted. 

The landlord advanced at that moment to the door. 

"My man, " said he, "will take your horse to the stable;" and the fellowwho had guided Wogan led the horse off. 

"Oh, is he your man?" said Wogan. "Ah!" And he followed the landlordinto the house. 

It was not only the sign-board which had been newly painted, for in thenarrow passage the landlord stopped Wogan. 

"Have a care, sir, " said he; "the walls are wet. It will be best if youstand still while I go forward and bring a light. "

He went forward in the dark and opened a door at the end of the passage. A glow of ruddy light came through the doorway, and Wogan caught aglimpse of a brick-floored kitchen and a great open chimney and one ortwo men on a bench before the fire. Then the door was again closed. Theclosing of the door seemed to Wogan a churlish act. 

"The hospitality, " said he to himself, "which plants a man in the roadso that a traveller on a rainy night may not miss his bed should atleast leave the kitchen door open. Why should I stay here in the dark?"

Wogan went forward, and from the careful way in which he walked, --a wayso careful and stealthy indeed that his footsteps made no sound, --itmight have been inferred that he believed the floor to be newly paintedtoo. He had, at all events, no such scruples about the kitchen door, forhe seized the handle and flung it open quickly. He was met at once by acold draught of wind. A door opposite and giving onto a yard at the backhad been opened at precisely the same moment; and as Wogan steppedquickly in at his door a man stepped quickly out by the door oppositeand was lost in the darkness. 

"What! Are you going?" the landlord cried after him as he turned fromthe fire at which he was lighting a candle. 

"Wilhelm has a wife and needs must, " at once said a woman who wasreaching down some plates from a dresser. 

The landlord turned towards the passage and saw Wogan in the doorway. 

"You found your way, sir, " said he, looking at Wogan anxiously. 

"Nor are your walls any poorer of paint on that account, " said Wogan ashe took his wet cloak and flung it over a chair. 

The landlord blew out his candle and busied himself about laying thetable. A great iron pot swung over the fire by a chain, and the liddanced on the top and allowed a savoury odour to escape. Wogan sathimself down before the fire and his clothes began to steam. 

"You laugh at my paint, sir, " said the landlord. He was a fat, good-humoured-looking man, communicative in his manner as a Bonifaceshould be, and his wife was his very complement. "You laugh at mypaint, but it is, after all, a very important thing. What is a greatlady without her rouge-pot, when you come to think of it? It is the samewith an inn. It must wear paint if it is to attract attention and make aprofit. "

"There is philosophy in the comparison, " said Wogan. 

"Sir, an innkeeper cannot fail of philosophy if he has his eyes and aspark of intelligence. The man who took refuge in a tub because thefollies of his fellows so angered him was the greatest fool of them all. He should have kept an inn on the road to Athens, for then the follieswould have put money into his pocket and made him laugh instead ofgrowl. "

His wife came over to the fireplace and lifted the lid of the pot. 

"The supper is ready, " said she. 

"And perhaps, sir, while you are eating it you can think of a name formy inn. "

"Why, it has a sign-board already, " said Wogan, "and a name, too, Isuppose. "

"It has a sign-board, but without a device, " said the landlord, andwhile Wogan drew a chair to the table he explained his predicament. 

"There is another inn five miles along the road, and travellers preferto make their halt there. They will not stop here. My father, sir, setit all down to paint. It was his dream, sir, to paint the house fromfloor to ceiling; his last words bade me pinch and save until I couldpaint. Well, here is the house painted, and I am anxious for a newdevice and name which shall obliterate the memory of the other. 'TheBlack Eagle' is its old name. Ask any traveller familiar with the roadbetween Augsburg and Schlestadt, and he will counsel you to avoid 'TheBlack Eagle. ' You are travelling to Schlestadt, perhaps. "

Wogan had started ever so slightly. 

"To Strasbourg, " he said, and thereafter ate his supper in silence, taking count with himself. "My friend, " so his thoughts ran, "the sooneryou reach Schlestadt the better. Here are you bleating like a sheep at amere chance mention of your destination. You have lived too close withthis fine scheme of yours. You need your friends. "

Wogan began to be conscious of an unfamiliar sense of loneliness. Itgrew upon him that evening while he sat at the table; it accompanied himup the stairs to bed. Other men of his age were now seated comfortablyby their own hearths, while he was hurrying about Europe, a vagabondadventurer, risking his life for--and at once the reason why he wasrisking his life rose up to convict him a grumbler. 

The landlord led him into a room in the front of the house which held agreat canopied bed and little other furniture. There was not even acurtain to the window. Wogan raised his candle and surveyed the dingywalls. 

"You have not spent much of your new paint on your guest-room, myfriend. "

"Sir, you have not marked the door, " said his host, reproachfully. 

"True, " said Wogan, with a yawn; "the door is admirably white. "

"The frame of the door does not suffer in a comparison. " The landlordraised and lowered his candle that Wogan might see. 

"I do not wish to be unjust to the frame of the door, " said Wogan, andhe drew off his boots. The landlord bade his guest good-night anddescended the stairs. 

Wogan, being a campaigner, was methodical even though lost inreflection. He was reflecting now why in the world he should lately havebecome sensible of loneliness; but at the same time he put the Prince'sletter beneath his pillow and a sheathed hunting-knife beside theletter. He had always been lonely, and the fact had never troubled him;he placed a chair on the left of the bed and his candle on the chair. Besides, he was not really lonely, having a host of friends whom he hadmerely to seek out; he took the charges from his pistol lest they shouldbe damp, and renewed them and placed the pistols by the candle. He hadeven begun to pity himself for his loneliness, and pity of that sort, herecognised, was a discreditable quality; the matter was altogether verydisquieting. He propped his sword against the chair and undressed. Wogancast back in his memories for the first sensations of loneliness. Theywere recent, since he had left Ohlau, indeed. He opened the window; therain splashed in on the sill, pattered in the street puddles below, andfell across the country with a continuous roar as though the level plainwas a stretched drum. No; he had only felt lonely since he had come nearto Schlestadt, since, in a word, he had deemed himself to haveoutstripped pursuit. He got into his bed and blew out the candle. 

For a moment the room was black as pitch, then on his left side thedarkness thinned at one point and a barred square of grey becamevisible; the square of grey was the window. Wogan understood that hisloneliness came upon him with the respite from his difficulties, andconcluded that, after all, it was as well that he had not a comfortablefireside whereby to sun himself. He turned over on his right side andsaw the white door and its white frame. The rain made a dreary soundoutside the window, but in three days he would be at Schlestadt. Besideshe fell asleep. 

And in a little he dreamed. He dreamed that he was swinging on a gibbetbefore the whole populace of Innspruck, that he died to his bewildermentwithout any pain whatever, but that pain came to him after he was quitedead, --not bodily pain at all, but an anguish of mind because the chainsby which he was hanged would groan and creak, and the populace, mistaking that groaning for his cries, scoffed at him and ridiculed hisKing for sending to rescue the Princess Clementina a marrowless thingthat could not die like a man. Wogan stirred in his sleep and waked up. The rain had ceased, and a light wind blew across the country. Outsidethe sign-board creaked and groaned upon its stanchion. Once he becameaware of that sound he could no longer sleep for listening to it; and atlast he sprang out of bed, and leaning out of the window lifted thesign-board off the stanchion and into his bedroom. 

It was a plain white board without any device on it. "True, " thoughtWogan, "the man wants a new name for his inn. " He propped the boardagainst the left side of his bed, since that was nearest to the window, got between the sheets, and began to think over names. He turned on hisright side and fell asleep again. 

He was not to sleep restfully that night. He waked again, but veryslowly, and without any movement of his body. He lay with his facetowards the door, dreamily considering that the landlord, for all hispride in his new paint, had employed a bad workman who had left a blackstrip of the door unpainted, --a fairly wide strip, too, which his hostshould never have overlooked. 

Wogan was lazily determining to speak to the landlord about it when hishalf-awakened mind was diverted by a curious phenomenon, a delusion ofthe eyes such as he had known to have befallen him before when he hadstared for a long while on any particular object: the strip of blackwidened and widened. Wogan waited for it to contract, as it would besure to do. But it did not contract, and--so Wogan waked up completely. 

He waked up with a shock of the heart, with all his senses startled andstrained. But he had been gradually waking before, and so by neithermovement nor cry did he betray that he was awake. He had not locked thedoor of his room; that widening strip of black ran vertically down fromthe lintel to the ground and between the white door and the white doorframe. The door was being cautiously pushed open; the strip of black wasthe darkness of the passage coming through. 

Wogan slid his hand beneath his pillow, and drew the knife from itssheath as silently as the door opened. The strip of black ceased towiden, there was a slight scuffling sound upon the floor which Wogan wasat no loss to understand. It was the sound of a man crawling into theroom upon his hands and knees. 

Wogan lay on his side and felt grateful to his host, --an admirableman, --for he had painted his door white, and now he crawled through iton his hands and knees. No doubt he would crawl to the side of the bed;he did. To feel, no doubt, for Mr. Wogan's coat and breeches and anylittle letter which might be hiding in the pockets. But here Wogan waswrong. For he saw a dark thing suddenly on the counterpane at the edgeof the bed. The dark thing travelled upwards very softly; it had fourfingers and a thumb. It was, no doubt, travelling towards the pillow, and as soon as it got there--but Wogan watching that hand beneath hisdosed eyelids had again to admit that he was wrong. It did not traveltowards the pillow; to his astonishment it stole across towards him, ittouched his chest very gently, and then he understood. The hand wascreeping upwards towards his throat. 

Meanwhile Wogan had seen no face, though the face must be just below thelevel of the bed. He only saw the hand and the arm behind it. He movedas if in his sleep, and the hand disappeared. As if in his sleep, heflung out his left arm and felt for the sign-board standing beside hisbed. The bed was soft. Wogan wanted something hard, and it had occurredto him that the sign-board would very well serve his turn. An idea, too, which seemed to him diverting, had presented itself to his mind. 

With a loud sigh and a noisy movement such as a man halfway betweenwakefulness and sleep may make he flung himself over onto his left side. At the same moment he lifted the white sign-board onto the bed. Itseemed that he could not rest on his left side, for he flung over againto his right and pulled the bedclothes over as he turned. The sign-boardnow lay flat upon the bed, but on the right side between himself and theman upon the floor. His mouth uttered a little murmur of contentment, hedrew down the hand beneath the pillow, and in a second was breathingregularly and peacefully. 

[Illustration: "WITH HIS RIGHT ARM HE DROVE HIS HUNTING KNIFE DOWN INTOTHE BACK OF THE HAND. "--_Page 69_. ]

The hand crept onto the bed again and upwards, and suddenly lay spreadout upon the board and quite still. Just for a second the owner of thathand had been surprised and paralysed by the unexpected. It was onlythat second which Wogan needed. He sat up, and with his right arm hedrove his hunting knife down into the back of the hand and pinned itfast to the board; with his left he felt for, found, and gripped a mouthalready open to cry out. He dropped his hunting knife, caught theintruder round the waist, lifted him onto the bed, and setting a kneeupon his chest gagged him with an end of the sheet. The man foughtwildly with his free hand, beating the air. Wogan knelt upon that armwith his other knee. 

Wogan needed a rope, but since he had none he used the sheets and boundhis prisoner to the bed. Then he got up and went to the door. The housewas quite silent, quite dark. Wogan shut the door gently--there was nokey in the lock--and bending over the bed looked into the face of hisassailant. The face was twisted with pain, the whites of the eyes glaredhorribly, but Wogan could see that the man was his landlord. 

He stood up and thought. There was another man who had met him in thevillage and had guided him to the inn; there was still a third who hadgone out of the kitchen as Wogan had entered it; there was the wife, too, who might be awake. 

Wogan crossed to the window and looked out. The window was perhapstwenty feet from the ground, but the stanchion was three feet below thewindow. He quickly put on his clothes, slipped the letter from under hispillow into a pocket, strapped his saddle-bag and lowered it from thewindow by a blanket. He had already one leg on the sill when aconvulsive movement of the man on the bed made him stop. He climbed backinto the room, drew the knife out of the board and out of the handpinned to the board, and making a bandage wrapped the wound up. 

"You must lie there till morning, my friend, " Wogan whispered in hisear, "but here's a thing to console you. I have found a name for yourinn; I have painted the device upon your sign-board. The 'Inn of theFive Red Fingers. ' There's never a passer-by but will stop to inquirethe reason of so conspicuous a sign;" and Wogan climbed out of thewindow, lowered himself till he hung at the full length of his arms fromthe stanchion, and dropped on the ground. He picked up his saddle-bagand crept round the house to the stable. The door needed only a push toopen it. In the hay-loft above he heard a man snoring. Mr. Wogan did notthink it worth while to disturb him. He saddled his horse, walked it outinto the yard, mounted, and rode quietly away. 

He had escaped, but without much credit to himself. 

"There was no key in the door, " he thought. "I should have noticed it. Misset, the man of resources, would have tilted a chair backwardsagainst that door with its top bar wedged beneath the door handle. "Certainly Wogan needed Misset if he was to succeed in his endeavour. Hewas sunk in humiliation; his very promise to rescue the Princess shrankfrom its grandeur and became a mere piece of impertinence. But he stillhad his letter in his pocket, and in time that served to enhearten him. Only two more days, he thought. On the third night he would sleep inSchlestadt. 

CHAPTER VI

The next afternoon Wogan came to the town of Ulm. 

"Gaydon, " he said to himself as he watched its towers and the smokecurling upwards from its chimneys, "would go no further to-day with thisletter in his pocket. Gaydon--the cautious Gaydon--would sleep in thistown and in its most populous quarter. Gaydon would put up at thebusiest inn. Charles Wogan will follow Gaydon's example. "

Wogan rode slowly through the narrow streets of gabled houses until hecame to the market square. The square was frequented; its great fountainwas playing; citizens were taking the air with their wives and children;the chief highway of the town ran through it; on one side stood thefrescoed Rathhaus, and opposite to it there was a spacious inn. Wogandrew up at the doorway and saw that the hall was encumbered withbaggage. "Gaydon would stop here, " said he, and he dismounted. Theporter came forward and took his horse. 

"I need a room, " said Wogan, and he entered the house. There were peoplegoing up and down the stairs. While he was unstrapping his valise in hisbedroom, a servant with an apron about his waist knocked at the doorand inquired whether he could help him. 

"No, " said Wogan; and he thought with more confidence than ever, "here, to be sure, is where Gaydon would sleep. "

He supped at the ordinary in the company of linen merchants andtravellers, and quite recovered his spirits. He smoked a pipe of tobaccoon a bench under the trees of the square, and giving an order that heshould be called at five went up to his bedroom. 

There was a key in the lock of the door, which Wogan turned; he alsotilted a chair and wedged the handle. He opened the window and lookedout. His room was on the first floor and not very high from the ground. A man might possibly climb through the window. Gaydon would assuredlyclose the shutters and the window, so that no one could force anentrance without noise. Wogan accordingly did what Gaydon wouldassuredly have done, and when he blew out his candle found himself inconsequence in utter darkness. No glimmer of light was anywhere visible. He had his habits like another, and one of them was to sleep withoutblinds or curtains drawn. His present deflection from this habit madehim restless; he was tired, he wished above all things to sleep, butsleep would not come. He turned from one side to the other, he punchedhis pillows, he tried to sleep with his head low, and when that failedwith his head high. 

He resigned himself in the end to a sleepless night, and lying in hisbed drew some comfort from the sound of voices and the tread of feet inthe passages and the rooms about him. These, at all events, werecompanionable, and they assured him of safety. But in a while theyceased, and he was left in a silence as absolute as the darkness. Heendured this silence for perhaps half an hour, and then all manner ofinfinitesimal sounds began to stir about him. The lightest of footstepsmoved about his bed, faint sighs breathed from very close at hand, evenhis name was softly whispered. He sat suddenly up in his bed, and atonce all these sounds became explained to him. They came from the streetand the square outside the window. So long as he sat up they wereremote, but the moment he lay down again they peopled the room. 

"Sure, " said Wogan, "here is a lesson for architects. Build no shuttersto a house when the man that has to live in it has a spark ofimagination, else will he go stark raving mad before the mortar's dry. Window shutters are window shutters, but they are the doors of Bedlam aswell. Now Gaydon should have slept in this room. Gaydon's a great man. Gaydon has a great deal of observation and common sense, and was neverplagued with a flim-flam of fancies. To be sure, I need Gaydon, butsince I have not Gaydon, I'll light a candle. "

With that Wogan got out of bed. He had made himself so secure with hiskey and his tilted chair and his shutters that he had not thought ofplacing his candle by his bedside. It stood by his looking-glass on thetable. Now the room was so pitch dark that Wogan could do no more thanguess at the position even of the window. The table, he remembered, wasnot far from the door, and the door was at some distance from his bed, and in the wall on his right. He moved forward in the darkness with hishands in front of him, groping for the table. The room was large; in alittle his hands touched something, and that something was a pillar ofthe bed. He had missed his way in his bedroom. Wogan laughed to himselfand started off again; and the next thing which his outstretched handstouched was a doorknob. The table should now be a little way to hisleft. He was just turning away in that direction, when it occurred tohim that he ought to have felt the rim of the top bar of his tiltedchair underneath the door-handle. He stooped down and felt for thechair; there was no chair, and he stood very still. 

The fears bred of imagination had now left him; he was restored by theshock of an actual danger. He leaned forward quietly and felt if the keywas still in the lock. But there was no lock to this door. Wogan feltthe surface of the door; it was of paper. It was plainly the door of acupboard in the wall, papered after the same pattern as the wall, whichby the flickering light of his single candle he had overlooked. 

He opened the door and stretched out his arms into the cupboard. Hetouched something that moved beneath his hand, a stiff, short crop ofhair, the hair of a man's head. He drew his arm away as though an adderhad stung it; he did not utter a cry or make a movement. He stood for amoment paralysed, and during that moment a strong hand caught him by thethroat. 

Wogan was borne backwards, his assailant sprang at him from thecupboard, he staggered under the unexpected vigour of the attack, heclutched his enemy, and the two men came to the ground with a crash. Even as he fell Wogan thought, "Gaydon would never have overlooked thatcupboard. "

It was the only reflection, however, for which he could afford time. Hewas undermost, and the hand at his throat had the grip of a steel glove. He fought with blows from his fists and his bent knees; he twisted hislegs about the legs of his enemy; he writhed his body if so he mightdislodge him; he grappled wildly for his throat. But all the time hisstrength grew less; he felt that his temples were swelling, and itseemed to him that his eyes must burst. The darkness of the room wasspotted with sparks of fire; the air was filled with a continuous roarlike a million chariots in a street. He saw the face of his chosenwoman, most reproachful and yet kind, gazing at him from behind the barswhich now would never be broken, and then there came a loud banging atthe door. The summons surprised them both, so hotly had they beenengaged, so unaware were they of the noise which their fall had made. 

Wogan felt his assailant's hand relax and heard him say in a low muffledvoice, "It is nothing. Go to bed! I fell over a chair in the dark. "

That momentary relaxation was, he knew, his last chance. He gathered hisstrength in a supreme effort, lurched over onto his left side, andgetting his right arm free swung it with all his strength in thedirection of the voice. His clenched fist caught his opponent full underthe point of the chin, and the hand at Wogan's throat clutched once andfell away limp as an empty glove. Wogan sat up on the floor and drew hisbreath. That, after all, was more than his antagonist was doing. Theknocking at the door continued; Wogan could not answer it, he had notthe strength. His limbs were shaking, the sweat clotted his hair anddripped from his face. But his opponent was quieter still. At last hemanaged to gather his legs beneath him, to kneel up, to stand shakilyupon his feet. He could no longer mistake the position of the door; hetottered across to it, removed the chair, and opened it. 

The landlord with a couple of servants stepped back as Wogan showedhimself to the light of their candles. Wogan heard their exclamations, though he did not clearly understand them, for his ears still buzzed. Hesaw their startled faces, but only dimly, for he was dazzled by thelight. He came back into the room, and pointing to his assailant, --asturdy, broad man, who now sat up opening and shutting his eyes in adazed way, --"Who is that?" he asked, gasping rather than speaking thewords. 

"Who is that?" repeated the landlord, staring at Wogan. 

"Who is that?" said Wogan, leaning against the bed-post. 

"Why, sir, your servant. Who should he be?"

Wogan was silent for a little, considering as well as his rambling witsallowed this new development. 

"Ah!" said Wogan, "he came here with me?" "Yes, since he is yourservant. "

The landlord was evidently mystified; he was no less evidently speakingwith sincerity. Wogan reflected that to proffer a charge against theassailant would involve his own detention in Ulm. 

"To be sure, " said he, "I know. This is my servant. That is preciselywhat I mean. " His wits were at work to find a way out of his difficulty. "This is my servant? What then?" he asked fiercely. 

"But I don't understand, " said the landlord. 

"You don't understand!" cried Wogan. "Was there ever such a landlord? Hedoes not understand. This is my servant, I tell you. "

"Yes, sir, but--but--"

"Well?"

"We were roused--there was a noise--a noise of men fighting. "

"There would have been no noise, " said Wogan, triumphantly, "if you hadprepared a bed for my servant. He would not have crept into my cupboardto sleep off his drunkenness. "

"But, sir, there was a bed. "

"You should have seen that he was carried to it. As it is, here have Ibeen driven to beat him and to lose my night's rest in consequence. Itis not fitting. I do not think that your inn is well managed. "

Wogan expressed his indignation with so majestic an air that thelandlord was soon apologising for having disturbed a gentleman in theproper exercise of belabouring his valet. 

"We will carry the fellow away, " said he. 

"You will do nothing of the kind, " said Wogan. "He shall get back intohis cupboard and there he shall remain till daybreak. Come, get up!"

Wogan's self-appointed valet got to his feet. There was no possibilityof an escape for him since there were three men between him and thedoor. On the other hand, obedience to Wogan might save him from a chargeof attempted theft. 

"In with you, " said Wogan, and the man obeyed. His head no doubt wasstill spinning from the blow, and he had the stupid look of one dazed. 

"There is no lock to the door, " said the landlord. 

"There is no need of a lock, " said Wogan, "so long as one has a chair. The fellow will do very well till the morning. But I will take yourthree candles, for it is not likely that I shall sleep. "

Wogan smoked his pipe all the rest of the night, reclining on a coupleof chairs in front of the cupboard. In the morning he made his valetwalk three miles by his horse's side. The man dared not disobey, andwhen Wogan finally let him go he was so far from the town that, had heconfederates there, he could do no harm. 

Wogan continued his journey. Towns, it was proved, were no safer to himthan villages. He began to wonder how it was that no traps had been laidfor him on the earlier stages of his journey, and he suddenly hit uponthe explanation. "It was that night, " said he to himself, "when thePrince sat by the Countess with the list of my friends in his hands. Thenames were all erased but three, and against those three was that othername of Schlestadt. No doubt the Countess while she bent over herharp-strings took a look at that list. I must run the gauntlet intoSchlestadt. "

Towards evening he came to Stuttgart and rode through the Schloss Platzand along the Königstrasse. Wogan would not sleep there, since there theDuke of Würtemberg held his court, and in that court the Countess ofBerg was very likely to have friends. He rode onwards through the valleyalong the banks of the Nesen brook until he came to its junction withthe Neckar. 

A mile farther a wooden mill stood upon the river-bank, beyond the millwas a tavern, and beyond the tavern stood a few cottages. At somedistance from the cottages along the road, Wogan could see a high brickwall, and over the top the chimneys and the slate roof of a large house. Wogan stopped at the tavern. It promised no particular comfort, it was asmall dilapidated house; but it had the advantage that it was free fromnew paint. It seemed to Wogan, however, wellnigh useless to takeprecautions in the choice of a lodging; danger leaped at him from everyquarter. For this last night he must trust to his luck; and besidesthere was the splash of the water falling over the mill-dam. It wasalways something to Wogan to fall asleep with that sound in his ears. Hedismounted accordingly, and having ordered his supper asked for a room. 

"You will sleep here?" exclaimed his host. 

"I will at all events lie in bed, " returned Wogan. 

The innkeeper took a lamp and led the way up a narrow winding stair. 

"Have a care, sir, " said he; "the stairs are steep. "

"I prefer them steep. "

"I am afraid that I keep the light from you, but there is no room fortwo to walk abreast. "

"It is an advantage. I do not like to be jostled on the stairs. "

The landlord threw open a door at the top of the stairs. 

"The room is a garret, " he said in apology. 

"So long as it has no cupboards it will serve my turn. "

"Ah! you do not like cupboards. "

"They fill a poor man with envy of those who have clothes to hang inthem. "

Wogan ascertained that there were no cupboards. There was a key, too, inthe lock, and a chest of drawers which could be moved very suitably infront of the door. 

"It is a good garret, " said Wogan, laying down his bag upon a chair. 

"The window is small, " continued the landlord. 

"One will be less likely to fall out, " said Wogan. One would also, hethought, be less likely to climb in. He looked out of the window. It wasa good height from the ground; there was no stanchion or projection inthe wall, and it seemed impossible that a man could get his shouldersthrough the opening. Wogan opened the window to try it, and the sound ofsomeone running came to his ears. 

"Oho!" said he, but he said it to himself, "here's a man in a mightyhurry. "

A mist was rising from the ground; the evening, too, was dark. Wogancould see no one in the road below, but he heard the footstepsdiminishing into a faint patter. Then they ceased altogether. The manwho ran was running in the direction of Stuttgart. 

"Yes, your garret will do, " said Wogan, in quite a different voice. Hehad begun to think that this night he would sleep, and he realised nowthat he must not. The man might be running on his own business, but thiswas the last night before Wogan would reach his friends. Stuttgart wasonly three miles away. He could take no risks, and so he must stayawake with his sword upon his knees. Had his horse been able to carryhim farther, he would have ridden on, but the horse was even more wearythan its master. Besides, the narrow staircase made his room anexcellent place to defend. 

"Get my supper, " said he, "for I am very tired. "

"Will your Excellency sup here?" asked the landlord. 

"By no manner of means, " returned Wogan, who had it in his mind to spyout the land. "I detest nothing so much as my own company. "

He went downstairs into the common room and supped off a smoked ham anda bottle of execrable wine. While he ate a man came in and sat him downby the fire. The man had a hot, flushed face, and when he saluted Woganhe could hardly speak. 

"You have been running, " said Wogan, politely. 

"Sir, running is a poor man's overcoat for a chilly evening; besides ithelps me to pay with patience the price of wine for vinegar;" and thefellow called the landlord. 

Presently two other men entered, and taking a seat by the fire chattedtogether as though much absorbed in their private business. These twomen wore swords. 

"You have a good trade, " said Wogan to the landlord. 

"The mill brings me custom. "

The door opened as the landlord spoke, and a big loud-voiced mancheerily wished the company good evening. The two companions at the firepaid no heed to the civility; the third, who had now quite recovered hisbreath, replied to it. Wogan pushed his plate away and called for apipe. He thought it might perhaps prove well worth his while to studyhis landlord's clients before he retired up those narrow stairs. Thefour men gave no sign of any common agreement, nor were they at allcurious as to Wogan. If they spoke at all, they spoke as strangersspeak. But while Wogan was smoking his first pipe a fifth man entered, and he just gave one quick glance at Wogan. Wogan behind a cloud oftobacco-smoke saw the movement of the head and detected the look. Itmight signify nothing but curiosity, of course, but Wogan felt glad thatthe stairs were narrow. He finished his pipe and was knocking out theashes when it occurred to him that he had seen that fifth man before;and Wogan looked at him more carefully, and though the fellow wasdisguised by the growth of a beard he recognised him. It was the servantwhom Wogan had seen one day in the Countess of Berg's livery of greenand red galloping along the road to Prague. 

"I know enough now, " thought Wogan. "I can go to bed. The staircase is apretty place with which we shall all be more familiar in an hour ortwo. " He laughed quietly to himself with a little thrill of enjoyment. His fatigue had vanished. He was on the point of getting up from thetable when the two men by the fire looked round towards the last comerand made room for him upon their settle. But he said, "I find the roomhot, and will stay by the door. "

Wogan changed his mind at the words; he did not get up. On the contrary, he filled his pipe a second time very thoughtfully. He had stayed toolong in the room, it seemed; the little staircase was, after all, likelyto prove of no service. He did not betray himself by any start orexclamation, he did not even look up, but bending his head over his pipehe thought over the disposition of the room. The fireplace was on hisright; the door was opposite to him; the window in the wall at his left. The window was high from the ground and at some distance. On the otherhand, he had certain advantages. He was in a corner, he had the five menin front of him, and between them and himself stood a solid table. Aloaded pistol was in his belt, his sword hung at his side, and hishunting knife at his waist. Still the aspect of affairs was changed. 

"Five men, " thought he, "upon a narrow staircase are merely one man whohas to be killed five times, but five men in a room are fivesimultaneous assailants. I need O'Toole here, I need O'Toole's six feetfour and the length of his arm and the weight of him--these things Ineed--but are there five or only four?" And he was at once aware thatthe two men at the fire had ceased to talk of their business. No one, indeed, was speaking at all, and no one so much as shuffled a foot. Wogan raised his head and proceeded to light his pipe; and he saw thatall the five men were silently watching him, and it seemed to him thatthose five pairs of eyes were unnaturally bright. 

However, he appeared to be entirely concerned with his pipe, which, however hard he puffed at it, would not draw. No doubt the tobacco waspacked too tight in the bowl. He loosened it, and when he had loosenedit the pipe had gone out. He fumbled in his pocket and discovered in thebreast of his coat a letter. This letter he glanced through to make surethat it was of no importance, and having informed himself upon the pointhe folded it into a long spill and walked over to the hearth. 

The five pairs of eyes followed his movements. He, however, had noattention to spare. He bent down, lit his spill in the flame, anddeliberately lighted his pipe. The tobacco rose above the rim of thebowl like a head of ale in a tankard. Wogan, still holding the burningspill in his right hand, pressed down the tobacco with the little fingerof his left, and lighted the pipe again. By this time his spill hadburned down to his fingers. He dropped the end into the fire and walkedback to his seat. The five pairs of eyes again turned as he turned. Hestumbled at a crack in the floor, fell against the table with a clatterof his sword, and rolled noisily into his seat. When he sat down acareful observer might have noticed that his pistol was now at fullcock. 

He had barely seated himself when the polite man, who had come firsthot and short of breath into the room, crossed the floor and leaningover the table said with a smile and the gentlest voice, "I think, sir, you ought to know that we are all very poor men. "

"I, too, " replied Wogan, "am an Irishman. "

The polite man leaned farther across the table; his voice becamewheedling in its suavity. "I think you ought to know that we are allvery poor men. "

"The repetition of the remark, " said Wogan, "argues certainly a povertyof ideas. "

"We wish to become less poor. "

"It is an aspiration which has pushed many men to creditable feats. "

"You can help us. "

"My prayers are at your disposal, " said Wogan. 

"By more than your prayers;" and he added in a tone of apology, "thereare five of us. "

"Then I have a guinea apiece for you, " and Wogan thrust the table alittle away from him to search his pockets. It also gave him more play. 

"We do not want your money. You have a letter which we can coin. "

Wogan smiled. 

"There, sir, you are wrong. "

The polite man waved the statement aside. "A letter from PrinceSobieski, " said he. 

"I had such a letter a minute ago, but I lit my pipe with it under yournose. "

The polite man stepped back; his four companions started to their feet. 

The servant from Ohlau cried out with an oath, "It's a lie. "

Wogan shrugged his shoulders and crossed his legs. 

"Here's a fine world, " said he. "A damned rag of a lackey gives agentleman the lie. "

"You will give me the letter, " said the polite man, coming round thetable. He held his right hand behind his back. 

"You can sweep up the ashes from the hearth, " said Wogan, who made nomovement of any kind. The polite man came close to his side; Wogan lethim come. The polite man stretched out his left hand towards Wogan'spocket. Wogan knocked the hand away, and the man's right arm swungupwards from behind his back with a gleaming pistol in the hand. Woganwas prepared for him; he had crossed his legs to be prepared, and as thearm came round he kicked upwards from the knee. The toe of his heavyboot caught the man upon the point of the elbow. His arm was flung up;the pistol exploded and then dropped onto the floor. That assailant wasfor the time out of action, but at the same moment the lackey camerunning across the floor, his shoulders thrust forward, a knife in hishand. 

Wogan had just time to notice that the lackey's coat was open at hisbreast. He stood up, leaned over the table, caught the lapels one ineach hand as the fellow rushed at him, and lifting the coat up off hisshoulders violently jammed it backwards down his arms as though he wouldstrip him of it. The lackey stood with his arms pinioned at his elbowsfor a second. During that second Wogan drew his hunting knife from hisbelt and drove it with a terrible strength into the man's chest. 

"There's a New Year's gift for your mistress, the Countess of Berg, "cried Wogan; and the lackey swung round with the force of the blow andthen hopped twice in a horrible fashion with his feet together acrossthe room as though returning to his place, and fell upon the floor, where he lay twisting. 

The polite man was nursing his elbow in a corner; there were threeothers left, --the man with the cheery voice, who had no weapon but aknobbed stick, and the companions on the settle. These two had swordsand had drawn them. They leaped over the lackey's body and rushed atWogan one a little in advance of the other. Wogan tilted the heavy tableand flung it over to make a barricade in front of him. It fell with acrash, and the lower rim struck upon the instep of the leader and pinnedhis foot. His companion drew back; he himself uttered a cry and wrenchedat his foot. Wogan with his left hand drew his sword from the scabbard, and with the same movement passed it through his opponent's body. Theman stood swaying, pinned there by his foot and held erect. Then he madeone desperate lunge, fell forward across the barricade, and hung there. Wogan parried the lunge; the sword fell from the man's hand andclattered onto the floor within the barricade. Wogan stamped upon itwith his heel and snapped the blade. He had still two opponents; and asthey advanced again he suddenly sprung onto the edge of the table, gaveone sweeping cut in a circle with his sword, and darted across the room. The two men gave ground; Wogan passed between them. Before they couldstrike at his back he was facing them again. He had no longer hisbarricade, but on the other hand his shoulders were against the door. 

The swordsman crossed blades with him, and at the first pass Woganrealised with dismay that his enemy was a swordsman in knowledge as wellas in the possession of the weapon. He had a fencer's suppleness ofwrist and balance of body; he pressed Wogan hard and without flurry. Theblade of his sword made glittering rings about Wogan's, and the pointstruck at his breast like an adder. 

Wogan was engaged with his equal if not with his better. He was fightingfor his life with one man, and he would have to fight for it with two, nay, with three. For over his opponent's shoulder he saw his firstpolite antagonist cross to the table and pick up from the ground thebroken sword. One small consolation Wogan had; the fellow picked it upwith his left hand, his right elbow was still useless. But even thatconsolation lasted him for no long time, for out of the tail of his eyehe could see the big fellow creeping up with his stick raised along thewall at his right. 

Wogan suddenly pressed upon his opponent, delivering thrust upon thrust, and forced him to give ground. As the swordsman drew back, Wogan swepthis weapon round and slashed at the man upon his right. But the strokewas wide of its mark, and the big man struck at the sword with hisstick, struck with all his might, so that Wogan's arm tingled from thewrist to the shoulder. That, however, was the least part of the damagethe stick did. It broke Wogan's sword short off at the hilt. 

Both men gave a cry of delight. Wogan dropped the hilt. 

"I have a loaded pistol, my friends; you have forgotten that, " he cried, and plucked the pistol from his belt. At the same moment he felt behindhim with his left hand for the knob of the door. He fired at theswordsman and his pistol missed, he flung it at the man with the stick, and as he flung it he sprang to the right, threw open the door, dartedinto the passage, and slammed the door to. 

It was the work of a second. The men sprang at him as he opened thedoor; as he slammed it close a sword-point pierced the thin panel andbit like a searing iron into his shoulder. Wogan uttered a cry; he heardan answering shout in the room, he clung to the handle, setting his footagainst the wall, and was then stabbed in the back. For his host waswaiting for him in the passage. 

Wogan dropped the door-handle and turned. That last blow had thrown himinto a violent rage. Possessed by rage, he was no longer conscious ofwounds or danger; he was conscious only of superhuman strength. Theknife was already lifted to strike again. Wogan seized the wrist whichheld the knife, grappled with the innkeeper, and caught him about thebody. The door of the room, now behind him, was flung violently open. Wogan, who was wrought to a frenzy, lifted up the man he wrestled with, and swinging round hurled him headlong through the doorway. The threemen were already on the threshold. The new missile bounded against them, tumbled them one against the other, and knocked them sprawling andstruggling on the floor. 

Wogan burst into a laugh of exultation; he saw his most dangerous enemystriving to disentangle himself and his sword. 

"Aha, my friend, " he cried, "you handle a sword very prettily, but I amthe better man at cock-shies. " And shutting the door to be ran down thepassage into the road. 

He had seen a house that afternoon with a high garden wall about it aquarter of a mile away. Wogan ran towards it. The mist was still thick, but he now began to feel his strength failing. He was wounded in theshoulder, he was stabbed in the back, and from both wounds the blood wasflowing warm. Moreover, he looked backwards once over his shoulder andsaw a lantern dancing in the road. He kept doggedly running, though hispace slackened; he heard a shout and an answering shout behind him. Hestumbled onto his knees, picked himself up, and staggered on, labouringhis breath, dizzy. He stumbled again and fell, but as he fell he struckagainst the sharp corner of the wall. If he could find an entrance intothe garden beyond that wall! He turned off the road to the left and ranacross a field, keeping close along the side of the wall. He came toanother corner and turned to the right. As he turned he heard voices inthe road. The pursuers had stopped and were searching with the lanternfor traces of his passage. He ran along the back of the wall, feelingfor a projection, a tree, anything which would enable him to climb it. The wall was smooth, and though the branches of trees swung and creakedabove his head, their stems grew in the garden upon the other side. Hewas pouring with sweat, his breath whistled, in his ears he had thesound of innumerable armies marching across the earth, but he stumbledon. And at last, though his right side brushed against the wall, he nonethe less struck against it also with his chest. He was too dazed for themoment to understand what had happened; all the breath he had left wasknocked clean out of his body; he dropped in a huddle on the ground. 

In a little he recovered his breath; he listened and could no longerhear any sound of voices; he began to consider. He reached a hand out infront of him and touched the wall; he reached out a hand to the right ofhim and touched the wall again. The wall projected then abruptly andmade a right angle. 

Now Wogan had spent his boyhood at Rathcoffey among cliffs and rocks. This wall, he reflected, could not be more than twelve feet high. Wouldhis strength last out? He came to the conclusion that it must. 

He took off his heavy boots and flung them one by one over the wall. Then he pulled off his coat at the cost of some pain and an addedweakness, for the coat was stuck to his wounds and had roughly staunchedthem. He could feel the blood again soaking his shirt. There was all themore need, then, for hurry. He stood up, jammed his back into the angleof the wall, stretched out his arms on each side, pressing with hiselbows and hands, and then bending his knees crossed his legs tailorfashion, and set the soles of his stockinged feet firmly against thebricks on each side. He was thus seated as it were upon nothing, butretaining his position by the pressure of his arms and feet and hiswhole body. Still retaining this position, very slowly, verylaboriously, he worked himself up the angle, stopping now and then toregain his breath, now and then slipping back an inch. But he mountedtowards the top, and after a while the back of his head no longertouched the bricks. His head was above the coping of the wall. 

It was at this moment that he saw the lantern again, just at the cornerwhere he had turned. The lantern advanced slowly; it was now held aloft, now close to the ground. Wogan was very glad he had thrown his bootsand coat into the garden. He made a few last desperate struggles; hecould now place the palms of his hands behind him upon the coping, andhe hoisted himself up and sat on the wall. 

The lantern was nearer to him; he lay flat upon his face on the coping, and then lowering himself upon the garden side to the full length of hisarms, he let go. He fell into a litter of dead leaves, very soft andcomfortable. He would not have exchanged them at that moment for theEmperor's own bed. He lay upon his back and saw the dark branches abovehis head grow bright and green. His pursuers were flashing their lanternon the other side; there was only the thickness of the wall between himand them. He could even hear them whispering and the brushing of theirfeet. He lay still as a mouse; and then the earth heaved up and fellaway altogether beneath him. Wogan had fainted. 

CHAPTER VII

It was still night when Wogan opened his eyes, but the night was nowclear of mist. There was no moon, however, to give him a guess at thehour. He lay upon his back among the dead leaves, and looking upwards atthe stars, caught as it seemed in a lattice-work of branches, floatedback into consciousness. He moved, and the movement turned him sick withpain. The knowledge of his wounds came to him and brought with it aclear recollection of the last three nights. The ever-widening blackstrip in the door on the first night, the clutch at his throat and theleap from the cupboard on the second, the silent watching of those fivepairs of eyes on the third, and the lackey with the knife in his breasthopping with both feet horribly across the floor, --the horror of theserecollections swept in upon him and changed him from a man into atimorous child. He lay and shuddered until in every creak of thebranches he heard the whisper of an enemy, in every flutter of leavesacross the lawn a stealthy footstep, and behind every tree-stem hecaught the flap of a cloak. 

Stiff and sore, he raised himself from the ground, he groped for hisboots and coat, and putting them on moved cautiously through the trees, supporting himself from stem to stem. He came to the borders of a wide, smooth lawn, and on the farther side stood the house, --a long, two-storeyed house with level tiers of windows stretching to the rightand the left, and a bowed tower in the middle. Through one of thewindows in the ground-floor Wogan saw the spark of a lamp, and aboutthat window a fan of yellow light was spread upon the lawn. 

Wogan at this moment felt in great need of companionship. He stoleacross the lawn and looked into the room. An old gentleman with adelicate face, who wore his own white hair, was bending over a book at adesk. The room was warmly furnished, the door of the stove stood open, and Wogan could see the logs blazing merrily. A chill wind swept acrossthe lawn, very drear and ghostly. Wogan crept closer to the window. Agreat boar-hound rose at the old man's feet and growled; then the oldman rose, and crossing to the window pressed his face against the paneswith his hands curved about his eyes. Wogan stepped forward and stoodwithin the fan of light, spreading out his arms to show that he came asa supplicant and with no ill intent. 

The old man, with a word to his hound, opened the window. 

"Who is it?" he asked, and with a thrill not of fear but of expectationin his voice. 

"A man wounded and in sore straits for his life, who would gladly sitfor a few minutes by your fire before he goes upon his way. "

The old man stood aside, and Wogan entered the room. He was spatteredfrom head to foot with mud, his clothes were torn, his eyes sunken, hisface was of a ghastly pallor and marked with blood. 

"I am the Chevalier Warner, " said Wogan, "a gentleman of Ireland. Youwill pardon me. But I have gone through so much these last three nightsthat I can barely stand;" and dropping into a chair he dragged it up tothe door of the stove, and crouched there shivering. 

The old man closed the window. 

"I am Count Otto von Ahlen, and in my house you are safe as you arewelcome. "

He went to a sideboard, and filling a glass carried it to Wogan. Theliquor was brandy. Wogan drank it as though it had been so much water. He was in that condition of fatigue when the most extraordinary eventsseem altogether commonplace and natural. But as he felt the spiritwarming his blood, he became aware of the great difference between hisbattered appearance and that of the old gentleman with the rich dressand the white linen who stooped so hospitably above him, and he began towonder at the readiness of the hospitality. Wogan might have been athief, a murderer, for all Count Otto knew. Yet the Count, with no otherprotection than his dog, had opened his window, and at that late hour ofthe night had welcomed him without a word of a question. 

"Sir, " said Wogan, "my visit is the most unceremonious thing in theworld. I plump in upon you in the dark of the morning, as I take it tobe, and disturb you at your books without so much as knocking at thedoor. "

"It is as well you did not knock at the door, " returned the Count, "formy servants are long since in bed, and your knock would very likely havereached neither their ears nor mine. " And he drew up a chair and satdown opposite to Wogan, bending forward with his hands upon his knees. The firelight played upon his pale, indoor face, and it seemed to Woganthat he regarded his guest with a certain wistfulness. Wogan spoke histhought aloud, --

"Yet I might be any hedgerow rascal with a taste for your plate, and noparticular scruples as to a life or two lying in the way of itsgratification. "

The Count smiled. 

"Your visit is not so unexampled as you are inclined to think. Nearlythirty years ago a young man as you are came in just such a plight asyou and stood outside this window at two o'clock of a dark morning. Evenso early in my life I was at my books, " and he smiled rather sadly. "Ilet him in and he talked to me for an hour of matters strange anddreamlike, and enviable to me. I have never forgotten that hour, nor totell the truth have I ever ceased to envy the man who talked to meduring it, though many years since he suffered a dreadful doom andvanished from among his fellows. I shall be glad, therefore, to hearyour story if you have a mind to tell it me. The young man who cameupon that other night was Count Philip Christopher von Königsmarck. "

Wogan started at the mention of this name. It seemed strange that thatfitful and brilliant man, whose brief, passionate, guilty life andmysterious end had made so much noise in the world, had crossed thatlawn and stood before that window at just such an hour, and maybe hadsat shivering in Wogan's very chair. 

"I have no such story as Count Philip von Königsmarck no doubt had totell, " said Wogan. 

"Chevalier, " said Count Otto, with a nod of approval, "Königsmarck hadthe like reticence, though he was not always so discreet, I fear. ThePrincess Sophia Dorothea was at that time on a visit to the Duke ofWürtemberg at the palace in Stuttgart, but Königsmarck told me only thathe had snatched a breathing space from the wars in the Low Countries andwas bound thither again. Rumour told me afterwards of his fatalattachment. He sat where you sit, Chevalier, wounded as you are, afugitive from pursuit. Even the stains and disorder of his plight couldnot disguise the singular beauty of the man or make one insensible tothe charm of his manner. But I forget my duties, " and he rose. "It wouldbe as well, no doubt, if I did not wake my servants?" he suggested. 

"Count Otto, " returned Wogan, with a smile, "they have their day's workto-morrow. "

The old man nodded, and taking a lamp from a table by the door went outof the room. 

Wogan remained alone; the dog nuzzled at his hand; but it seemed toWogan that there was another in the room besides himself and the dog. The sleeplessness and tension of the last few days, the fatigue of hisarduous journey, the fever of his wounds, no doubt, had their effectupon him. He felt that Königsmarck was at his side; his eyes couldalmost discern a shadowy and beautiful figure; his ears could almosthear a musical vibrating voice. And the voice warned him, --in somestrange unaccountable way the voice warned and menaced him. 

"I fought, I climbed that wall, I crossed the lawn, I took refuge herefor love of a queen. For love of a queen all my short life I lived. Forlove of a queen I died most horribly; and the queen lives, though itwould have gone better with her had she died as horribly. "

Wogan had once seen the lonely castle of Ahlden where that queen wasimprisoned; he had once caught a glimpse of her driving in the duskacross the heath surrounded by her guards with their flashing swords. 

He sat chilled with apprehensions and forebodings. They crowded in uponhis mind all the more terrible because he could not translate them intodefinite perils which beyond this and that corner of his life mightawait him. He was the victim of illusions, he assured himself, at whichto-morrow safe in Schlestadt he would laugh. But to-night the illusionswere real. Königsmarck was with him. Königsmarck was by some mysteriousalchemy becoming incorporate with him. The voice which spoke and warnedand menaced was as much his as Königsmarck's. 

The old Count opened the door and heard Wogan muttering to himself as hecrouched over the fire. The Count carried a basin of water in his handand a sponge and some linen. He insisted upon washing Wogan's wounds anddressing them in a simple way. 

"They are not deep, " he said; "a few days' rest and a clever surgeonwill restore you. " He went from the room again and brought back a tray, on which were the remains of a pie, a loaf of bread, and some fruit. 

"While you eat, Chevalier, I will mix you a cordial, " said he, and heset about his hospitable work. "You ask me why I so readily opened mywindow to you. It was because I took you for Königsmarck himself comeback as mysteriously as he disappeared. I did not think that if he cameback now his hair would be as white, his shoulders as bent, as mine. Indeed, one cannot think of Königsmarck except as a youth. You had thevery look of him as you stood in the light upon the lawn. You have, if Imay say so, something of his gallant bearing and something of hisgrace. "

Wogan could have heard no words more distressing to him at this moment. 

"Oh, stop, sir. I pray you stop!" he cried out violently, and noting theinstant he had spoken the surprise on Count Otto's face. "There, sir, Igive you at once by my discourtesy an example of how little I merit acomparison with that courtly nobleman. Let me repair it by telling you, since you are willing to hear, of my night's adventure. " And as he atehe told his story, omitting the precise object of his journey, thenature of the letter which he had burned, and any name which might givea clue to the secret of his enterprise. 

The Count Otto listened with his eyes as well as his ears; he hung uponthe words, shuddering at each danger that sprang upon Wogan, exclaimingin wonder at the shift by which he escaped from it, and at times helooked over towards his books with a glance of veritable dislike. 

"To feel the blood run hot in one's veins, to be bedfellows with peril, to go gallantly forward hand in hand with endeavour, " he mused and brokeoff. "See, I own a sword, being a gentleman. But it is a toy, anornament; it stands over there in the corner from day to day, and myservants clean it from rust as they will. Now you, sir, I suppose--"

"My horse and my sword, Count, " said Wogan, "when the pinch comes, theyare one's only servants. It would be an ill business if I did not see totheir wants. "

The old man was silent for a while. Then he said timidly, "It was for awoman, no doubt, that you ran this hazard to-night?"

"For a woman, yes. "

The Count folded his hands and leaned forward. 

"Sir, a woman is a strange inexplicable thing to me. Their words, theirlooks, their graceful, delicate shapes, the motives which persuade them, the thoughts which their eyes conceal, --all these qualities make thembeings of another world to me. I do envy men at times who can standbeside them, talk with them without fear, be intimate with them, andunderstand their intricate thoughts. "

"Are there such men?" asked Wogan. 

"Men who love, such as Count Königsmarck and yourself. "

Wogan held up his hand with a cry. 

"Count, such men, we are told, are the blindest of all. Did notKönigsmarck prove it? As for myself, not even in that respect can I beranked with Königsmarck. I am a mere man-at-arms, whose love-making is aclash of steel. "

"But to-night--this risk you ran; you told me it was for a woman. "

"For a woman, yes. For love of a woman, no, no, no!" he exclaimed withsurprising violence. Then he rose from his chair. 

"But I have stayed my time, " said he, "you have never had a moregrateful guest. I beg you to believe it. "

Count Otto barely heard the words. He was absorbed in the fancifuldreams born of many long solitary evenings, and like most timid anduncommunicative men he made his confidence in a momentary enthusiasm toa stranger. 

"Königsmarck spoke for an hour, mentioning no names, so that I who frommy youth have lived apart could not make a guess. He spoke with a dealof passion; it seemed that one hour his life was paradise and the next ahell. Even as he spoke he was one instant all faith and the next alldespair. One moment he was filled with his unworthiness and wonder thatso noble a creature as a woman should bend her heart and lips from herheaven down to his earth. The next he could not conceive any man shouldbe such a witless ass as to stake his happiness on the steadiness of somanifest a weathercock as a woman's favour. It was all very strangetalk; it opened to me, just as when a fog lifts and rolls down again, amomentary vision of a world of colours in which I had no share; and totell the truth it left me with a suspicion which has recurred again andagain, that all my solitary years over my books, all the delights whichthe delicate turning of a phrase, or the chase and capture of an elusiveidea, can bring to one may not be worth, after all, one single minute ofliving passion. Passion, Chevalier! There is a word of which I know themeaning only by hearsay. But I wonder at times, whatever harm it works, whether there can be any great thing without it. But you are anxious togo forward upon your way. "

He again took up his lamp, and requesting Wogan to follow him, unlatchedthe window. Wogan, however, did not move. 

"I am wondering, " said he, "whether I might be yet deeper in your debt. I left behind me a sword. "

Count Otto set his lamp down and took a sword from the corner of theroom. 

"I called it an ornament, and yet in other hands it might well prove aserviceable weapon. The blade is of Spanish steel. You will honour me bywearing it. "

Wogan was in two minds with regard to the Count. On the one hand, he wasmost grateful; on the other he could not but think that over his bookshe had fallen into a sickly way of thought. He was quite ready, however, to wear his sword; moreover, when he had hooked the hanger to his belthe looked about the room. 

"I had a pistol, " he said carelessly, "a very useful thing is a pistol, more useful at times than a sword. "

"I keep one in my bedroom, " said the Count, setting the lamp down, "ifyou can wait the few moments it will take me to fetch it. "

Mr. Wogan was quite able to wait. He was indeed sufficiently generous totell Count Otto that he need not hurry. The Count fetched the pistol andtook up the lamp again. 

"Will you now follow me?"

Wogan looked straight before him into the air and spoke to no one inparticular. 

"A pistol is, to be sure, more useful than a sword; but there is justone thing more useful on an occasion than a pistol, and that is ahunting knife. "

Count Otto shook his head. 

"There, Chevalier, I doubt if I can serve you. "

"But upon my word, " said Wogan, picking up a carving-knife from thetray, "here is the very thing. "

"It has no sheath. "

Wogan was almost indignant at the suggestion that he would go so far asto ask even his dearest friend for a sheath. Besides, he had a sheath, and he fitted the knife into it. 

"Now, " said he, pleasantly, "all that I need is a sound, swift, thoroughbred horse about six or seven years old. "

Count Otto for the fourth time took up his lamp. 

"Will you follow me?" he said for the fourth time. 

Wogan followed the old man across the lawn and round a corner of thehouse until he came to a long, low building surmounted by a cupola. Thebuilding was the stable, and the Count Otto roused one of his grooms. 

"Saddle me Flavia, " said he. "Flavia is a mare who, I fancy, fulfilsyour requirements. "

Wogan had no complaint to make of her. She had the manners of acourtier. It seemed, too, that she had no complaint to make of Mr. Wogan. Count Otto laid his hand upon the bridle and led the mare withher rider along a lane through a thicket of trees and to a small gate. 

"Here, then, we part, Chevalier, " said he. "No doubt to-morrow I shallsit down at my table, knowing that I talked a deal of folly illbefitting an old man. No doubt I shall be aware that my books are thetrue happiness after all. But to-night--well, to-night I would fain betwenty years of age, that I might fling my books over the hedge and rideout with you, my sword at my side, my courage in my hand, into theworld's highway. I will beg you to keep the mare as a token and a memoryof our meeting. There is no better beast, I believe, in Christendom. "

Wogan was touched by the old gentleman's warmth. 

"Count, " said Wogan, "I will gladly keep your mare in remembrance ofyour great goodwill to a stranger. But there is one better beast inChristendom. "

"Indeed? And which is that?"

"Why, sir, the black horse which the lady I shall marry will ride intomy city of dreams. " And so he rode off upon his way. The morning wasjust beginning to gleam pale in the east. Here was a night passed whichhe had not thought to live through, and he was still alive to help thechosen woman imprisoned in the hollow of the hills at Innspruck. Woganhad reason to be grateful to that old man who stood straining his eyesafter him. There was something pathetical in his discontent with hissecluded life which touched Wogan to the heart. Wogan was not sure thatin the morning the old man would know that the part he had chosen was, after all, the best. Besides, Wogan had between his knees the mostfriendly and intelligent beast which he had ridden since that morningwhen he met Lady Featherstone on the road to Bologna. But he had soonother matters to distract his thoughts. However easily Flavia canteredor trotted she could not but sharply remind him of his wounds. He hadforty miles to travel before he could reach Schlestadt; and in thevillages on the road there was gossip that day of a man with a tormentedface who rode rocking in his saddle as though the furies were at hisback. 

CHAPTER VIII

The little town of Schlestadt went to bed betimes. By ten o'clock itsburghers were in their night-caps. A belated visitor going home at thathour found his footsteps ring upon the pavement with surprising echoes, and traversed dark street after dark street, seeing in each window, perhaps, a mimic moon, but no other light unless his path chanced to liethrough Herzogstrasse. In that street a couple of windows on the firstfloor showed bright and unabashed, and the curious passer-by coulddetect upon the blind the shadows of men growing to monstrous giants anddwindling to pigmies according as they approached or retired from thelamp in the room. 

There were three men in that room booted as for a journey. Their dressmight have misled one into the belief that they were merchants, buttheir manner of wearing it proclaimed them soldiers. Of the three, one, a short, spare man, sat at the table with his head bent over a slip ofpaper. His peruke was pushed back from his forehead and showed that thehair about his temples was grey. He had a square face of some strength, and thoughtful eyes. 

The second of the three stood by the window. He was, perhaps, a fewyears younger, thirty-six an observer might have guessed to the other'sforty, and his face revealed a character quite different. His featureswere sharp, his eyes quick; if prudence was the predominating quality ofthe first, resource took its place in the second. While the first mansat patiently at the table, this one stood impatiently at the window. Now he lifted the blind, now he dropped it again. 

The third sat in front of the fire with his face upturned to theceiling. He was a tall, big man with mighty legs which sprawled one oneach side of the hearth. He was the youngest of the three by five years, but his forehead at this moment was so creased, his mouth so pursed up, his cheeks so wrinkled, he had the look of sixty years. He puffed andbreathed very heavily; once or twice he sighed, and at each sigh hischair creaked under him. Major O'Toole of Dillon's regiment wasthinking. 

"Gaydon, " said he, suddenly. 

The man at the table looked up quickly. 

"Misset. "

The man at the window turned impatiently. 

"I have an idea. "

Misset shrugged his shoulders. 

Gaydon said, "Let us hear it. "

O'Toole drew himself up; his chair no longer creaked, it groaned andcracked. 

"It is a lottery, " said he, "and we have made our fortunes. We three arethe winners, and so our names are not crossed out. "

"But I have put no money in a lottery, " objected Gaydon. 

"Nor I, " said Misset. 

"And where should I find money either?" said O'Toole. "But Charles Woganhas borrowed it for us and paid it in, and so we're all rich men. What'll I buy with it?"

Misset paced the room. 

"The paper came four days ago?" he said. 

"Yes, in the morning. "

"Five days, then, " and he stood listening. Then he ran to the window andopened it. Gaydon followed him and drew up the blind. Both men listenedand were puzzled. 

"That's the sound of horseshoes, " said Gaydon. 

"But there's another sound keeping pace with the horseshoes, " saidMisset. 

O'Toole leaned on their shoulders, crushing them both down upon the sillof the window. 

"It is very like the sound a gentleman makes when he reels home from atavern. "

Gaydon and Misset raised themselves with a common effort springing froma common thought and shot O'Toole back into the room. 

"What if it is?" began Misset. 

"He was never drunk in his life, " said Gaydon. 

"It's possible that he has reformed, " said O'Toole; and the three menprecipitated themselves down the stairs. 

The drunkard was Wogan; he was drunk with fatigue and sleeplessness andpain, but he had retained just enough of his sober nature to spare atired mare who had that day served him well. 

The first intimation he received that his friends were on the watch wasO'Toole's voice bawling down the street to him. 

"Is it a lottery? Tell me we're all rich men, " and he felt himselfgrasped in O'Toole's arms. 

"I'll tell you more wonderful things than that, " stammered Wogan, "whenyou have shown me the way to a stable. "

"There's one at the back of the house, " said Gaydon. "I'll take thehorse. "

"No, " said Wogan, stubbornly, and would not yield the bridle to Gaydon. 

O'Toole nodded approval. 

"There are two things, " said he, "a man never trusts to his friends. One's his horse; t' other's his wife. "

Wogan suddenly stopped and looked at O'Toole. O'Toole answered the lookloftily. 

"It is a little maxim of philosophy. I have others. They come to me inthe night. "

Misset laughed. Wogan walked on to the stable. It was a long building, and a light was still burning. Moreover, a groom was awake, for the doorwas opened before they had come near enough to knock. There were twelvestalls, of which nine were occupied, and three of the nine horses stoodready saddled and bridled. 

Wogan sat down upon a corn-bin and waited while his mare was groomed andfed. The mare looked round once or twice in the midst of her meal, twisting her neck as far as her halter allowed. 

"I am not gone yet, my lady, " said he, "take your time. "

Wogan made a ghostly figure in the dim shadowy light. His face was of anextraordinary pallor; his teeth chattered; his eyes burned. Gaydonlooked at him with concern and said to the groom, "You can take thesaddles off. We shall need no horses to-night. "

The four men returned to the house. Wogan went upstairs first. Gaydonheld back the other two at the foot of the stairs. 

"Not a word, not a question, till he has eaten, or we shall have him inbed for a twelvemonth. Misset, do you run for a doctor. O'Toole, seewhat you can find in the larder. "

Wogan sat before the fire without a word while O'Toole spread the tableand set a couple of cold partridges upon it and a bottle of red wine. Wogan ate mechanically for a little and afterwards with some enjoyment. He picked the partridges till the bones were clean, and he finished thebottle of wine. Then he rose to his feet with a sigh of something verylike to contentment and felt along the mantel-shelf with his hands. O'Toole, however, had foreseen his wants and handed him a pipe newlyfilled. While Wogan was lighting the tobacco, Misset came back into theroom with word that the doctor was out upon his last rounds, but wouldcome as soon as he had returned home. The four men sat down about thefire, and Wogan reached out his hand and felt O'Toole's arm. 

"It is you, " he said. "There you are, the three of you, my good friends, and this is Schlestadt. But it is strange, " and he laughed a little tohimself and looked about the room, assuring himself that this indeed wasGaydon's lodging. 

"You received a slip of paper?" said he. 

"Four days back, " said Gaydon. 

"And understood?"

"That we were to be ready. "

"Good. "

"Then it's not a lottery, " murmured O'Toole, "and we've drawn noprizes. "

"Ah, but we are going to, " cried Wogan. "We are safe here. No one canhear us; no one can burst in. But I am sure of that. Misset knows thetrick that will make us safe from interruption, eh?"

Misset looked blankly at Wogan. 

"Why, one can turn the key, " said he. 

"To be sure, " said Wogan, with a laugh of admiration for that device ofwhich he had bethought himself, and which he ascribed to Misset, "ifthere's a key; but if there's no key, why, a chair tilted against thedoor to catch the handle, eh?"

Misset locked the door, not at all comprehending that device, andreturned to his seat. 

"We are to draw the greatest prize that ever was drawn, " resumed Wogan, and he broke off. 

"But is there a cupboard in the room? No matter; I forgot that this isGaydon's lodging, and Gaydon's not the man to overlook a cupboard. "

Gaydon jumped up from his chair. 

"But upon my word there is a cupboard, " he cried, and crossing to acorner of the room he opened a door and looked in. Wogan laughed againas though Gaydon's examination of the cupboard was a very good joke. 

"There will be nobody in it, " he cried. "Gaydon will never feel a handgripping the life out of his throat because he forgot to search acupboard. "

The cupboard was empty, as it happened. But Gaydon had left the door ofthe street open when he went out to meet Wogan; there had been time andto spare for any man to creep upstairs and hide himself had there been aman in Schlestadt that night minded to hear. Gaydon returned to hischair. 

"We are to draw the biggest prize in all Europe, " said Wogan. 

"There!" cried O'Toole. "Will you be pleased to remember when next Ihave an idea that I was right?"

"But not for ourselves, " added Wogan. 

O'Toole's face fell. 

"Oh, we are to hand it on to a third party, " said he. 

"Yes. "

"Well, after all, that's quite of a piece with our luck. "

"Who is the third party?" asked Misset. 

"The King. "

Misset started up from his chair and leaned forward, his hands upon thearms. 

"The King, " said O'Toole; "to be sure, that makes a difference. "

Gaydon asked quietly, "And what is the prize?"

"The Princess Clementina, " said Wogan. "We are to rescue her from herprison in Innspruck. "

Even Gaydon was startled. 

"We four!" he exclaimed. 

"We four!" repeated Misset, staring at Wogan. His mouth was open; hiseyes started from his head; he stammered in his speech. "We four againsta nation, against half Europe!"

O'Toole simply crossed to a corner of the room, picked up his sword andbuckled it to his waist. 

"I am ready, " said he. 

Wogan turned round in his chair and smiled. 

"I know that, " said he. "So are we all--all ready; is not that so, myfriends? We four are ready. " And he looked to Misset and to Gaydon. "Here's an exploit, if we but carry it through, which even antiquitywill be at pains to match! It's more than an exploit, for it has thesanctity of a crusade. On the one side there's tyranny, oppression, injustice, the one woman who most deserves a crown robbed of it. And onthe other--"

"There's the King, " said Gaydon; and the three brief words seemedsomehow to quench and sober Wogan. 

"Yes, " said he; "there's the King, and we four to serve him in hisneed. We are few, but in that lies our one hope. They will never lookfor four men, but for many. Four men travelling to the shrine of Lorettowith the Pope's passport may well stay at Innspruck and escape a closeattention. "

"I am ready, " O'Toole repeated. 

"But we shall not start to-night. There's the passport to be got, a planto be arranged. "

"Oh, there's a plan, " said O'Toole. "To be sure, there's always a plan. "And he sat down again heavily, as though he put no faith in plans. 

Misset and Gaydon drew their chairs closer to Wogan's and instinctivelylowered their voices to the tone of a whisper. 

"Is her Highness warned of the attempt?" asked Gaydon. 

"As soon as I obtained the King's permission, " replied Wogan, "I hurriedto Innspruck. There I saw Chateaudoux, the chamberlain of the Princess'smother. Here is a letter he dropped in the cathedral for me to pick up. "

He drew the letter from his fob and handed it to Gaydon. Gaydon read itand handed it to Misset. Misset nodded and handed it to O'Toole, whoread it four times and handed it back to Gaydon with a flourish of thehand as though the matter was now quite plain to him. 

"Chateaudoux has a sweetheart, " said he, sententiously. "Very good; I donot think the worse of him. "

Gaydon glanced a second time through the letter. 

"The Princess says that you must have the Prince Sobieski's writtenconsent. "

"I went from Innspruck to Ohlau, " said Wogan. "I had some trouble, andthe reason of my coming leaked out. The Countess de Berg suspected itfrom the first. She had a friend, an Englishwoman, Lady Featherstone, who was at Ohlau to outwit me. "

"Lady Featherstone!" said Misset. "Who can she be?"

Wogan told them of his first meeting with Lady Featherstone on theFlorence road, but he knew no more about her, and not one of the threeknew anything at all. 

"So the secret's out, " said Gaydon. "But you outstripped it. "

"Barely, " said Wogan. "Forty miles away I had last night to fight for mylife. "

"But you have the Prince's written consent?" said Misset. 

"I had last night, but I made a spill of it to light my pipe. There weresix men against me. Had that been found on my dead body, why, there wasproof positive of our attempt, and the attempt foiled by suresafeguards. As it is, if we lie still a little while, their fears willcease and the rumour become discredited. "

Misset leaned across Gaydon's arm and scanned the letter. 

"But her Highness writes most clearly she will not move without thatsure token of her father's consent. "

Wogan drew from his breast pocket a snuff-box made from a singleturquoise. 

"Here's a token no less sure. It was Prince Sobieski's New Year's giftto me, --a jewel unique and in an unique setting. This must persuade her. His father, great King John of Poland, took it from the Grand Vizier'stent when the Turks were routed at Vienna. "

O'Toole reached out his hand and engulfed the jewel. 

"Sure, " said he, "it is a pretty sort of toy. It would persuade anywoman to anything so long as she was promised it to hang about her neck. You must promise it to the Princess, but not give it to her--no, lestwhen she has got it she should be content to remain in Innspruck. Iknow. You must promise it. "

Wogan bowed to O'Toole's wisdom and took back the snuff-box. "I will notforget to promise it, " said he. 

"But here's another point, " said Gaydon. "Her Highness, the Princess'smother, insists that a woman shall attend upon her daughter, and whereshall we find a woman with the courage and the strength?"

"I have thought of that, " said Wogan. "Misset has a wife. By theluckiest stroke in the world Misset took a wife this last spring. "

There was at once a complete silence. Gaydon stared into the fire, O'Toole looked with intense interest at the ceiling, Misset buried hisface in his hands. Wogan was filled with consternation. Was Misset'swife dead? he asked himself. He had spoken lightly, laughingly, and hewent hot and cold as he recollected the raillery of his words. He sat inhis chair shocked at the pain which he had caused his friend. Moreover, he had counted surely upon Mrs. Misset. 

Then Misset raised his head from his hands and in a trembling voice hesaid slowly, "My boy would only live to serve his King. Why should henot serve his King before he lives? My wife will say the like. "

There was a depth of quiet feeling in his words which Wogan would neverhave expected from Misset; and the words themselves were words which hefelt no man, no king, however much beloved, however generous to hisservants, had any right to expect. They took Wogan's breath away, andnot Wogan's only, but Gaydon's and O'Toole's, too. A longer silence thanbefore followed upon them. The very simplicity with which they had beenuttered was startling, and made those three men doubt at the firstwhether they had heard aright. 

O'Toole was the first to break the silence. 

"It is a strange thing that there never was a father since Adam who wasnot absolutely sure in his heart that his first-born must be a boy. Whenyou come to think philosophically about it, you'll see that if fathershad their way the world would be peopled with sons with never a bit ofa lass in any corner to marry them. "

O'Toole's reflection, if not a reason for laughter, made a pretext forit, at which all--even Misset, who was a trifle ashamed of his displayof feeling--eagerly caught. Wogan held his hand out and claspedMisset's. 

"That was a great saying, " said he, "but so much sacrifice is not to beaccepted. "

Misset, however, was firm. His wife, he said, though naturally timid, could show a fine spirit on occasion, and would never forgive one ofthem if she was left behind. He argued until a compromise was reached. Misset should lay the matter openly before his wife, and the fourcrusaders, to use Wogan's term, would be bound by her decision. 

"So you may take it that matter's settled, " said Misset. "There will befive of us. "

"Six, " said Wogan. 

"There's another man to join us, then, " said Gaydon. "I have it. Yourservant, Marnier. "

"No, not Marnier, nor any man. Listen. It is necessary that when onceher Highness is rescued we must get so much start as will make pursuitvain. We shall be hampered with a coach, and a coach will travel slowlyon the passes of Tyrol. The pursuers will ride horses; they must notcome up with us. From Innspruck to Italy, if we have never an accident, will take us at the least four days; it will take our pursuers three. Wemust have one clear day before her Highness's evasion is discovered. Now, the chief magistrate of Innspruck visits her Highness's apartmentstwice a day, --at ten in the morning and at ten of the night. ThePrincess must be rescued at night; and if her escape is discovered inthe morning she will never reach Italy, she will be behind the barsagain. "

"But the Princess's mother will be left, " said Gaydon. "She can pleadthat her daughter is ill. "

"The magistrate forces his way into the very bedroom. We must take withus a woman who will lie in her Highness's bed with the curtains drawnabout her and a voice so weak with suffering that she cannot raise itabove a whisper, with eyes so tired from sleeplessness she cannot bear alight near them. Help me in this. Name me a woman with the fortitude tostay behind. "

Gaydon shook his head. 

"She will certainly be discovered. The part she plays in the escape mustcertainly be known. She will remain for the captors to punish as theywill. I know no woman. "

"Nay, " said Wogan; "you exaggerate her danger. Once the escape isbrought to an issue, once her Highness is in Bologna safe, the Emperorcannot wreak vengeance on a woman; it would be too paltry. " And now hemade his appeal to Misset. 

"No, my friend, " Misset replied. "I know no woman with the fortitude. "

"But you do, " interrupted O'Toole. "So do I. There's no difficultywhatever in the matter. Mrs. Misset has a maid. "

"Oho!" said Gaydon. 

"The maid's name is Jenny. "

"Aha!" said Wogan. 

"She's a very good friend of mine. "

"O'Toole!" cried Misset, indignantly. "My wife's maid--a very goodfriend of yours?"

"Sure she is, and you didn't know it, " said O'Toole, with a chuckle. "Iam the cunning man, after all. She would do a great deal for me wouldJenny. "

"But has she courage?" asked Wogan. 

"Faith, her father was a French grenadier and her mother a _vivandičre_. It would be a queer thing if she was frightened by a little matter oflying in bed and pretending to be someone else. "

"But can we trust her with the secret?" asked Gaydon. 

"No!" exclaimed Misset, and he rose angrily from his chair. "My wife'smaid--O'Toole--O'Toole--my wife's maid. Did ever one hear the like?"

"My friend, " said O'Toole, quietly, "it seems almost as if you wished toreflect upon Jenny's character, which would not be right. "

Misset looked angrily at O'Toole, who was not at all disturbed. Then hesaid, "Well, at all events, she gossips. We cannot take her. She wouldtell the whole truth of our journey at the first halt. "

"That's true, " said O'Toole. 

Then for the second time that evening he cried, "I have an idea. "

"Well?"

"We'll not tell her the truth at all. I doubt if she would come if wetold it her. Jenny very likely has never heard of her Highness thePrincess, and I doubt if she cares a button for the King. Besides, shewould never believe but that we were telling her a lie. No. We'll makeup a probable likely sort of story, and then she'll believe it to be thetruth. "

"I have it, " cried Wogan. "We'll tell her that we are going to abduct anheiress who is dying for love of O'Toole, and whose merciless parentsare forcing her into a loveless, despicable marriage with a totteringpantaloon. "

O'Toole brought his hand down upon the arm of the chair. 

"There's the very story, " he cried. "To be sure, you are a great man, Charles. The most probable convincing story that was ever invented! Oh!but you'll hear Jenny sob with pity for the heiress and Lucius O'Toolewhen she hears it. It will be a bad day, too, for the merciless parentswhen they discover Jenny in her Highness's bed. She stands six feet inher stockings. "

"Six feet!" exclaimed Wogan. 

"In her stockings, " returned O'Toole. "Her height is her one vanity. Therefore in her shoes she is six feet four. "

"Well, she must take her heels off and make herself as short as shecan. "

"You will have trouble, my friend, to persuade her to that, " saidO'Toole. 

"Hush!" said Gaydon. He rose and unlocked the door. The doctor wasknocking for admission below. Gaydon let him in, and he dressed Wogan'swounds with an assurance that they were not deep and that a few days'quiet would restore him. 

"I will sleep the night here if I may, " said Wogan, as soon as thedoctor had gone. "A blanket and a chair will serve my turn. "

They took him into Gaydon's bedroom, where three beds were ranged. 

"We have slept in the one room and lived together since your messagecame four days ago, " said Gaydon. "Take your choice of the beds, forthere's not one of us has so much need of a bed as you. "

Wogan drew a long breath of relief. 

"Oh! but it's good to be with you, " he cried suddenly, and caught atGaydon's arm. "I shall sleep to-night. How I shall sleep!"

He stretched out his aching limbs between the cool white sheets, andwhen the lamp was extinguished he called to each of his three friends byname to make sure of their company. O'Toole answered with a grunt on hisright, Misset on his left, and Gaydon from the corner of the room. 

"But I have wanted you these last three days!" said Wogan. "To-morrowwhen I tell you the story of them you will know how much I have wantedyou. "

They got, however, some inkling of Wogan's need before the morrow came. In the middle of the night they were wakened by a wild scream and heardWogan whispering in an agony for help. They lighted a lamp and saw himlying with his hand upon his throat and his eyes starting from his headwith horror. 

"Quick, " said he, "the hand at my throat! It's not the letter so much, it's my life they want. "

"It's your own hand, " said Gaydon, and taking the hand he found itlifeless. Wogan's arm in that position had gone to sleep, as the sayingis. He had waked suddenly in the dark with the cold pressure at histhroat, and in the moment of waking was back again alone in the inn nearAugsburg. Wogan indeed needed his friends. 

CHAPTER IX

The next morning Wogan was tossing from side to side in a high fever. The fever itself was of no great importance, but it had consequences ofa world-wide influence, for it left Wogan weak and tied to his bed; sothat it was Gaydon who travelled to Rome and obtained the Pope'spassport. Gaydon consequently saw what otherwise Wogan would have seen;and Gaydon, the cautious, prudent Gaydon, was careful to avoid making aninopportune discovery, whereas Wogan would never have rested until hehad made it. 

Gaydon stayed in Rome a week, lying snug and close in a lodging only onestreet removed from that house upon the Tiber where his King lived. Secrets had a way of leaking out, and Gaydon was determined that thisone should not through any inattention of his. He therefore never wentabroad until dark, and even then kept aloof from the house whichoverlooked the Tiber. His business he conducted through his servant, sending him to and fro between Edgar, the secretary, and himself. Oneaudience of his King alone he asked, and that was to be granted him onthe day of his departure from Rome. 

Thus the time hung very heavily upon him. From daybreak to dusk he wascooped within a little insignificant room which looked out upon a littleinsignificant street. His window, however, though it promised littlediversion, was his one resource. Gaydon was a man of observation, andfound a pleasure in guessing at this and that person's business from hisappearance, his dress, and whether he went fast or slow. So he satsteadily at his window, and after a day or two had passed he began to bepuzzled. The moment he was puzzled he became interested. On the secondday he drew his chair a little distance back from the window andwatched. On the third day he drew his chair close to the window, but atthe side and against the wall. In this way he could see everything thathappened and everyone who passed, and yet remain himself unobserved. 

Almost opposite to his window stood a small mean house fallen intoneglect and disrepair. The windows were curtained with dust, many of thepanes were broken, the shutters hung upon broken hinges, the paint waspeeling from the door. The house had the most melancholy aspect of longdisuse. It seemed to belong to no one and to be crumbling pitifully toruin like an aged man who has no friends. Yet this house had its uses, which Gaydon could not but perceive were of a secret kind. On the veryfirst day that Gaydon sat at his window a man, who seemed from his dressto be of a high consideration, came sauntering along that sordidthoroughfare, where he seemed entirely out of place, like a butterflyon the high seas. To Gaydon's surprise he stopped at the door, gave acautious look round, and rapped quickly with his stick. At once the doorof that uninhabited house was opened. The man entered, the door wasclosed upon him, and a good hour by Gaydon's watch elapsed before it wasopened again to let him out. In the afternoon another man came and wasadmitted with the same secrecy. Both men had worn their hats drawn downupon their foreheads, and whereas one of them held a muffler to hisface, the other had thrust his chin within the folds of his cravat. Gaydon had not been able to see the face of either. After nightfall heremarked that such visits became more frequent. Moreover, they wererepeated on the next day and the next. Gaydon watched, but never got anynearer to a solution of the mystery. At the end of the sixth day he wasmore puzzled and interested than ever, for closely as he had watched hehad not seen the face of any man who had passed in and out of that door. 

But he was to see a face that night. 

At nine o'clock a messenger from Edgar, the secretary, brought him apackage which contained a letter and the passport for these six daysdelayed. The letter warned him that Edgar himself would come to fetchhim in the morning to his audience with James. The passport gaveauthority to a Flemish nobleman, the Count of Cernes, to make apilgrimage to Loretto with his wife and family. The name of Warner hadserved its turn and could no longer be employed. 

As soon as the messenger had gone, Gaydon destroyed Edgar's letter, putthe passport safely away in his breast, and since he had not left hisroom that day, put on his hat. Being a prudent man with a turn foreconomy, he also extinguished his lamp. He had also a liking for freshair, so he opened the window, and at the same moment the door of thehouse opposite was opened. A tall burly man with a lantern in his handstepped out into the street; he was followed by a slight man of a shortstature. Both men were wrapped in their cloaks, but the shorter onetripped on a break in the road and his cloak fell apart. His companionturned at once and held his lantern aloft. Just for a second the lighttherefore flashed upon a face, and Gaydon at his dark window caught aglimpse of it. The face was the face of his King. 

Gaydon was more than ever puzzled. He had only seen the face for aninstant; moreover, he was looking down upon it, so that he might bemistaken. He felt, however, that he was not, and he began to wonder atthe business that could take his King to this mysterious house. Butthere was one thing of which he was sure amidst all his doubts, Rome wasnot the safest city in the world for a man to walk about at nights. HisKing would be none the worse off for a second guardian who would follownear enough to give help and far enough for discretion. Gaydon went downhis stairs into the street. The lantern twinkled ahead; Gaydon followedit until it stopped before a great house which had lights burning hereand there in the windows. The smaller man mounted the steps and wasadmitted; his big companion with the lantern remained outside. 

Gaydon, wishing to make sure of his conjectures one way or the other, walked quickly past him and stole a glance sideways at his face. But theman with the lantern looked at Gaydon at the same moment. Their eyesmet, and the lantern was immediately held aloft. 

"It is Major Gaydon. "

Gaydon had to make the best of the business. He bowed. 

"Mr. Whittington, I think. "

"Sir, " said Whittington, politely, "I am honoured by your memory. Formyself, I never forget a face though I see it but for a moment betweenthe light and the dark, but I do not expect the like from myacquaintances. We did meet, I believe, in Paris? You are of Dillon'sregiment?"

"And on leave in Rome, " said Gaydon, a trifle hastily. 

"On leave?" said Whittington, idly. "Well, so far as towns go, Rome isas good as another, though, to tell the truth, I find them all quiteunendurable. Would I were on leave! but I am pinned here, a watchmanwith a lantern. I do but lack a rattle, though, to be sure, I could notspring it. We are secret to-night, major. Do you know what house thisis?"

"No, " replied Gaydon. "But I am waited for and will bid you good-night. "

He had a thought that the Chevalier, since he would be secret, hadchosen his watchman rather ill. He had no wish to pry, and so was forreturning to his lodging; but that careless, imprudent man, Whittington, would not lose a companion so easily. He caught Gaydon by the arm. 

"Well, it is the house of Maria Vittoria, Mademoiselle de Caprara, theheiress of Bologna, who has only this evening come to Rome. And so nolater than this evening I am playing link-boy, appointed by letterspatent, one might say. But what will you? Youth is youth, whether in aploughboy or a--But my tongue needs a gag. Another word, and I had saidtoo much. Well, since you will be going, good-night. We shall meet, nodoubt, in a certain house that overlooks the Tiber. "

"Hardly, " said Gaydon, "since I leave Rome to-morrow. "

"Indeed? You leave Rome to-morrow?" said Whittington. "I would I were asfortunate, " and he jerked his thumb dolefully towards the CapraraPalace. Gaydon hesitated for a moment, considering whether or not heshould ask Whittington to be silent upon their meeting. But hedetermined the man was too incautious in his speech. If he begged himnot to mention Gaydon's presence in Rome, he would remember it the moresurely, and if nothing was said he might forget it. Gaydon wished himgood-night and went back to his lodging, walking rather moodily. Whittington looked after him and chuckled. 

Meanwhile, in a room of the house two people sat, --one the slight, graceful man who had accompanied Whittington and whom Gaydon hadcorrectly guessed to be his King, the other, Maria Vittoria de Caprara. The Chevalier de St. George was speaking awkwardly with a voice whichbroke. Maria listened with a face set and drawn. She was a girl both infeatures and complexion of a remarkable purity. Of colour, but for herred lips, she had none. Her hair was black, her face of a clear pallorwhich her hair made yet more pale. Her eyes matched her hair, and wereso bright and quick a starry spark seemed to glow in the depths of them. She was a poet's simile for night. 

The Chevalier ended and sat with his eyes turned away. Maria Vittoriadid not change her attitude, nor for a while did she answer, but thetears gathered in her eyes and welled over. They ran down her cheeks;she did not wipe them away, she did not sob, nor did her face alter fromits fixity. She did not even close her eyes. Only the tears rained downso silently that the Prince was not aware of them. He had even a thoughtas he sat with his head averted that she might have shown a trifle moreof distress, and it was almost with a reproach upon his lips that heturned to her. Never was a man more glad that he had left a wordunspoken. This silent grief of tears cut him to the heart. 

"Maria!" he cried, and moved towards her. She made no gesture to repelhim, she did not move, but she spoke in a whisper. 

"His Holiness the Pope had consented to our marriage. What would I nothave done for you?"

The Chevalier stooped over her and took her hand. The hand remainedinert in his. 

"Maria!"

"Would that I were poor! Would that I were powerless! But I am rich--sorich. I could have done so much. I am alone--so much alone. What would Inot have done for you?"

"Maria!"

His voice choked upon the word, his lips touched her hair, and sheshivered from head to foot. Then her hand tightened fast upon his; shedrew him down almost fiercely until he sank upon his knees by her side;she put an arm about his shoulder and held him to her breast. 

"But you love me, " she said quickly. "Tell me so! Say, 'I love you, Ilove you, I love you. ' Oh that we both could die, you saying it, Ihearing it, --die to-night, like this, my arm about you, your faceagainst my heart! My lord, my lord!" and then she flung him from her, holding him at arm's length. "Say it with your eyes on mine! I can seethough the tears fall. I shall never hear the words again afterto-night. Do not stint me of them; let them flow just as these tearsflow. They will leave no more trace than do my tears. "

"Maria, I love you, " said the Chevalier. "How I do love you!" He tookher hands from his shoulders and pressed his forehead upon them. Sheleaned forward, and in a voice so low it seemed her heart waswhispering, not her mouth, she made her prayer. 

"Say that you have no room in your thoughts except for me. Say that youhave no scrap of love--" He dropped her hands and drew away; she caughthim to her. "No, no! Say that you have no scrap of love to toss to thewoman there in Innspruck!"

"Maria!" he exclaimed. 

"Hush!" said she, with a woful smile. "To-morrow you shall love her;to-morrow I will not ask your eyes to dwell on mine or your hand toquiver as it touches mine. But to-night love no one but me. "

For answer he kissed her on the lips. She took his head between herhands and gave the kiss back, gently as though her lips feared to bruisehis, slowly as though this one moment must content her for all her life. Then she looked at him for a little, and with a childish movement thatwas infinitely sad she laid his face side by side with hers so that hischeek touched hers. 

"Shall I tell you my thought?" she asked. "Shall I dare to tell you it?"

"Tell it me!"

"God has died to-night. Hush! Do not move! Do not speak! Perhaps theworld will slip and crumble if we but stay still. " And they remainedthus cheek to cheek silent in the room, staring forward with eyes wideopen and hopeful. The very air seemed to them a-quiver withexpectation. They, too, had an expectant smile upon their lips. Butthere was no crack of thunder overhead, no roar of a slipping world. 

[Illustration: "CHEEK TO CHEEK, SILENT IN THE ROOM, STARING FORWARD WITHEYES WIDE OPEN AND HOPEFUL. "--_Page 136_. ] The Chevalier was the firstto move. 

"But we are children, " he cried, starting up. "Is it not strange thevery pain which tortures us because we are man and woman should sink usinto children? We sit hoping that a miracle will split the world inpieces! This is the Caprara Palace; Whittington drowses outside over hislantern; and to-morrow Gaydon rides with his passport northwards toCharles Wogan. "

The name hurt Maria Vittoria like a physical torture. She beat her handstogether with a cry, "I hate him! I hate him!"

"Yet I have no better servant!"

"Speak no good word of him in my ears! He robs me of you. "

"He risks his life for me. "

"I will pray that he may lose it. "

"Maria!"

The Chevalier started, thrilled and almost appalled by the violence ofher passion. 

"I do pray, " she cried. "Every fibre in me tingles with the prayer. Oh, I hate him! Why did you give him leave to rescue her?"

"Could I refuse? I did delay him; I did hesitate. Only to-day Gaydonreceives the passport, and even so I have delayed too long. Indeed, Maria, I dare not think of the shame, the danger, her Highness hasendured for me, lest my presence here, even for this farewell, shouldtoo bitterly reproach me. "

At that all Maria Vittoria's vehemence left her. She fell to beseechingsand entreaties. With her vehemence went also her dignity. She droppedupon her knees and dragged herself across the room to him. To James herhumility was more terrible than her passion, for passion had alwaysdistinguished her, and he was familiar with it; but pride had alwaysgone hand in hand with it. He stepped forward and would have raised herfrom the ground, but Maria would have none of his help; she crouched athis feet pleading. 

"You told me business would call you to Spain. Go there! Stay there! Fora little--oh, not for long! But for a month, say, after your Princesscomes triumphing into Bologna. Promise me that! I could not bear thatyou should meet her as she comes. There would be shouts; I can hearthem. No, I will not have it! I can see her proud cursed face a-flush. No! You think too much of what she has suffered. If I could havesuffered too! But suffering, shame, humiliation, these fall to women, always have fallen. We have learnt to bear them so that we feel themless than you. My dear lord, believe me! Her suffering is no greatthing. If we love we welcome it! Each throb of pain endured for lovebecomes a thrill of joy. If I could have suffered too!"

It was strange to hear this girl with the streaming eyes and tormentedface bewail her fate in that she had not won that great privilege ofsuffering. She knelt on the ground a splendid image of pain, and longedfor pain that she might prove thereby how little a thing she made of it. The Chevalier drew a stool to her side and seating himself upon itclasped her about the waist. She laid her cheek upon his knee just as adog will do. 

"Sweetheart, " said he, "I would have no woman suffer a pang for me had Imy will of the world. But since that may not be, I do not believe thatany woman could be deeper hurt than you are now. "

"Not Clementina?"

"No. "

Maria uttered a little sigh. Her pain gave her a sort of ownership ofthe man who caused it. "Nor can she love as deep, " she continuedquietly. "A Sobieski from the snows! Love was born here in Italy. Sherobs me of you. I hate her. " Then she raised her face eagerly. "CharlesWogan may fail. "

"You do not know him. "

"The cleverest have made mistakes and died for them. "

"Wogan makes mistakes like another, but somehow gets the better of themin the end. There was a word he said to me when he begged for mypermission. I told him his plan was a mere dream. He answered he woulddream it true; he will. "

"You should have waked him. You were the master, he the servant. Youwere the King. "

"And when can the King do what he wills instead of what he must? Maria, if you and I had met before I sent Charles Wogan to search out a wifefor me--"

Maria Vittoria knelt up. She drew herself away. 

"He chose her as your wife?"

"If only I had had time to summon him back!"

"He chose her--Charles Wogan. How I hate him!"

"I sent him to make the choice. "

"And he might have gone no step beyond Bologna. There was I not a miledistant ready to his hand! But I was too mean, too despicable--"

"Maria, hush!" And the troubled voice in which he spoke rang with somuch pain that she was at once contrite with remorse. 

"My lord, I hurt you, so you see how I am proven mean. Give me your handand laugh to me; laugh with your heart and eyes and lips. I am jealousof your pain. I am a woman. I would have it all, gather it all into mybosom, and cherish each sharp stab like a flower my lover gives to me. Iam glad of them. They are flowers that will not wither. Add a kiss, sweetheart, the sharpest stab, and so the chief flower, the very rose offlowers. There, that is well, " and she rose from her knees and turnedaway. So she stood for a little, and when she turned again she wore uponher face the smile which she had bidden rise in his. 

"Would we were free!" cried the Chevalier. 

"But since we are not, let us show brave faces to the world and hide ourhearts. I do wish you all happiness. But you will go to Spain. There'sa friend's hand in warrant of the wish. "

She held out a hand which clasped his firmly without so much as atremor. 

"Good-night, my friend, " said she. "Speak those same words to me, and noword more. I am tired with the day's doings. I have need of sleep, oh, great need of it!"

The Chevalier read plainly the overwhelming strain her counterfeit offriendliness put upon her. He dared not prolong it. Even as he looked ather, her lips quivered and her eyes swam. 

"Good-night, my friend, " said he. 

She conducted him along a wide gallery to the great staircase where herlackeys waited. Then he bowed to her and she curtsied low to him, but noword was spoken by either. This little comedy must needs be played inpantomime lest the actors should spoil it with a show of broken hearts. 

Maria Vittoria went back to the room. She could have hindered Wogan ifshe had had the mind. She had the time to betray him; she knew of hispurpose. But the thought of betrayal never so much as entered herthoughts. 

She hated him, she hated Clementina, but she was loyal to her King. Shesat alone in her palace, her chin propped upon her hands, and in alittle in her wide unblinking eyes the tears gathered again and rolleddown her cheeks and on her hands. She wept silently and without amovement, like a statue weeping. 

The Chevalier found Whittington waiting for him, but the candle in hislantern had burned out. 

"I have kept you here a wearisome long time, " he said with an effort. Itwas not easy for him to speak upon an indifferent matter. 

"I had some talk with Major Gaydon which helped me to beguile it, " saidWhittington. 

"Gaydon!" exclaimed the Chevalier, "are you certain?"

"A man may make mistakes in the darkness, " said Whittington. 

"To be sure. "

"And I never had an eye for faces. "

"It was not Gaydon, then?" said the Chevalier. 

"It may not have been, " said Whittington, "and by the best of goodfortune I said nothing to him of any significance whatever. "

The Chevalier was satisfied with the reply. He had chosen the rightattendant for this nocturnal visit. Had Gaydon met with a more observantman than Whittington outside the Caprara Palace, he might have got anumber of foolish suspicions into his head. 

Gaydon, however, was at that moment in his bed, saying to himself thatthere were many matters concerning which it would be an impertinence forhim to have one meddlesome thought. By God's blessing he was a soldierand no politician. He fell asleep comforted by that conclusion. 

In the morning Edgar, the Chevalier's secretary, came privately to him. 

"The King will receive you now, " said he. "Let us go. "

"It is broad daylight. We shall be seen. "

"Not if the street is empty, " said Edgar, looking out of the window. 

The street, as it chanced, was for the moment empty. Edgar crossed thestreet and rapped quickly with certain pauses between the raps on thedoor of that deserted house into which Gaydon had watched men enter. Thedoor was opened. "Follow me, " said Edgar. Gaydon followed him into abare passage unswept and with discoloured walls. A man in a little hutchin the wall opened and closed the door with a string. 

Edgar walked forward to the end of the passage with Gaydon at his heels. The two men came to a flight of stone steps, which they descended. Thesteps led to a dark and dripping cellar with no pavement but the mud, and that depressed into puddles. The air was cold and noisome; the wallsto the touch of Gaydon's hand were greasy with slime. He followed Edgaracross the cellar into a sort of tunnel. Here Edgar drew an end ofcandle from his pocket and lighted it. The tunnel was so low thatGaydon, though a shortish man, could barely hold his head erect. Hefollowed Edgar to the end and up a flight of winding steps. The air grewwarmer and dryer. They had risen above ground, the spiral wound withinthe thickness of a wall. The steps ended abruptly; there was no doorvisible; in face of them and on each side the bare stone walls enclosedthem. Edgar stooped down and pressed with his finger on a roundinsignificant discolouration of the stone. Then he stood up again. 

"You will breathe no word of this passage, Major Gaydon, " said he. "Thehouse was built a century ago when Rome was more troubled than it isto-day, but the passage was never more useful than now. Men fromEngland, whose names it would astonish you to know, have trodden thesesteps on a secret visit to the King. Ah!" From the wall before theirfaces a great slab of the size of a door sank noiselessly down anddisclosed a wooden panel. The panel slid aside. Edgar and Gaydon steppedinto a little cabinet lighted by a single window. The room was empty. Gaydon took a peep out of the window and saw the Tiber eddying beneath. Edgar went to a corner and touched a spring. The stone slab rose fromits grooves; the panel slid back across it; at the same moment the doorof the room was opened, and the Chevalier stepped across the threshold. 

Gaydon could no longer even pretend to doubt who had walked withWhittington to the Caprara Palace the night before. It was none of hisbusiness, however, he assured himself. If his King dwelt with emphasisupon the dangers of the enterprise, it was not his business to remarkupon it or to be thereby disheartened. The King said very graciouslythat he would hold the major and his friends in no less esteem if by anymisfortune they came back empty-handed. That was most kind of him, butit was none of Gaydon's business. The King was ill at ease and looked asthough he had not slept a wink the livelong night. Well, swollen eyesand a patched pallid face disfigure all men at times, and in any casethey were none of Gaydon's business. 

He rode out of Rome that afternoon as the light was failing. He rode ata quick trot, and did not notice at the corner of a street a bigstalwart man who sauntered along swinging his stick by the tassel with avacant look of idleness upon the passers-by. He stopped and directed thesame vacant look at Gaydon. 

But he was thinking curiously, "Will he tell Charles Wogan?"

The stalwart man was Harry Whittington. 

Gaydon, however, never breathed a word about the Caprara Palace when hehanded the passport to Charles Wogan at Schlestadt. Wogan was sittingpropped up with pillows in a chair, and he asked Gaydon many questionsof the news at Rome, and how the King bore himself. 

"The King was not in the best of spirits, " said Gaydon. 

"With this, " cried Wogan, flourishing the passport, "we'll find a meansto hearten him. "

Gaydon filled a pipe and lighted it. 

"Will you tell me, Wogan, " he asked, --"I am by nature curious, --was itthe King who proposed this enterprise to you, or was it you who proposedit to the King?"

The question had an extraordinary effect. Wogan was startled out of hischair. 

"What do you mean?" he exclaimed fiercely. There was something more thanfierceness in the words, --an accent of fear, it almost seemed to Gaydon. There was a look almost of fear in his eyes, as though he had let someappalling secret slip. Gaydon stared at him in wonder, and Woganrecovered himself with a laugh. "Faith, " said he, "it is a question toperplex a man. I misdoubt but we both had the thought about the sametime. 'Wogan, ' said he, 'there's the Princess with a chain on her leg, so to speak, ' and I answered him, 'A chain's a galling sort of thing toa lady's ankle. ' There was little more said if I remember right. "

Gaydon nodded as though his curiosity was now satisfied. Wogan's alarmwas strange, no doubt, strange and unexpected like the Chevalier's visitto the Caprara Palace. Gaydon had a glimpse of dark and troubled waters, but he turned his face away. They were none of his business. 

CHAPTER X

In an hour, however, he returned out of breath and with a face whitefrom despair. Wogan was still writing at his table, but at his firstglance towards Gaydon he started quickly to his feet, and altogetherforgot to cover over his sheet of paper. He carefully shut the door. 

"You have bad news, " said he. 

"There was never worse, " answered Gaydon. He had run so fast, he was sodiscomposed, that he could with difficulty speak. But he gasped his badnews out in the end. 

"I went to my brother major to report my return. He was entertaining hisfriends. He had a letter this morning from Strasbourg and he read italoud. The letter said a rumour was running through the town that theChevalier Wogan had already rescued the Princess and was being hotlypursued on the road to Trent. "

If Wogan felt any disquietude he was careful to hide it. He satcomfortably down upon the sofa. 

"I expected rumour would be busy with us, " said he, "but never that itwould take so favourable a shape. "

"Favourable!" exclaimed Gaydon. 

"To be sure, for its falsity will be established to-morrow, andridicule cast upon those who spread and believed it. False alarms arethe proper strategy to conceal the real assault. The rumour does us aservice. Our secret is very well kept, for here am I in Schlestadt, andpeople living in Schlestadt believe me on the road to Trent. I will goback with you to the major's and have a laugh at his correspondent. Courage, my friend. We will give our enemies a month. Let them cry wolfas often as they will during that month, we'll get into the fold all themore easily in the end. "

Wogan took his hat to accompany Gaydon, but at that moment he heardanother man stumbling in a great haste up the stairs. Misset broke intothe room with a face as discomposed as Gaydon's had been. 

"Here's another who has heard the same rumour, " said Wogan. 

"It is more than a rumour, " said Misset. "It is an order, and mostperemptory, from the Court of France, forbidding any officer of Dillon'sregiment to be absent for more than twenty-four hours from his duties onpain of being broke. Our secret's out. That's the plain truth of thematter. "

He stood by the table drumming with his fingers in a great agitation. Then his fingers stopped. He had been drumming upon Wogan's sheet ofpaper, and the writing on the sheet had suddenly attracted his notice. It was writing in unusually regular lines. Gaydon, arrested by Misset'schange from restlessness to fixity, looked that way for a second, too, but he turned his head aside very quickly. Wogan's handwriting was noneof his business. 

"We will give them a month, " said Wogan, who was conjecturing at themotive of this order from the Court of France. "No doubt we aresuspected. I never had a hope that we should not be. The Court ofFrance, you see, can do no less than forbid us, but I should not besurprised if it winks at us on the sly. We will give them a month. Colonel Lally is a friend of mine and a friend of the King. We will getan abatement of that order, so that not one of you shall be cashiered. "

"I don't flinch at that, " said Misset, "but the secret's out. "

"Then we must use the more precautions, " said Wogan. He had no doubtwhatever that somehow he would bring the Princess safely out of herprison to Bologna. It could not be that she was born to be wasted. Misset, however, was not so confident upon the matter. 

"A strange, imperturbable man is Charles Wogan, " said he to Gaydon andO'Toole the same evening. "Did you happen by any chance to cast your eyeover the paper I had my hand on?"

"I did not, " said Gaydon, in a great hurry. "It was a private letter, nodoubt. "

"It was poetry. There's no need for you to hurry, my friend. It was morethan mere poetry, it was in Latin. I read the first line on the page, and it ran, '_Te, dum spernit, arat novus accola; max ubi cultam_--'"

Gaydon tore his arm away from Misset. "I'll hear no more of it, " hecried. "Poetry is none of my business. "

"There, Dick, you are wrong, " said O'Toole, sententiously. Both Missetand Gaydon came to a dead stop and stared. Never had poetry so strangean advocate. O'Toole set his great legs apart and his arms akimbo. Herocked himself backwards and forwards on his heels and toes, while abenevolent smile of superiority wrinkled across his broad face from earto ear. "Yes, I've done it, " said he; "I've written poetry. It is athing a polite gentleman should be able to do. So I did it. It wasn't inLatin, because the young lady it was written to didn't understand Latin. Her name was Lucy, and I rhymed her to 'juicy, ' and the pleasure of itmade her purple in the face. There were to have been four lines, butthere were never more than three and a half because I could not think ofa suitable rhyme to O'Toole. Lucy said she knew one, but she would nevertell it me. "

Wogan's poetry, however, was of quite a different kind, and had Gaydonlooked at it a trifle more closely, he would have experienced somerelief. It was all about the sorrows and miseries of his unfortunaterace and the cruel oppression of England. England owed all its great mento Ireland and was currish enough never to acknowledge the debt. Woganalways grew melancholy and grave-faced on that subject when he had theleisure to be idle. He thought bitterly of the many Irish officers sentinto exile and killed in the service of alien countries; his sense ofinjustice grew into a passionate sort of despair, and the despairtumbled out of him in sonorous Latin verse written in the Virgilianmeasure. He wrote a deal of it during this month of waiting, and a longwhile afterwards sent an extract to Dr. Swift and received the greatman's compliments upon its felicity, as anyone may see for himself inthe doctor's correspondence. 

How the month passed for James Stuart in Rome may be partly guessed froma letter which was brought to Wogan by Michael Vezozzi, the Chevalier'sbody-servant. 

The letter announced that King George of England had offered thePrincess Clementina a dowry of Ł100, 000 if she would marry the Prince ofBaden, and that the Prince of Baden with a numerous following wasalready at Innspruck to prosecute his suit. 

"I do not know but what her Highness, " he wrote, "will receive the bestconsolation for her sufferings on my account if she accepts sofavourable a proposal, rather than run so many hazards as she must needsdo as my wife. For myself, I have been summoned most urgently into Spainand am travelling thither on the instant. "

Wogan could make neither head nor tail of the letter. Why should theKing go to Spain at the time when the Princess Clementina might beexpected at Bologna? It was plain that he did not expect Wogan wouldsucceed. He was disheartened. Wogan came to the conclusion that therewas the whole meaning of the letter. He was, however, for other reasonsglad to receive it. 

"It is very well I have this letter, " said he, "for until it came I hadno scrap of writing whatever to show either to her Highness or, what Itake to be more important, to her Highness's mother, " and he went backto his poetry. 

Misset and his wife, on the other hand, drove forward to the town ofColmar, where they bought a travelling carriage and the necessaries forthe journey. Misset left his wife at Colmar, but returned everytwenty-four hours himself. They made the excuse that Misset had won adeal of money at play and was minded to lay it out in presents to hiswife. The stratagem had a wonderful success at Schlestadt, especiallyamongst the ladies, who could do nothing day and night but praise intheir husbands' hearing so excellent a mode of disposing of one'swinnings. 

O'Toole spent his month in polishing his pistols and sharpening hissword. It is true that he had to persuade Jenny to bear them company, but that was the work of an afternoon. He told her the story of the richAustrian heiress, promised her a hundred guineas and a damask gown, gaveher a kiss, and the matter was settled. 

Jenny passed her month in a delicious excitement. She was a daughter ofthe camp, and had no fears whatever. She was a conspirator; she wastrusted with a tremendous secret; she was to help the beautiful andenormous O'Toole to a rich and beautiful wife; she was to outwit an oldcurmudgeon of an uncle; she was to succour a maiden heart-broken andimprisoned. Jenny was quite uplifted. Never had a maid-servant been bornto so high a destiny. Her only difficulty was to keep silence, and whenthe silence became no longer endurable she would run on some excuse oranother to Wogan and divert him with the properest sentiments. 

"To me, " she would cry, "there's nothing sinful in changing clotheswith the beautiful mistress of O'Toole. Christian charity says we are tomake others happy. I am a Christian, and as to the uncle he can go tothe devil! He can do nothing to me but talk, and I don't understand hisstupid language. "

Jenny was the one person really happy during this month. It was Wogan'seffort to keep her so, for she was the very pivot of his plan. 

There remains yet one other who had most reason of all to repine at thedelay, the Princess Clementina. Her mother wearied her with perpetualcomplaints, the Prince of Baden, who was allowed admittance to thevilla, persecuted her with his attentions; she knew nothing of what wasplanned for her escape, and the rigorous confinement was not relaxed. Itwas not a happy time for Clementina. Yet she was not entirely unhappy. Athought had come to her and stayed with her which called the colour toher cheeks and a smile to her lips. It accounted to her for the delay;her pride was restored by it; because of it she became yet more patientwith her mother, more gentle with the Prince of Baden, moregood-humoured to her gaolers. It sang at her heart like a bird; itlightened in her grey eyes. It had come to her one sleepless night, andthe morning had not revealed it as a mere phantasy born of the night. The more she pondered it, the more certain was she of its truth. HerKing was coming himself at the hazard of his life to rescue her. 

CHAPTER XI

Therefore she waited in patience. It was still winter at Innspruck, though the calendar declared it to be spring. April was budless andcold, a month of storms; the snow drifted deep along the streets and M. Chateaudoux was much inconvenienced during his promenades in theafternoon. He would come back with most reproachful eyes for Clementinain that she so stubbornly clung to her vagabond exile and refused sofine a match as the Prince of Baden. On the afternoon of the 25th, however, Clementina read more than reproach in his eyes, more thandiscomfort in the agitation of his manner. The little chamberlain wasafraid. 

Clementina guessed the reason of his fear. 

"He has come!" she cried. The exultation of her voice, the deep breathshe drew, the rush of blood to her face, and the sudden dancing light inher eyes showed how much constraint she had set upon herself. She waslike an ember blown to a flame. "You were stopped in your walk. You havea message for me. He has come!"

The height of her joy was the depth of Chateaudoux's regret. 

"I was stopped in my walk, " said he, "but not by the Chevalier Wogan. Who it was I do not know. "

"Can you not guess?" cried Clementina. 

"I would not trust a stranger, " said her mother. 

"Would you not?" asked Clementina, with a smile. "Describe him to me. "

"His face was wrinkled, " said Chateaudoux. 

"It was disguised. "

"His figure was slight and not over-tall. "

M. Chateaudoux gave a fairly accurate description of Gaydon. 

"I know no one whom the portrait fits, " said the mother, and againClementina cried, --

"Can you not guess? Then, mother, I will punish you. For though Iknow--in very truth, I know--I will not tell you. " She turned back toChateaudoux. "Well, his message? He did fix a time, a day, an hour, formy escape?"

"The 27th is the day, and at eight o'clock of the night. "

"I will be ready. "

"He will come here to fetch your Highness. Meanwhile he prays yourHighness to fall sick and keep your bed. "

"I can choose my malady, " said Clementina. "It will not all becounterfeit, for indeed I shall fall sick of joy. But why must I fallsick?"

"He brings a woman to take your place, who, lying in bed with thecurtains drawn, will the later be discovered. "

The Princess's mother saw here a hindrance to success and eagerly shespoke of it. 

"How will the woman enter? How, too, will my daughter leave?"

M. Chateaudoux coughed and hemmed in a great confusion. He explained indelicate hints that he himself was to bribe the sentry at the door tolet her pass for a few moments into the house. The Princess broke into alaugh. 

"Her name is Friederika, I'll warrant, " she cried. "My poor Chateaudoux, they _will_ give you a sweetheart. It is most cruel. Well, Friederika, thanks to the sentry's fellow-feeling for a burning heart, Friederikaslips in at the door. "

"Which I have taken care should stand unlatched. She changes clotheswith your Highness, and your Highness--"

"Slips out in her stead. "

"But he is to come for you, he says, " exclaimed her mother. "And howwill he do that? Besides, we do not know his name. And there must be afitting companion who will travel with you. Has he that companion?"

"Your Highness, " said Chateaudoux, "upon all those points he bade me sayyou should be satisfied. All he asks is that you will be ready at thetime. "

A gust of hail struck the window and made the room tremble. Clementinalaughed; her mother shivered. 

"The Prince of Baden, " said she, with a sigh. Clementina shrugged hershoulders. 

"A Prince, " said Chateaudoux, persuasively, "with much territory to hisprinceliness. "

"A vain, fat, pudgy man, " said Clementina. 

"A sober, honest gentleman, " said the mother. 

"A sober butler to an honest gentleman, " said Clementina. 

"He has an air, " said Chateaudoux. 

"He has indeed, " replied Clementina, "as though he handed himself upon aplate to you, and said, 'Here is a miracle. Thank God for it!' Well, Imust take to my bed. I am very ill. I have a fever on me, and that'struth. "

She moved towards the door, but before she had reached it there came aknocking on the street door below. 

Clementina stopped; Chateaudoux looked out of the window. 

"It is the Prince's carriage, " said he. 

"I will not see him, " exclaimed Clementina. 

"My child, you must, " said her mother, "if only for the last time. "

"Each time he comes it is for the last time, yet the next day sees himstill in Innspruck. My patience and my courtesy are both outworn. Besides, to-day, now that I have heard this great news we have waitedfor--how long? Oh, mother, oh, mother, I cannot! I shall betray myself. "

The Princess's mother made an effort. 

"Clementina, you must receive him. I will have it so. I am your mother. I will be your mother, " she said in a tremulous tone, as though the mereutterance of the command frightened her by its audacity. 

Clementina was softened on the instant. She ran across to her mother'schair, and kneeling by it said with a laugh, "So you shall. I would notbarter mothers with any girl in Christendom. But you understand. I ampledged in honour to my King. I will receive the Prince, but indeed Iwould he had not come, " and rising again she kissed her mother on theforehead. 

She received the Prince of Baden alone. He was a stout man of muchceremony and took some while to elaborate a compliment upon Clementina'saltered looks. Before, he had always seen her armed and helmeted withdignity; now she had much ado to keep her lips from twitching into asmile, and the smile in her eyes she could not hide at all. The Princetook the change to himself. His persistent wooing had not been after allin vain. He was not, however, the man to make the least of hissufferings in the pursuit which seemed to end so suitably to-day. 

"Madam, " he said with his grandest air, "I think to have given you someproof of my devotion. Even on this inclement day I come to pay my dutythough the streets are deep in snow. "

"Oh, sir, " exclaimed Clementina, "then your feet are wet. Never run suchrisks for me. I would have no man weep on my account though it were onlyfrom a cold in the head. "

The Prince glanced at Clementina suspiciously. Was this devotion? Hepreferred to think so. 

"Madam, have no fears, " said he, tenderly, wishing to set the anxiouscreature at her ease. "I drove here in my carriage. "

"But from the carriage to the door you walked?"

"No, madam, I was carried. "

Clementina's lips twitched again. 

"I would have given much to have seen you carried, " she said demurely. "I suppose you would not repeat the--No, it would be to ask too much. Besides, from my windows here in the side of the house I could not see. "And she sighed deeply. 

The fatuous gentleman took comfort from the sigh. 

"Madam, you have but to say the word and your windows shall lookwhichever way you will. "

Clementina, however, did not say the word. She merely sighed again. ThePrince thought it a convenient moment to assert his position. 

"I have stayed a long while in Innspruck, setting my constancy, whichbade me stay, above my dignity, which bade me go. For three months Ihave stayed, --a long while, madam. "

"I do not think three years could have been longer, " said Clementina, with the utmost sympathy. 

"So now in the end I have called my pride to help me. "

"The noblest gift that heaven has given a man, " said Clementina, fervently. 

The Prince bowed low; Clementina curtsied majestically. 

[Illustration: THE PRINCE STRUTTED TO THE WINDOW; CLEMENTINA SOLEMNLYKEPT PACE WITH HIM. "--_Page 161. _]

"Will you give me your hand, " said he, "as far as your window?"

"Certainly, sir, and out of it. "

Clementina laid her hand in his. The Prince strutted to the window;Clementina solemnly kept pace with him. 

"What do you see? A sentinel fixed there guarding you. At the doorstands a second sentinel. Answer me as I would be answered, your windowand your door are free. Refuse me, and I travel into Italy. My trunksare already packed. "

"Neatly packed, I hope, " said Clementina. Her cheek was flushed; herlips no longer smiled. But she spoke most politely, and the Prince wasat a loss. 

"Will you give me your hand, " said she, "as far as my table?"

The Prince doubtfully stretched out his hand, and the couple paced in astately fashion to Clementina's table. 

"What do you see upon my table?" said she, with something of thePrince's pomposity. 

"A picture, " said he, reluctantly. 

"Whose?"

"The Pretender's, " he answered with a sneer. 

"The King's, " said she, pleasantly. "His picture is fixed there guardingme. Against my heart there lies a second. I wish your Highness all speedto Italy. "

She dropped his hand, bowed to him again in sign that the interview wasended. The Prince had a final argument. 

"You refuse a dowry of Ł100, 000. I would have you think of that. "

"Sir, you think of it for both of us. "

The Prince drew himself up to his full stature. 

"I have your answer, then?"

"You have, sir. You had it yesterday, and if I remember right the daybefore. "

"I will stay yet two more days. Madam, you need not fear. I shall notimportune you. I give you those two days for reflection. Unless I hearfrom you I shall leave Innspruck--"

"In two days' time?" suddenly exclaimed Clementina. 

"On the evening of the 27th, " said the Prince. 

Clementina laughed softly in a way which he did not understand. She wasaltogether in a strange, incomprehensible mood that afternoon, and whenhe learnt next day that she had taken to her bed he was not surprised. Perhaps he was not altogether grieved. It seemed right that she shouldbe punished for her stubbornness. Punishment might soften her. 

But no message came to him during those two days, and on the morning ofthe 27th he set out for Italy. 

At the second posting stage, which he reached about three of theafternoon, he crossed a hired carriage on its way to Innspruck. Thecarriage left the inn door as the Prince drove up to it. He noticed thegreat size of the coachman on the box, he saw also that a man and twowomen were seated within the carriage, and that a servant rode onhorseback by the door. The road, however, was a busy one; day and nighttravellers passed up and down; the Prince gave only a passing scrutinyto that carriage rolling down the hill to Innspruck. Besides, he wasacquainted neither with Gaydon, who rode within the carriage, nor withWogan, the servant at the door, nor with O'Toole, the fat man on thebox. 

At nightfall the Prince came to Nazareth, a lonely village amongst themountains with a single tavern, where he thought to sleep the night. There was but one guest-room, however, which was already bespoken by aFlemish lady, the Countess of Cernes, who had travelled that morning toInnspruck to fetch her niece. 

The Prince grumbled for a little, since the evening was growing stormyand wild, but there was no remedy. He could not dispute the matter, forhe was shown the Countess's berlin waiting ready for her return. Aservant of the Count's household also had been left behind at Nazarethto retain the room, and this man, while using all proper civilities, refused to give up possession. The Prince had no acquaintance with theofficers of Dillon's Irish regiment, so that he had no single suspicionthat Captain Misset was the servant. He drove on for another stage, where he found a lodging. 

Meanwhile the hired carriage rolled into Innspruck, and a storm ofextraordinary violence burst over the country. 

CHAPTER XII

In fact, just about the time when the Prince's horses were beingunharnessed from his carriage on the heights of Mount Brenner, the hiredcarriage stopped before a little inn under the town wall of Innspruckhard by the bridge. And half an hour later, when the Prince was sittingdown to his supper before a blazing fire and thanking his stars that onso gusty and wild a night he had a stout roof above his head, a man anda woman came out from the little tavern under the town wall anddisappeared into the darkness. They had the streets to themselves, forthat night the city was a whirlpool of the winds. Each separate chasm inthe encircling hills was a mouth to discharge a separate blast. Thewinds swept down into the hollow and charged in a riotous combat aboutthe squares and lanes; at each corner was an ambuscade, and everywherethey clashed with artilleries of hail and sleet. 

The man and woman staggered hand in hand and floundered in the deepsnow. They were soaked to the skin, frozen by the cold, and whipped bythe stinging hail. Though they bent their heads and bodies, though theyclung hand in hand, though they struggled with all their strength, there were times when they could not advance a foot and must needs waitfor a lull in the shelter of a porch. At such times the man wouldperhaps quote a line of Virgil about the cave of the winds, and thewoman curse like a grenadier. They, however, were not the only peoplewho were distressed by the storm. 

Outside the villa in which the Princess was imprisoned stood the twosentinels, one beneath the window, the other before the door. There wereicicles upon their beards; they were so shrouded in white they had thelook of snow men built by schoolboys. Their coats of frieze could notkeep out the searching sleet, nor their caps protect their ears from theintolerable cold. Their hands were so numbed they could not feel themuskets they held. 

The sentinel before the door suffered the most, for whereas hiscompanion beneath the window had nothing but the house wall before hiseyes, he, on his part, could see on the other side of the alley of treesthe red blinds of "The White Chamois, " that inn which the Chevalier deSt. George had mentioned to Charles Wogan. The red blinds shone verycheery and comfortable upon that stormy night. The sentinel envied themen gathered in the warmth and light behind them, and cursed his ownmiserable lot as heartily as the woman in the porch did hers. The redblinds made it unendurable. He left his post and joined his companion. 

"Rudolf, " he said, bawling into his ear, "come with me! Our birds willnot fly away to-night. "

The two sentries came to the front of the house and stared at thered-litten blinds. 

"What a night!" cried Rudolf. "Not a citizen would thrust his nose outof doors. "

"Not even the little Chateaudoux's sweetheart, " replied the other, witha grin. 

They stared again at the red blinds, and in a lull of the wind a clockstruck nine. 

"There is an hour before the magistrate comes, " said Rudolf. 

"You take that hour, " said his companion; "I will have the hour afterthe magistrate has gone. "

Rudolf ran across to the inn. The sentinel at the door remained behind. Both men were pleased, --Rudolf because he had his hour immediately, hisfellow-soldier because once the magistrate had come and gone, he wouldtake as long as he pleased. 

Meanwhile the man and woman hand in hand drew nearer to the villa, butvery slowly. For, apart from the weather's hindrances, the woman's angerhad grown. She stopped, she fell down when there was no need to fall, she wept, she struggled to free her hand, and finally, when they hadtaken shelter beneath a portico, she sank down on the stone steps, andwith many oaths and many tears refused to budge a foot. Strangelyenough, it was not so much the inclemency of the night or the danger ofthe enterprise which provoked this obstinacy, as some outrage anddishonour to her figure. 

"You may talk all night, " she cried between her sobs, "about O'Toole andhis beautiful German. They can go hang for me! I am only a servant, Iknow. I am poor, I admit it. But poverty isn't a crime. It gives no onethe right to make a dwarf of me. No, no!"--this as Wogan bent down tolift her from the ground--"plague on you all! I will sit here and die;and when I am found frozen and dead perhaps you will be sorry for yourcruelty to a poor girl who wanted nothing better than to serve you. "Here Jenny was so moved by the piteousness of her fate that her tearsbroke out again. She wept loudly. Wogan was in an extremity of alarmlest someone should pass, or the people of the house be aroused. Hetried most tenderly to comfort her. She would have none of theconsolations. He took her in his arms and raised her to her feet. Sheswore more loudly than she had wept, she kicked at his legs, she struckat his head with her fist. In another moment she would surely have criedmurder. Wogan had to let her sink back upon the steps, where she fell towhimpering. 

"I am not beautiful, I know; I never boasted that I was; but I have afigure and limbs that a painter would die to paint. And what do you makeof me? A maggot, a thing all body like a nasty bear. Oh, curse the daythat I set out with such tyrants! A pretty figure of fun I should makebefore your beautiful German, covered with mud to the knees. No, youshall hang me first! Why couldn't O'Toole do his own work, the ninny, Ihate him! He's tall enough, the great donkey; but no, I must do it, who am shorter, and even then not short enough for him and you, but youmust drag me through the dirt without heels!"

Wogan let her run on; he was at his wits' end what to do. All thisturmoil, these tears, these oaths and blows, came from nothing moreserious than this, that Jenny, to make her height less remarkable, mustwear no heels. It was ludicrous, it was absurd, but none the less thewhole expedition, carried to the very point of completion, must fail, utterly and irretrievably fail, because Jenny would not for one day gowithout her heels. The Princess must remain in her prison at Innspruck;the Chevalier must lose his wife; the exertions of Wogan and hisfriends, their risks, their ingenuity, must bear no fruit because Jennywould not show herself three inches short of her ordinary height. O'Toole had warned him there would be a difficulty; but that thedifficulty should become an absolute hindrance, should spoil a scheme ofso much consequence, that was inconceivable. 

Yet there was Jenny sobbing her heart out on the steps not half a milefrom the villa; the minutes were passing; the inconceivable thing wastrue. Wogan could have torn his hair in the rage of his despair. Hecould have laughed out loudly and passionately until even on that stormynight he brought the guard. He thought of the perils he had run, thedifficulties he had surmounted. He had outwitted the Countess de Bergand Lady Featherstone, he had persuaded the reluctant Prince Sobieski, he had foiled his enemies on the road to Schlestadt, he had made hisplans, he had gathered his friends, he had crept out with them fromStrasbourg, yet in the end they had come to Innspruck to be foiledbecause Jenny would not go without her heels. Wogan could have wept likeJenny. 

But he did not. On the contrary, he sat down by her side on the stepsand took her hand, gentle as a sheep. 

"You are in the right of it, Jenny, " said he, in a most remorsefulvoice. 

Jenny looked up. 

"Yes, " he continued. "I was in the wrong. O'Toole is the most selfishman in the whole world. Cowardly, too! But there never was a selfish manwho was not at heart a bit of a coward. Sure enough, sooner or later thecowardice comes out. It is a preposterous thing that O'Toole shouldthink that you and I are going to rescue his heiress for him while hesits at his ease by the inn fire. No; let us go back to him and tell himto his face the selfish cowardly man he is. "

It seemed, however, that Jenny was not entirely pleased to hear her ownsentiments so frankly uttered by Mr. Wogan. Besides, he seemed toexaggerate them, for she said with a little reluctance, "I would not saythat he was a coward. "

"But I would, " exclaimed Wogan, hotly. "Moreover, I do. With all myheart I say it. A great lubberly monster of a coward. He is envious, too, Jenny. "

Jenny had by this time stopped weeping. 

"Why envious?" she asked with an accent of rebellion which was very muchto Wogan's taste. 

"It's as plain as the palm of my hand. Why should he make a dwarf ofyou, Jenny?--for it's the truth he has done that; he has made a littledwarf out of the finest girl in the land by robbing her of her heels. "Jenny was on the point of interrupting with some indignation, but Woganwould not listen to her. "A dwarf, " he continued, "it was your own word, Jenny. I could say nothing to comfort you when you spoke it, for it wasso true and suitable an epithet. A little dwarf he has made of you, allbody and no legs like a bear, a dwarf-bear, of course; and why, if it isnot that he envies you your figure and is jealous of it in a mean anddiscreditable way? Sure, he wants to have all the looks and to appearquite incomparable to the eyes of his beautiful German. So he makes adwarf of you, a little bear dwarf--"

Jenny, however, had heard this phrase often enough by now. Sheinterrupted Wogan hotly, and it seemed her anger was now as muchdirected against him as it had been before against O'Toole. 

"He is not envious, " said she. "A fine friend he has in you, I amthinking. He has no need to be envious. Captain O'Toole could carry meto the house in his arms if he wished, which is more than you could doif you tried till midday to-morrow, " and she turned her shoulder toWogan, who, in no way abashed by her contempt, cried triumphantly, --

"But he didn't wish. He let you drag through the mud and snow withoutso much as a patten to keep you off the ground. Why? Tell me that, Jenny! Why didn't he wish?"

Jenny was silent. 

"You see, if he is not envious, he is at all events a coward, " arguedWogan, "else he would have run his own risks and come in your stead. "

"But that would not have served, " cried Jenny. It was her turn now tospeak triumphantly. "How could O'Toole have run away with his heiressand at the same time remained behind in her bed to escape suspicion, asI am to do?"

"I had forgotten that, to be sure, " said Wogan, meekly. 

Jenny laughed derisively. 

"O'Toole is the man with the head on his shoulders, " said she. 

"And a pitiful, calculating head it is, " exclaimed Wogan. "Think of theinconvenience of your position when you are discovered to-morrow. Thinkof the angry uncle! O'Toole has thought of him and so keeps out of hisway. Here's a nice world, where hulking, shapeless giants like O'Toolehide themselves from angry uncles behind a dwarf-girl's petticoats. Bah!We will go back and kick O'Toole. "

Wogan rose to his feet. Jenny did not move; she sat and laughedscornfully. 

"_You_ kick O'Toole! You might once, if he happened to be asleep. But hewould take you up by the scruff of the neck and the legs and beat yourface against your knees until you were dead. Besides, what do I care foran angry uncle! I am well paid to put up with his insults. "

"Well paid!" said Wogan, with a sneer. "A hundred guineas and a damaskgown! Three hundred guineas and a gown all lace and gold tags would notbe enough. Besides, I'll wager he has not paid you a farthing. He'llcheat you, Jenny. He's a rare bite is O'Toole. Between you and me, Jenny, he is a beggarly fellow!"

"He has already paid me half, " cried Jenny. It was no knowledge toWogan, who, however, counterfeited a deal of surprise. 

"Well, " said he, "he has only done it to cheat you the more easily ofthe other fifty. We will go straight back and tell him that it coststhree hundred guineas, money down, and the best gown in Paris to turn afine figure of a girl into a dwarf-bear. "

He leaned down and took Jenny by the arm. She sprang to her feet andtwisted herself free. 

"No, " she said, "you can go back if you will and show him what a goodfriend you are to him. But I go on. The poor captain shall have oneperson in the world, though she's only a servant, to help him when hewants. "

Thus Wogan won the victory. But he was most careful to conceal it. Hewalked by her side humble as a whipped dog. If he had to point out theway, he did it with the most penitent air; when he offered his hand tohelp her over a snow-heap and she struck it aside, he merely bowed hishead as though her contempt was well deserved. He even whispered in herear in a trembling voice, "Jenny, you will not say a word to O'Tooleabout the remarks I made of him? He is a strong, hasty man. I know notwhat might come of it. "

Jenny sneered and shrugged her shoulders. She would not speak to Woganany more, and so they came silently into the avenue of trees between"The White Chamois" and the villa. The windows in the front of the villawere dark, and through the blinding snow-storm Wogan could not havedistinguished the position of the house at all but for the red blinds ofthe tavern opposite which shone out upon the night and gave the snowfalling before them a tinge of pink. Wogan crept nearer to the house andheard the sentinel stamping in the snow. He came back to Jenny andpointed the sentinel out to her. 

"Give me a quarter of an hour so far as you can judge. Then pass thesentinel and go up the steps into the house. The sentinel is preparedfor your coming, and if he stops you, you must say 'Chateaudoux' in awhisper, and he will understand. You will find the door of the houseopen and a man waiting for you. "

Jenny made no answer, but Wogan was sure of her now. He left herstanding beneath the dripping trees and crept towards the side of thehouse. A sentry was posted beneath her Highness's windows, and throughthose windows he had to climb. He needed that quarter of an hour towait for a suitable moment when the sentry would be at the far end ofhis beat. But that sentry was fuddling himself with a vile spiritdistilled from the gentian flower in the kitchen of "The White Chamois. "Wogan, creeping stealthily through the snow-storm, found the side of thehouse unguarded. The windows on the ground floor were dark; those on thefirst floor which lighted her Highness's apartments were ablaze. Henoticed with a pang of dismay that one of those lighted windows was wideopen to the storm. He wondered whether it meant that the Princess hadbeen removed to another lodging. He climbed on the sill of the lowerwindow; by the side of that window a stone pillar ran up the side of thehouse to the windows on the first floor. Wogan had taken note of thatpillar months back when he was hawking chattels in Innspruck. He set hishands about it and got a grip with his foot against the sash of thelower window. He was just raising himself when he heard a noise abovehim. He dropped back to the ground and stood in the fixed attitude of asentinel. 

A head appeared at the window, a woman's head. The light was behind, within the room, so that Wogan could not see the face. But the shape ofthe head, its gracious poise upon the young shoulders, the curve of theneck, the bright hair drawn backwards from the brows, --here were marksWogan could not mistake. They had been present before his eyes thesemany months. The head at the open window was the head of the Princess. Wogan felt a thrill run through his blood. To a lover the sight of hismistress is always unexpected, though he foreknows the very moment ofher coming. To Wogan the sight of his Queen had the like effect. He hadnot seen her since he had left Ohlau two years before with her promiseto marry the Chevalier. It seemed to him, though for this he had livedand worked up early and down late for so long, a miraculous thing thathe should see her now. 

She leaned forward and peered downwards into the lane. The lightstreamed out, bathing her head and shoulders. Wogan could see the snowfall upon her dark hair and whiten it; it fell, too, upon her neck, butthat it could not whiten. She leaned out into the darkness, and Woganset foot again upon the lower window-sill. At the same moment anotherhead appeared beside Clementina's, and a sharp cry rang out, a cry ofterror. Then both heads disappeared, and a heavy curtain swung acrossthe window, shutting the light in. 

Wogan remained motionless, his heart sinking with alarm. Had that crybeen heard? Had the wind carried it to the sentry at the door? Hewaited, but no sound of running footsteps came to his ears; the cry hadbeen lost in the storm. He was now so near to success that dangers whicha month ago would have seemed of small account showed most menacing andfatal. 

"It was the Princess-mother who cried out, " he thought, and was remindedthat the need of persuasions was not ended for the night with theconquest of Jenny. He had to convince the Princess-mother of hisauthority without a line of Prince Sobieski's writing to support him; hehad to overcome her timidity. But he was prepared for the encounter; hehad foreseen it, and had an argument ready for the Princess-mother, though he would have preferred to wring the old lady's neck. Her crymight spoil everything. However, it had not been heard, and since it hadnot been heard, Wogan was disposed to forgive it. 

For the window was still open, and now that the curtain was drawn no rayof light escaped from the room to betray the man who climbed into it. 

CHAPTER XIII

Meanwhile within the room the Princess-mother clung to Clementina. Theterror which her sharp cry had expressed was visible in her strained andstartled face. Her eyes, bright with terror, stared at the drawncurtain; she could not avert them; she still must gaze, fascinated byher fears; and her dry, whispering lips were tremulous. 

"Heaven have mercy!" she whispered; "shut the window! Shut it fast!" andas Clementina moved in surprise, she clung the closer to her daughter. "No, do not leave me! Come away! Jesu! here are we alone, --two women!"

"Mother, " said Clementina, soothing her and gently stroking her hair, asthough she in truth was the mother and the mother her daughter, "there'sno cause for fear. "

"No cause for fear! I saw him--the sentry--he is climbing up. Ah!" andagain her voice rose to a cry as Wogan's foot grated on thewindow-ledge. 

"Hush, mother! A cry will ruin us. It's not the sentinel, " saidClementina. 

Clementina was laughing, and by her laughter the Princess-mother was insome measure reassured. 

"Who is it, then?" she asked. 

"Can you not guess?" said Clementina, incredulously. "It is so evident. Yet I would not have you guess. It is my secret, my discovery. I'll tellyou. " She heard a man behind the curtain spring lightly from the windowto the floor. She raised her voice that he might know she had divinedhim. "Your sentinel is the one man who has the right to rescue me. Yoursentinel's the King. "

At that moment Wogan pushed aside the curtain. 

"No, your Highness, " said he, "but the King's servant. "

The Princess-mother dropped into a chair and looked at her visitor withdespair. It was not the sentinel, to be sure, but, on the other hand, itwas Mr. Wogan, whom she knew for a very insistent man with a greatliking for his own way. She drew little comfort from Mr. Wogan's coming. 

It seemed, too, that he was not very welcome to Clementina; for she drewback a step and in a voice which dropped and had a tremble ofdisappointment, "Mr. Wogan, " she said, "the King is well served;" andshe stood there without so much as offering him her hand. Wogan had notcounted on so cold a greeting, but he understood the reason, and was notsure but what he approved of it. After all, she had encountered perilson the King's account; she had some sort of a justification to believethe King would do the like for her. It had not occurred to him orindeed to anyone before; but now that he saw the chosen woman so plainlywounded, he felt a trifle hot against his King for having disappointedher. He set his wits to work to dispel the disappointment. 

"Your Highness, the truth is there are great matters brewing in Spain. His Majesty was needed there most urgently. He had to decide betweenInnspruck and Cadiz, and it seemed that he would honour your greatconfidence in him and at the same time serve you best--"

Clementina would not allow him to complete the sentence. Her cheekflushed, and she said quickly, --

"You are right, Mr. Wogan. The King is right. Mine was a girl's thought. I am ashamed of it;" and she frankly gave him her hand. Wogan was fairlywell pleased with his apology for his King. It was not quite the truth, no doubt, but it had spared Clementina a trifle of humiliation, and hadre-established the King in her thoughts. He bent over her hand and wouldhave kissed it, but she stopped him. 

"No, " said she, "an honest handclasp, if you please; for no woman canhave ever lived who had a truer friend, " and Wogan, looking into herfrank eyes, was not, after all, nearly so well pleased with the untruthhe had told her. She was an uncomfortable woman to go about with shiftsand contrivances. Her open face, with its broad forehead and the clear, steady eyes of darkest blue, claimed truth as a prerogative. The blushwhich had faded from her cheeks appeared on his, and he began to babblesome foolish word about his unworthiness when the Princess-motherinterrupted him in a grudging voice, --

"Mr. Wogan, you were to bring a written authority from the Prince myhusband. "

Wogan drew himself up straight. 

"Your Highness, " said he, with a bow of the utmost respect, "I was givensuch an authority. "

The Princess-mother held out her hand. "Will you give it me?"

"I said that I was given such an authority. But I have it no longer. Iwas attacked on my way from Ohlau. There were five men against me, allof whom desired that letter. The room was small; I could not run away;neither had I much space wherein to resist five men. I knew that were Ikilled and that letter found on me, your Highness would thereafter betoo surely guarded to make escape possible, and his Highness PrinceSobieski would himself incur the Emperor's hostility. So when I had madesure that those five men were joined against me, I twisted that letterinto a taper and before their faces lit my pipe with it. "

Clementina's eyes were fixed steadily and intently upon Wogan's face. When he ended she drew a deep breath, but otherwise she did not move. The Princess-mother, however, was unmistakably relieved. She spoke witha kindliness she had never shown before to Wogan; she even smiled athim in a friendly way. 

"We do not doubt you, Mr. Wogan, but that written letter, giving mydaughter leave to go, I needs must have before I let her go. A father'sauthority! I cannot take that upon myself. "

Clementina took a quick step across to her mother's side. 

"You did not hear, " she said. 

"I heard indeed that Mr. Wogan had burnt the letter. "

"But under what stress, and to spare my father and to leave me still agrain of hope. Mother, this gentleman has run great risks for me, --howgreat I did not know; even now in this one instance we can only guessand still fall short of the mark. "

The Princess-mother visibly stiffened with maternal authority. 

"My child, without some sure sign the Prince consents, you must not go. "

Clementina looked towards Wogan for assistance. Wogan put his hand intohis pocket. 

"That sure sign I have, " said he. "It is a surer sign than any writtenletter; for handwriting may always be counterfeit. This could never be, "and he held out on the palm of his hand the turquoise snuff-box whichthe Prince had given him on New Year's day. "It is a jewel unique in allthe world, and the Prince gave it me. It is a jewel he treasured notonly for its value, but its history. Yet he gave it me. It was won bythe great King John of Poland, and remains as a memorial of the mostglorious day in all that warrior's glorious life; yet his son gave itme. With his own hands he put it into mine to prove to me with whatconfidence he trusted your Highness's daughter to my care. Thatconfidence was written large in the letter I burnt, but I am thinking itis engraved for ever upon this stone. "

The Princess-mother took the snuff-box reluctantly and turned it overand over. She was silent. Clementina answered for her. 

"I am ready, " she said, and she pointed to a tiny bundle on a chair inwhich a few clothes were wrapped. "My jewels are packed in the bundle, but I can leave them behind me if needs be. "

Wogan lifted up the bundle and laughed. 

"Your Highness teaches a lesson to soldiers; for there is never aknapsack but can hold this and still have half its space to spare. Thefront door is unlatched?"

"M. Chateaudoux is watching in the hall. "

"And the hall's unlighted?"

"Yes. "

"Jenny should be here in a minute, and before she comes I must tell youshe does not know the importance of our undertaking. She is the servantto Mrs. Misset, who attends your Highness into Italy. We did not let herinto the secret. We made up a comedy in which you have your parts toplay. Your Highness, " and he turned to Clementina, "is a rich Austrianheiress, deeply enamoured of Captain Lucius O'Toole. "

"Captain Lucius O'Toole!" exclaimed the mother, in horror. "My daughterenamoured of a Captain Lucius O'Toole!"

"He is one of my three companions, " said Wogan, imperturbably. "Moreover, he is six foot four, the most creditable lover in the world. "

"Well, " said Clementina, with a laugh, "I am deeply enamoured of theengaging Captain Lucius O'Toole. Go on, sir. "

"Your parents are of a most unexampled cruelty. They will not smile uponthe fascinating O'Toole, but have locked you up on bread and water untilyou shall agree to marry a wealthy but decrepit gentleman ofeighty-three. "

"I will not, " cried Clementina; "I will starve myself to death first. Iwill marry my six feet four or no other man in Christendom. "

"Clementina!" cried her mother, deprecatingly. 

"But at this moment, " continued Wogan, "there very properly appears thefairy godmother in the person of a romantical maiden aunt. "

"Oh!" said Clementina, "I have a romantical maiden aunt. "

"Yes, " said Wogan, and turning with a bow to the Princess-mother; "yourHighness. "

"I?" she exclaimed, starting up in her chair. 

"Your Highness has written an encouraging letter to Captain O'Toole, "resumed Wogan. The Princess-mother gasped, "A letter to CaptainO'Toole, " and she flung up her hands and fell back in her chair. 

"On the receipt of the letter Captain O'Toole gathers his friends, borrows a horse here, a carriage there, and a hundred guineas fromHeaven knows whom, comes to the rescue like a knight-errant, and retellsthe old story of how love laughs at locksmiths. "

As Wogan ended, the mother rose from her chair. It may have been thatshe revolted at the part she was to play; it may have been because afiercer gust shook the curtain and bellied it inwards. At all events sheflung the curtain aside; the snow drifted through the open window ontothe floor; outside the open window it was falling like a cascade, andthe air was icy. 

"Mr. Wogan, " she said, stubbornly working herself into a heat to makemore sure of her resolution, "my daughter cannot go to-night. To-morrow, if the sky clears, yes, but to-night, no. You do not know, sir, being aman. But my daughter has fasted through this Lent, and that leaves awoman weak. I do forbid her going, as her father would. The very dogsrunning the streets for food keep kennel on such a night. She must notgo. "

Wogan did not give way, though he felt a qualm of despair, knowing allthe stubbornness of which the weak are capable, knowing how imperviousto facts or arguments. 

"Your Highness, " he said quickly, "we are not birds of passage to ruleour flight by seasons. We must take the moment when it comes, and itcomes now. To-night your daughter can escape; for here's a night madefor an escape. "

"And for my part, " cried Clementina, "I would the snow fell faster. " Shecrossed to the open window and held out her hands to catch the flakes. "Would they did not melt! I believe Heaven sends the snow to shelter me. It's the white canopy spread above my head, that I may go in state tomeet my King. " She stood eager and exultant, her eyes shining, her cheekon fire, her voice thrilling with pride. She seemed not to feel thecold. She welcomed the hardships of wind and falling snow as heropportunity. She desired not only for escape, but also to endure. 

Wogan looked her over from head to foot, filled with pride andadmiration. He had made no mistake; he had plucked this rose of theworld to give to his King. His eyes said it; and the girl, reading them, drew a breath and rippled out a laugh of gladness that his trustedservant was so well content with her. But the Princess-mother stoodunmoved. 

"My daughter cannot go to-night, " she repeated resentfully. "I do forbidit. "

Wogan had his one argument. This one argument was his last resource. Hehad chosen it carefully with an eye to the woman whom it was topersuade. It was not couched as an inducement; it did not claim thedischarge of an obligation; it was not a reply to any definiteobjection. Such arguments would only have confirmed her in herstubbornness. He made accordingly an appeal to sentiment. 

"Your Highness's daughter, " said he, "spoke a minute since of thehazards my friends and I have run to compass her escape. As regards fourof us, the words reached beyond our deserts. For we are men. Suchhazards are our portion; they are seldom lightened by so high an aim. But the fifth! The words, however kind, were still below that fifthone's merits; for the fifth is a woman. "

"I know. With all my heart I thank her. With all my heart I pity her. "

"But there is one thing your Highness does not know. She runs ourrisks, --the risk of capture, the risk of the night, the storm, the snow, she a woman by nature timid and frail, --yet with never in all her lifeso great a reason for timidity, or so much frailty of health as now. Weventure our lives, but she ventures more. "

The mother bowed her head; Clementina looked fixedly at Wogan. 

"Speak plainly, my friend, " she said. "There are no children here. "

"Madam, I need but quote to you the words her husband used. For my part, I think that nobler words were never spoken, and with her whole heartshe repeats them. They are these: 'The boy would only live to serve hisKing; why should he not serve his King before he lives?'"

The mother was still silent, but Wogan could see that the tearsoverbrimmed her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Clementina was silentfor a while too, and stood with her eyes fixed thoughtfully on Wogan. Then she said gently, --

"Her name. "

Wogan told her it, and she said no more; but it was plain that she wouldnever forget it, that she had written it upon her heart. 

Wogan waited, looking to the Princess, who drying her tears rose fromher chair and said with great and unexpected dignity, --

"How comes it, sir, that with such servants your King still does not situpon his throne? My daughter shall not fall below the great example setto her. My fears are shamed by it. My daughter goes with you to-night. "

It was time that she consented, for even as Wogan flung himself upon hisknee and raised her hand, M. Chateaudoux appeared at the door with afinger on his lips, and behind him one could hear a voice grumbling andcursing on the stairs. 

"Jenny, " said Wogan, and Jenny stumbled into the room. "Quiet, " said he;"you will wake the house. "

"Well, if you had to walk upstairs in the dark in these horribleshoes--"

"Oh, Jenny, your cloak, quick!"

"Take the thing! A good riddance to it; it's dripping wet, and weighs aton. "

"Dripping wet!" moaned the mother. 

"I shall not wear it long, " said Clementina, advancing from theembrasure of the window. Jenny turned and looked her over criticallyfrom head to foot. Then she turned away without a word and let the cloakfall to the ground. It fell about her feet; she kicked it viciouslyaway, and at the same time she kicked off one of those shoes of whichshe so much complained. Jenny was never the woman to mince her language, and to-night she was in her surliest mood. So she swore simply andheartily, to the mother's utter astonishment and indignation. 

"Damn!" she said, hobbling across the room to the corner, whither hershoe had fallen. "There, there, old lady; don't hold your hands to yourears as though a clean oath would poison them!"

The Princess-mother fell back in her chair. 

"Does she speak to me?" she asked helplessly. 

"Yes, " said Wogan; and turning to Jenny, "This is the kind-heartedaunt. "

Jenny turned to Clementina, who was picking the cloak from the floor. 

"And you are the beautiful heiress, " she said sourly. "Well, if you aregoing to put that wet cloak on your shoulders, I wish you joy of thefirst kiss O'Toole gives you when you jump into his arms. "

The Princess-mother screamed; Wogan hastened to interfere. 

"Jenny, there's the bedroom; to bed with you!" and he took out hiswatch. At once he uttered an exclamation of affright. Wogan hadmiscalculated the time which he would require. It had taken longer thanhe had anticipated to reach the villa against the storm; his conflictwith Jenny in the portico had consumed valuable minutes; he had been atsome pains to over-persuade the Princess-mother; Jenny herself amongstthe trees in the darkness had waited more than the quarter of an hourdemanded of her; Wogan himself, absorbed each moment in that moment'sparticular business, --now bending all his wits to vanquish Jenny, now tovanquish the Princess-mother, --even Wogan had neglected how the timesped. He looked at his watch. It was twenty-five minutes to ten, and atten the magistrate would be knocking at the door. 

"I am ready, " said Clementina, drawing the wet cloak about her shouldersand its hood over her head. She barely shivered under its wet heaviness. 

"There's one more thing to be done before you go, " said Wogan; butbefore he could say what that one thing was, Jenny, who had nowrecovered her shoe, ran across the room and took the beautiful heiressby both hands. Jenny was impulsive by nature. The Princess-mother'sdistress and Clementina's fearlessness made her suddenly ashamed thatshe had spoken so sourly. 

"There, there, old lady, " she said soothingly; "don't you fret. They arevery good friends your niece is going with. " Then she drew Clementinaclose to her. "I don't wonder they are all mad about you, for I can'tbut say you are very handsome and richly worth the pains you haveoccasioned us. " She kissed Clementina plump upon the cheek andwhispered in her ear, "O'Toole won't mind the wet cloak, my dear, whenhe sees you. "

Clementina laughed happily and returned her kiss with no less sincerity, if with less noise. 

"Quick, Jenny, " said Wogan, "to bed with you!"

He pointed to the door which led to the Princess's bedroom. 

"Now you must write a letter, " he added to Clementina, in a low voice, as soon as the door was shut upon Jenny. "A letter to your mother, relieving her of all complicity in your escape. Her Highness will findit to-morrow night slipped under the cover of her toilette. "

Clementina ran to a table, and taking up a pen, "You think ofeverything, " she said. "Perhaps you have written the letter. "

Wogan pulled a sheet of paper from his fob. 

"I scribbled down a few dutiful sentiments, " said he, "as we drove downfrom Nazareth, thinking it might save time. "

"Mother, " exclaimed Clementina, "not content with contriving my escape, he will write my letters to you. Well, sir, let us hear what you havemade of it. "

Wogan dictated a most beautiful letter, in which a mother's claims forobedience were strongly set out--as a justification, one must suppose, for a daughter's disobedience. But Clementina was betrothed to hisMajesty King James, and that engagement must be ever the highestconsideration with her, on pain of forfeiting her honour. It wasaltogether a noble and stately letter, written in formal, irreproachablephrases which no daughter in the world would ever have written to amother. Clementina laughed over it, but said that it would serve. Woganlooked at his watch again. It was then a quarter to ten. 

"Quick!" said he. "Your Highness will wait for me under the fourth treeof the avenue, counting from the end. "

He left the mother and daughter alone, that his presence might not checkthe tenderness of their farewell, and went down the stairs into the darkhall. M. Chateaudoux was waiting there, with his teeth chattering in theextremity of his alarm. Wogan unlatched the door very carefully and sawthrough the chink the sentry standing by the steps. The snow still fell;he was glad to note the only light was a white glimmering from the wasteof snow upon the ground. 

"You must go out with her, " Wogan whispered to Chateaudoux, "and speak aword to the sentry. "

"At any moment the magistrate may come, " said Chateaudoux, though hetrembled so that he could hardly speak. 

"All the more reason for the sentinel to let your sweetheart run home ather quickest step, " said Wogan, and above him he heard Clementina comeout upon the landing. He crept up the stairs to her. 

"Here is my hand, " said he, in a low voice. She laid her own in his, and bending towards him in the darkness she whispered, --

"Promise me it shall always be at my service. I shall need friends. I amyoung, and I have no knowledge. Promise me!"

She was young indeed. The freshness of her voice, its little tremble ofmodesty, the earnestness of its appeal, carried her youth quite home toMr. Wogan's heart. She was sweet with youth. Wogan felt it more clearlyas they stood together in the darkness than when he had seen her plainlyin the lighted room, with youth mantling her cheeks and visible in thebuoyancy of her walk. Then she had been always the chosen woman. Wogancould just see her eyes, steady and mysteriously dark, shining at himout of the gloom, and a pang of remorse suddenly struck through him. That one step she was to take was across the threshold of a prison, itwas true, but a prison familiar and warm, and into a night of storm anddarkness and ice. The road lay before her into Italy, but it was a roadof unknown perils, through mountains deep in snow. And this escape ofto-night from the villa, this thunderous flight, with its hardships andits dangers, which followed the escape, was only the symbol of her life. She stepped from the shelter of her girlhood, as she stepped across thethreshold of the villa, into a womanhood dark with many trials, storm-swept and wandering. She might reach the queendom which was herdue, as the berlin in which she was to travel might--nay, surelywould--rush one day from the gorges into the plains and the sunlight ofItaly; but had Wogan travelled to Rome in Gaydon's place and talked withWhittington outside the Caprara Palace, it is very likely that she wouldnever have been allowed by him to start. Up till now he had thought onlyof her splendid courage, of the humiliation of her capture, of herwounded pride; she was the chosen woman. Now he thought of the girl, andwondered of her destiny, and was stricken with remorse. 

"Promise me, " she repeated, and her hand tightened upon his and clung toit. Wogan had no fine sentiments wherewith to answer her; but his voicetook a depth of sincerity and tenderness quite strange to her. Herfingers ceased to tremble. 

They went down into the hall. Chateaudoux, who had been waiting in anagony of impatience, opened the door and slipped out; Clementinafollowed him. 

The door was left ajar behind them, and Wogan in the hall sawChateaudoux speak with the sentinel, saw the sentinel run hurriedly toClementina, saw Clementina disappear into the snow. Chateaudoux ran backinto the hall. 

"And you!" he asked, as he barred and locked the door. "The magistrateis coming. I saw the lights of the guard across the avenue. "

Clementina was outside in the storm; Wogan was within the house, and thelights of the guard were already near. 

"I go by the way I came, " said he; "I have time;" and he ran quickly upthe stairs. In the room he found the Princess-mother weeping silently, and again, as he saw this weak elderly woman left alone to her fears andforebodings, remorse took hold on him. 

"Courage, madam, " said he, as he crossed the room; "she goes to wed aking. "

"Sir, I am her mother, " replied the Princess, gaining at this moment asuitable dignity from her tears. "I was wondering not of the King, butof the man the King conceals. "

"You need not, madam, " said Wogan, who had no time for eulogies upon hismaster. "Take his servant's loyalty as the measure of his merits. "

He looked out of the window and suddenly drew back. He stood for amoment with a look of great fear upon his face. For the sentinel wasback at his post; Wogan dared not at this moment risk a struggle, andperhaps an outcry. Clementina was waiting under the avenue of trees;Wogan was within the house, and the lights of the guard were alreadyflaring in the roadway. Even as Wogan stood in the embrasure of thewindow, he heard a heavy knocking on the door. 

CHAPTER XIV

Wogan closed the window cautiously. The snow had drifted through and laymelting in a heap beneath the sill. He drew the curtain across theembrasure, and then he crossed to the bedroom door. 

"Jenny, " he whispered, "are you in bed?"

"Yes. "

"Lie close! Do not show your face nor speak. Only groan, and groan mostdelicately, or we are lost. "

He closed the door upon Jenny, and turning about came face to face withthe Princess-mother. She stood confronting him, a finger on her lips, and terror in her eyes; and he heard the street-door open and clang tobelow. 

"The magistrate!" she whispered. 

"Courage, your Highness. Keep them from the bed! Say that her eyes areweak and cannot bear the light. "

He slipped behind the curtain into the embrasure, picturing to himselfthe disposition of the room, lest he should have left behind a trifle tobetray him. He had in a supreme degree that gift of recollection whichtakes the form of a mental vision. He did not have to count over thedetails of the room; he summoned a picture of it to his mind, and sawit and its contents from corner to corner. And thus while the footstepsyet sounded on the stair, he saw Clementina's bundle lying forgotten ona couch. He darted from his hiding-place, seized it, and ran back. Hehad just sufficient and not a second more time, for the curtain had notceased to swing when the magistrate knocked, and without waiting for ananswer entered. He was followed by two soldiers, and these he ordered towait without the door. 

"Your Highness, " he said in a polite voice, and stopped abruptly. Itseemed to Wogan behind the curtain that his heart stopped at the samemoment and with no less abruptness. There was no evidence ofClementina's flight to justify that sudden silence. Then he grew faint, as it occurred to him that he had made Lady Featherstone'smistake, --that his boot protruded into the room. He clenched his teeth, expecting a swift step and the curtain to be torn aside. The window wasshut; he would never have time to open it and leap out and take hischance with the sentry underneath. He was caught in a trap, andClementina waited for him in the avenue, under the fourth tree. All waslost, it seemed, and by his own folly, his own confidence. Had he onlytold her of the tavern under the city wall, where the carriage stoodwith its horses harnessed in the shafts, she might still have escaped, though he was trapped. The sweat passed down his face. Yet no swift stepwas taken, nor was the curtain torn aside. 

For within the room the magistrate, a kindly citizen of Innspruck whohad no liking for this addition to his duties, stood gazing at thePrincess-mother with a respectful pity. It was the sight of hertear-stained face which had checked his words. For two days Clementinahad kept her bed, and the mother's tears alarmed him. 

"Her Highness, your daughter, suffers so much?" said he. 

"Sir, it is little to be wondered at. "

The magistrate bowed. That question was not one with which he had a mindto meddle. 

"She still lies in bed?" said he, and he crossed to the door. The motherflung herself in the way. 

"She lies in pain, and you would disturb her; you would flash yourlanterns in her eyes, that if perchance she sleeps, she may wake into aworld of pain. Sir, you will not. "

"Your Highness--"

"It is the mother who beseeches you. Sir, would you have me on myknees?"

Wogan, but this moment recovered from his alarm, became again uneasy. Her Highness protested too much; she played her part in the comedy toostrenuously. He judged by the ear; the magistrate had the quivering, terror-stricken face before his eyes, and his pity deepened. 

"Your Highness, " he said, "I must pray you to let me pass. I haveGeneral Heister's orders to obey. "

The Princess-mother now gave Wogan reason to applaud her. She saw thatthe magistrate, for all his politeness, was quite inflexible. 

"Go, then, " she said with a quiet dignity which once before she hadshown that evening. "Since there is no humiliation to be spared us, takea candle, sir, and count the marks of suffering in my daughter's face;"and with her own hand she opened the bedroom door and stood aside. 

"Madam, I would not press my duty an inch beyond its limits, " said themagistrate. "I will stand in the doorway, and do you bid your daughterspeak. "

The Princess-mother did not move from her position. 

"My child, " she said. 

Jenny in the bedroom groaned and turned from one side to the other. 

"You are in pain?"

Jenny groaned again. The magistrate himself closed the door. 

"Believe me, " said he, "no one could more regret than I the incivilitiesto which I am compelled. "

He crossed the room. Wogan heard him and his men descending the stairs. He heard the door open and shut; he heard Chateaudoux draw the bolts. Then he stepped out from the curtain. 

"Your Highness, that was bravely done, " said he, and kneeling he kissedher hand. He went back into the embrasure, slipped the bundle over hisarm, and opened the window very silently. He saw the snow was stillfalling, the wind still moaning about the crannies and roaring alongthe streets. He set his knee upon the window-ledge, climbed out, anddrew the window to behind him. 

The Princess-mother waited in the room with her hand upon her heart. Shewaited, it seemed to her, for an eternity. Then she heard the sound of aheavy fall, and the clang of a musket against the wall of the villa. Butshe heard no cry. She ran to the window and looked out. But strain hereyes as she might, she could distinguish nothing in that blinding storm. She could not see the sentinel; nor was this strange, for the sentinellay senseless on the snow against the house-wall, and Mr. Wogan wasalready running down the avenue. 

Under the fourth tree he found Clementina; she took his arm, and theyset off together, wrestling with the wind, wading through the snow. Itseemed to Clementina that her companion was possessed by some new fear. He said no single word to her; he dragged her with a fierce grip uponher wrist; if she stumbled, he jerked her roughly to her feet. She sether teeth and kept pace with him. Only once did she speak. They had cometo a depression in the road where the melted snow had made a wide pool. Wogan leaped across it and said, --

"Give me your hand! There's a white stone midway where you can set yourfoot. "

The Princess stepped as he bade her. The stone yielded beneath her treadand she stood ankle-deep in the water. Wogan sprang to her side andlifted her out. She had uttered no cry, and now she only laughed as shestood shivering on the further edge. It was that low musical, good-humoured laugh to which Wogan had never listened without a thrillof gladness, but it waked no response in him now. 

"You told me of a white stone on which I might safely set my foot, " shesaid. "Well, sir, your white stone was straw. "

They were both to remember these words afterwards and to make of them aparable, but it seemed that Wogan barely heard them now. "Come!" hesaid, and taking her arm he set off running again. 

Clementina understood that something inopportune, something terrible, had happened since she had left the villa. She asked no questions; shetrusted herself without reserve to these true friends who had striven atsuch risks for her, she desired to prove to them that she was what theywould have her be, --a girl who did not pester them with inconvenientchatter, but who could keep silence when silence was helpful, and facehardships with a buoyant heart. 

They crossed the bridge and stopped before a pair of high folding doors. They were the doors of the tavern. Wogan drew a breath of relief, pulledthe bobbin, and pushed the doors open. Clementina slipped through, andin darkness she took a step forward and bruised herself against thewheels of a carriage. Wogan closed the door and ran to her side. 

"This way, " said he, and held out his hand. He guided Clementina roundthe carriage to a steep narrow stairway--it was more a ladder than astair--fixed against the inner wall. At the top of this stairway shone ahorizontal line of yellow light. Wogan led the Princess up the stairs. The line of light shone out beneath a door. Wogan opened the door andstood aside. Clementina passed into a small bare room lighted by asingle candle, where Mrs. Misset, Gaydon, and O'Toole waited for hercoming. Not a word was said; but their eyes spoke their admiration ofthe woman, their knees expressed their homage to the Queen. There was afire blazing on the hearth, Mrs. Misset had a dry change of clothesready and warm. Wogan laid the Princess's bundle on a chair, and withGaydon and O'Toole went down the stairs. 

"The horses?" he asked. 

"I have ordered them, " said Gaydon, "at the post-house. I will fetchthem;" and he hurried off upon his errand. 

Wogan turned to O'Toole. 

"And the bill?"

"I have paid it. "

"There is no one awake in the house?"

"No one but the landlady. "

"Good! Can you keep her engaged until we are ready?"

"To be sure I can. She shall never give a thought to any man of you butmyself. "

O'Toole passed through a door at the bottom of the staircase into thecommon-room of the inn. Wogan gently opened the big doors and draggedthe carriage out into the road. Gaydon with the horses gallopedsilently up through the snow, and together the two men feverishlyharnessed them to the carriage. There were six for the carriage, and aseventh for O'Toole to ride. The expedition which Wogan and Gaydonshowed was matched by the Princess. For while they were fastening thelast buckles, the door at the top of the stairs opened, and again thatnight Clementina whispered, --

"I am ready. "

"Come!" replied Wogan. She wore a scarlet cloak upon her shoulders, andmuffling it about her head she ran down with Mrs. Misset. Wogan openedthe lower door of the inn and called for O'Toole. O'Toole came runningout before Wogan had ended his words, and sprang into his saddle. Gaydonwas already on the box with the reins gathered in his hand. Wogan hadthe carriage door open before Clementina had reached the foot of thestairs; it was shut upon her and her companion almost before they wereaware they were within it; the carriage started almost before the doorwas shut. Yet when it did start, Wogan was beside Gaydon upon the box. Their movements, indeed, occurred with so exact a rapidity, that thoughthe hostess at once followed O'Toole to bid her guests farewell, whenshe reached the big doors she saw only the back of the carriage lurchingthrough the ruts of snow. 

"Quick!" cried Wogan; "we have lost too much time. "

"A bare twenty minutes, " said Gaydon. 

"A good twelve hours, " said Wogan. 

Gaydon lashed the horses into a gallop, the horses strained at theircollars, the carriage raced out of the town and up the slopes of theBrenner. The princess Clementina had been rescued from her prison. 

"But we must keep her free!" cried Wogan, as he blew through his glovesupon his frozen fingers. "Faster! Faster!"

The incline was steep, the snow clogged the wheels, the horses sank deepin it. Gaydon might ply his whip as he would, the carriage might lurchand leap from side to side; the pace was all too slow for Wogan. 

"We have lost twelve hours, " he cried. "Oh, would to God we were come toItaly!" And turning backwards he strained his eyes down through thedarkness and snow to the hidden roofs of Innspruck, almost fearing tosee the windows from one end of the town to the other leap to a blaze oflight, and to hear a roar of many voices warn him that the escape wasdiscovered. But the only cry that he heard came from the lips of Mrs. Misset, who put her head from the carriage and bade him stop. 

Gaydon brought the horses to a standstill three miles out of Innspruck. 

CHAPTER XV

Wogan jumped down from his box and ran to the carriage-door. 

"Her Highness is ill?" he cried in suspense. 

"Not the least bit in the world, " returned Clementina, whose voice foronce in a way jarred upon Wogan's ears. Nothing short of a positivesickness could justify the delay. 

"What is it, then?" he asked curtly, almost roughly, of Mrs. Misset. 

"You carried a packet for her Highness. It is left behind at thetavern. "

Wogan stamped impatiently on the ground. 

"And for this, for a petticoat or two, you hinder us, " he cried in aheat. "There's no petticoat in the world, though it were so stiff withgold that it stood on end of itself, that's worth a single second of thenext forty-eight hours. "

"But it contains her Highness's jewels. "

Wogan's impatience became an exasperation. Were all women at heart, then, no better than Indian squaws? A string of beads outweighed thesacrifices of friends and the chance of a crown! There was a blemish inhis idol, since at all costs she must glitter. Wogan, however, was themaster here. 

"Her Highness must lose her jewels, " he said roughly, and was turningaway when her Highness herself spoke. 

"You are unjust, my friend, " she said. "I would lose them verywillingly, were there a chance no one else would discover them. Butthere's no chance. The woman of the tavern will find the bundle, willopen it; very likely she has done so already. We shall have allInnspruck on our heels in half an hour;" and for the first time thatnight Wogan heard her voice break, and grieved to know that the tearswere running down her cheeks. He called to O'Toole, --

"Ride back to the tavern! Bring the packet without fail!"

O'Toole galloped off, and Gaydon drove the carriage to the side of theroad. There was nothing to do but to wait, and they waited in silence, counting up the chances. There could be no doubt that the landlady, ifonce she discovered the jewels hidden away in a common packet ofclothing, must suspect the travellers who had left them behind. Shewould be terrified by their value; she would be afraid to retain themlest harm should come to her; and all Innspruck would be upon thefugitives' heels. They waited for half an hour, --thirty minutes of gloomand despair. Clementina wept over this new danger which her comradesran; Mrs. Misset wept for that her negligence was to blame; Gaydon saton the box in the falling snow with his arms crossed upon his breast, and felt his head already loose upon his shoulders. The only one of theparty who had any comfort of that half-hour was Wogan. For he had beenwrong, --the chosen woman had no wish to glitter at all costs, though, tobe sure, she could not help glittering with the refulgence of her greatmerits. His idol had no blemish. Wogan paced up and down the road, whilehe listened for O'Toole's return, and that thought cheated the time forhim. At last he heard very faintly the sound of galloping hoofs belowhim on the road. He ran back to Gaydon. 

"It might be a courier to arrest us. If I shout, drive fast as you canto Nazareth, and from Nazareth to Italy. "

He hurried down the road and was hailed by O'Toole. 

"I have it, " said he. Wogan turned and ran by O'Toole's stirrup to thecarriage. 

"The landlady has a good conscience and sleeps well, " said O'Toole. "Ifound the house dark and the doors shut. They were only secured, however, by a wooden beam dropped into a couple of sockets on theinside. "

"But how did you open them?" asked Clementina. 

"Your Highness, I have, after all, a pair of arms, " said O'Toole. "Ijust pressed on the doors till--"

"Till the sockets gave?"

"No, till the beam broke, " said he, and Clementina laughed. 

"That's my six foot four!" said she. O'Toole did not understand. But hesmiled with great condescension and dignity, and continued his story. 

"I groped my way up the stairs into the room and found the bundleuntouched in the corner. "

He handed it to the Princess; Wogan sprang again onto the box, andGaydon whipped up the horses. They reached the first posting stage attwo, the second at four, the third at six, and at each they wasted notime. All that night their horses strained up the mountain road amid thewhirling sleet. At times the wind roaring down a gorge would set thecarriage rocking; at times they stuck fast in drifts; and Wogan andGaydon must leap from the box and plunging waist-deep in the snow, mustdrag at the horses and push at the wheels. The pace was too slow; Woganseemed to hear on every gust of wind the sound of a galloping company. 

"We have lost twelve hours, more than twelve hours now, " he repeated andrepeated to Gaydon. All the way to Ala they would still be in theEmperor's territory. It needed only a single courier to gallop pastthem, and at either Roveredo or Trent they would infallibly be taken. Wogan fingered his pistols, straining his eyes backwards down the road. 

At daybreak the snow stopped; the carriage rolled on high among themountains under a grey sky; and here and there, at a wind of the road, Wogan caught a glimpse of the towers and chimney-tops of Innspruck, orhad within his view a stretch of the slope they had climbed. But therewas never a black speck visible upon the white of the snow; as yet nocourier was overtaking them, as yet Innspruck did not know its captivehad escaped. At eight o'clock in the morning they came to Nazareth, andfound their own berlin ready harnessed at the post-house door, thepostillion already in his saddle, and Misset waiting with an uncoveredhead. 

"Her Highness will breakfast here, no doubt?" said Gaydon. 

"Misset will have seen to it, " cried Wogan, "that the berlin isfurnished. We can breakfast as we go. "

They waited no more than ten minutes at Nazareth. The order oftravelling was now changed. Wogan and Gaydon now travelled in the berlinwith Mrs. Misset and Clementina. Gaydon, being the oldest of the party, figured as the Count of Cernes, Mrs. Misset as his wife, Clementina ashis niece, and Wogan as a friend of the family. O'Toole and Misset rodebeside the carriage in the guise of servants. Thus they started fromNazareth, and had journeyed perhaps a mile when without so much as amoan Clementina swooned and fell forward into Wogan's arms. Mrs. Missetuttered a cry; Wogan clasped the Princess to his breast. Her head fellback across his arm, pale as death; her eyes were closed; her bosom, strained against his, neither rose nor fell. 

"She has fasted all Lent, " he said in a broken voice. "She has eatennothing since we left Innspruck. "

Mrs. Misset burst into tears; she caught Clementina's hand and claspedit; she had no eyes but for her. With Gaydon it was different. Wogan washolding the Princess in a clasp too loverlike, though, to be sure, itwas none of his business. 

"We must stop the carriage, " he said. 

"No, " cried Wogan, desperately; "that we must not do;" and he caught herstill closer to him. He had a fear that she was dying. Even so, sheshould not be recaptured. Though she were dead, he would still carry herdead body into Bologna and lay it white and still before his King. Europe from London to the Bosphorus should know the truth of her andring with the wonder of her, though she were dead. O'Toole, attracted bythe noise of Mrs. Misset's lamentations, bent down over his horse's neckand looked into the carriage. 

"Her Highness is dead!" he cried. 

"Drive on, " replied Wogan, through his clenched teeth. 

Upon the other side of the carriage, Misset shouted through the window, "There is a spring by the roadside. "

"Drive on, " said Wogan. 

Gaydon touched him on the arm. 

"You will stifle her, man. "

Wogan woke to a comprehension of his attitude, and placed Clementinaback on her seat. Mrs. Misset by good fortune had a small bottle ofCarmelite water in her pocket; she held it to the Princess's nostrils, who in a little opened her eyes and saw her companions in tears abouther, imploring her to wake. 

"It is nothing, " she said. "Take courage, my poor marmosets;" and with asmile she added, "There's my six feet four with the tears in his eyes. Did ever a woman have such friends?"

The sun came out in the sky as she spoke. They had topped the pass andwere now driving down towards Italy. There was snow about them still onthe mountain-sides and deep in drifts upon the roads. The air wasmusical with the sound of innumerable freshets: they could be seenleaping and sparkling in the sunlight; the valleys below were green withthe young green of spring, and the winds were tempered with the warmthof Italy. A like change came upon the fugitives. They laughed, wherebefore they had wept; from under the seat they pulled out chickens whichMisset had cooked with his own hands at Nazareth, bottles of the wine ofSt. Laurent, and bread; and Wogan allowed a halt long enough to getwater from a spring by the roadside. 

"There is no salt, " said Gaydon. 

"Indeed there is, " replied Misset, indignant at the aspersion on hiscatering. "I have it in my tobacco-box. " He took his tobacco-box fromhis pocket and passed it into the carriage. Clementina made sandwichesand passed them out to the horsemen. The chickens turned out to be oldcocks, impervious to the soundest tooth. No one minded except Misset, who had brought them. The jolts of the carriage became matter for ajest. They picnicked with the merriment of children, and finallyO'Toole, to show his contempt for the Emperor, fired off both his loadedpistols in the air. 

At that Wogan's anxiety returned. He blazed up into anger. He thrust hishead from the window. 

"Is this your respect for her Highness?" he cried. "Is this yourconsideration?"

"Nay, " interposed Clementina, "you shall not chide my six feet four. "

"But he is mad, your Highness. I don't say but what a trifle of madnessis salt to a man; but O'Toole's clean daft to be firing his pistols offto let the whole world know who we are. Here are we not six stages fromInnspruck, and already we have lost twelve hours. "

"When?"

"Last night, before we left Innspruck, between the time when you escapedfrom the villa and when I joined you in the avenue. I climbed out of thewindow to descend as I had entered, but the sentinel had returned. Iwaited on the window-ledge crouched against the wall until he shouldshow me his back. After five minutes or so he did. He stamped on thesnow and marched up the lane. I let myself down and hung by my hands, but he turned on his beat before I could drop. He marched back; I clungto the ledge, thinking that in the darkness he would pass on beneath meand never notice. He did not notice; but my fingers were frozen andnumbed with the cold. I felt them slipping; I could cling no longer, andI fell. Luckily I fell just as he passed beneath me; I dropped feetforemost upon his shoulders, and he went down without a cry. I left himlying stunned there on the snow; but he will be found, or he willrecover. Either way our escape will be discovered, and no later thanthis morning. Nay, it must already have been discovered. AlreadyInnspruck's bells are ringing the alarm; already the pursuit isbegun--" and he leaned his head from the window and cried, "Faster!faster!" O'Toole, for his part, shouted, "Trinkgeldt!" It was the onlyword of German which he knew. "But, " said he, "there was a Saracen ladyI learned about at school who travelled over Europe and found her loverin an alehouse in London, with no word but his name to help her over theroad. Sure, it would be a strange thing if I couldn't travel all overGermany with the help of 'Trinkgeldt. '"

The word certainly had its efficacy with the postillion. "Trinkgeldt!"cried O'Toole, and the berlin rocked and lurched and leaped down thepass. The snow was now less deep, the drifts fewer. The road wound alonga mountain-side: at one window rose the rock; from the other thetravellers looked down hundreds of feet to the bed of the valley and theboiling torrent of the Adige. It was a mere narrow ribbon of a road madeby the Romans, without a thought for the convenience of travellers in alater day; and as the carriage turned a corner, O'Toole, mounted on hishorse, saw ahead a heavy cart crawling up towards them. The carter sawthe berlin thundering down towards him behind its four maddened horses, and he drew his cart to the inside of the road against the rock. Thepostillion tugged at his reins; he had not sufficient interval of spaceto check his team; he threw a despairing glance at O'Toole. It seemedimpossible the berlin could pass. There was no use to cry out; O'Toolefell behind the carriage with his mind made up. He looked down theprecipice; he saw in his imagination the huge carriage with its tangled, struggling horses falling sheer into the foam of the river. He could notride back to Bologna with that story to tell; he and his horse must takethe same quick, steep road. 

The postillion drove so close to the cart that he touched it as hepassed. "We are lost!" he shouted in an agony; and O'Toole saw the hindwheel of the berlin slip off the road and revolve for the fraction of asecond in the air. He was already putting his horse at the precipice asthough it was a ditch to be jumped, when the berlin made, to hisastonished eyes, an effort to recover its balance like a live thing. Itseemed to spring sideways from the brink of the precipice. It not onlyseemed, it did spring; and O'Toole, drawing rein, in the great revulsionof his feelings, saw, as he rocked unsteadily in his saddle, thecarriage tearing safe and unhurt down the very centre of the road. 

O'Toole set his spurs to his horse and galloped after it. The postillionlooked back and laughed. 

"Trinkgeldt!" he cried. 

O'Toole swore loudly, and getting level beat him with his whip. Wogan'shead popped out of the window. 

"Silence!" said he in a rage. "Mademoiselle is asleep;" and then seeingO'Toole's white and disordered face he asked, "What is it?" No one inthe coach had had a suspicion of their danger. But O'Toole still sawbefore his eyes that wheel slip over the precipice and revolve in air, he still felt his horse beneath him quiver and refuse this leap intoair. In broken tones he gasped out his story to Wogan, and as he spokethe Princess stirred. 

"Hush!" said Wogan; "she need not know. Ride behind, O'Toole! Your blueeyes are green with terror. Your face will tell the story, if once shesees it. "

O'Toole fell back again behind the carriage, and at four that afternoonthey stopped before the post-house at Brixen. They had crossed theBrenner in a storm of snow and howling winds; they had travelled tenleagues from Innspruck. Wogan called a halt of half an hour. ThePrincess had eaten barely a mouthful since her supper of the nightbefore. Wogan forced her to alight, forced her to eat a couple of eggs, and to drink a glass of wine. Before the half-hour had passed, she wasanxious to start again. 

From Brixen the road was easier; and either from the smoothness of thetravelling or through some partial relief from his anxieties, Wogan, whohad kept awake so long, suddenly fell fast asleep, and when he woke upagain the night was come. He woke up without a start or even a movement, as was his habit, and sat silently and bitterly reproaching himself forthat he had yielded to fatigue. It was pitch-dark within the carriage;he stared through the window and saw dimly the moving mountain-side, andhere and there a clump of trees rush past. The steady breathing ofGaydon, on his left, and of Mrs. Misset in the corner opposite toGaydon, showed that those two guardians slept as well. His reproachesbecame more bitter and then suddenly ceased, for over against him in thedarkness a young, fresh voice was singing very sweetly and very low. Itwas the Princess Clementina, and she sang to herself, thinking all threeof her companions were asleep. Wogan had not caught the sound at firstabove the clatter of the wheels, and even now that he listened it cameintermittently to his ears. He heard enough, however, to know and torejoice that there was no melancholy in the music. The song had theclear bright thrill of the blackbird's note in June. Wogan listened, entranced. He would have given worlds to have written the song withwhich Clementina solaced herself in the darkness, to have composed themelody on which her voice rose and sank. 

The carriage drew up at an inn; the horses were changed; the flight wasresumed. Wogan had not moved during this delay, neither had Misset norO'Toole come to the door. But an ostler had flashed a lantern into theberlin, and for a second the light had fallen upon Wogan's face andopen eyes. Clementina, however, did not cease; she sang on until thelights had been left behind and the darkness was about them. Then shestopped and said, --

"How long is it since you woke?"

Wogan was taken by surprise. 

"I should never have slept at all, " stammered he. "I promised myselfthat. Not a wink of sleep betwixt Innspruck and Italy; and here was Ifast as a log this side of Trent. I think our postillion sleeps too;"and letting down the window he quietly called Misset. 

"We have fresh relays, " said he, "and we travel at a snail's-pace. "

"The relays are only fresh to us, " returned Misset. "We can go nofaster. There is someone ahead with three stages' start of us, --someoneof importance, it would seem, and who travels with a retinue, for hetakes all the horses at each stage. "

Wogan thrust his head out of the window. There was no doubt of it; thehorses lagged. In this hurried flight the most trifling hindrance was amonumental danger, and this was no trifling hindrance. For the hue andcry was most certainly raised behind them; the pursuit from Innspruckhad begun twelve hours since, on the most favourable reckoning. At anymoment they might hear the jingle of a horse's harness on the roadbehind. And now here was a man with a great retinue blocking their wayin front. 

"We can do no more, but make a fight of it in the end, " said he. "Theymay be few who follow us. But who is he ahead?"

Misset did not know. 

"I can tell you, " said Clementina, with a slight hesitation. "It is thePrince of Baden, and he travels to Italy. "

Wogan remembered a certain letter which his King had written to him fromRome; and the hesitation in the girl's voice told him the rest of thestory. Wogan would have given much to have had his fingers about thescruff of that pompous gentleman's neck with the precipice handy at hisfeet. It was intolerable that the fellow should pester the Princess inprison and hinder her flight when she had escaped from it. 

"Well, we can do no more, " said he, and he drew up the window. NeitherGaydon nor Mrs. Misset were awakened; Clementina and Wogan were alone inthe darkness. 

She leaned forward to him and said in a low voice, --

"Tell me of the King. I shall make mistakes in this new world. Will hehave patience with me while I learn?"

She had spoken upon the same strain in the darkness of the staircaseonly the night before. Wogan gently laughed her fears aside. 

"I will tell you the truest thing about the King. He needs you at hisside. For all his friends, he is at heart a lonely man, throned uponsorrows. I dare to tell you that, knowing you. He needs not a merewife, but a mate, a helpmate, to strive with him, her hand in his. Everyman needs the helpmate, as I read the world. For it cannot but be that aman falls below himself when he comes home always to an empty room. "

The Princess was silent. Wogan hoped that he had reassured her. But herthoughts were now turned from herself. She leaned yet further forwardwith her elbows upon her knees, and in a yet lower voice she asked aquestion which fairly startled him. 

"Does she not love you?"

Wogan, indeed, had spoken unconsciously, with a deep note of sadness inhis voice, which had sounded all the more strange and sad to her fromits contrast with the quick, cheerful, vigorous tones she had come tothink the mark of him. He had spoken as though he looked forward with apoignant regret through a weary span of days, and saw himself always inyouth and middle years and age coming home always to an empty room. Therefore she put her question, and Wogan was taken off his guard. 

"There is no one, " he said in a flurry. 

Clementina shook her head. 

"I wish that I may hear the King speak so, and in that voice; I shall bevery sure he loves me, " she said in a musing voice, and so changingalmost to a note of raillery. "Tell me her name!" she pleaded. "What isamiss with her that she is not thankful for a true man's love likeyours? Is she haughty? I'll bring her on her knees to you. Does shethink her birth sets her too high in the world? I'll show her so muchcontempt, you so much courtesy, that she shall fall from her arroganceand dote upon your steps. Perhaps she is too sure of your devotion? Why, then, I'll make her jealous!"

Wogan interrupted her, and the agitation of his voice put an end to herraillery. Somehow she had wounded him who had done so much for her. 

"Madam, I beg you to believe me, there is no one;" and casting about fora sure argument to dispel her conjectures, he said on an impulse, "Listen; I will make your Highness a confidence. " He stopped, to makesure that Gaydon and Mrs. Misset were still asleep. Then he laugheduneasily like a man that is half-ashamed and resumed, --"I am lord andking of a city of dreams. Here's the opening of a fairy tale, you willsay. But when I am asleep my city's very real; and even now that I amawake I could draw you a map of it, though I could not name its streets. That's my town's one blemish. Its streets are nameless. It has taken along while in the building, ever since my boyhood; and indeed the work'snot finished yet, nor do I think it ever will be finished till I die, since my brain's its architect. When I was asleep but now, I discovereda new villa, and an avenue of trees, and a tavern with red blinds whichI had never remarked before. At the first there was nothing but a queerwhite house of which the original has fallen to ruins at Rathcoffey inIreland. This house stood alone in a wide flat emerald plain thatstretched like an untravelled sea to a circle of curving sky. There wasroom to build, you see, and when I left Rathcoffey and became awanderer, the building went on apace. There are dark lanes there fromAvignon between great frowning houses, narrow climbing streets fromMeran, arcades from Verona, and a park of many thickets and tallpoplar-trees with a long silver stretch of water. One day you will seethat park from the windows of St. James. It has a wall too, my city, --around wall enclosing it within a perfect circle; and from whateverquarter of the plain you come towards it, you only see this wall, there's not so much as a chimney visible above it. Once you have crowdedwith the caravans and traders through the gates, --for my town isbusy, --you are at once in the ringing streets. I think my architect inthat took Aigues Mortes for his model. Outside you have the flat, silentplain, across which the merchants creep in long trailing lines, withinthe noise of markets, the tramp of horses' hoofs, the talk of men andwomen, and, if you listen hard, the whispers, too, of lovers. Oh, mycity's populous! There are quiet alleys with windows opening onto them, where on summer nights you may see a young girl's face with themoonlight on it like a glory, and in the shadow of the wall beneath, thecloaked figure of a youth. Well, I have a notion--" and then he brokeoff abruptly. "There's a black horse I own, my favourite horse. "

"You rode it the first time you came to Ohlau, " said the Princess. 

"Do you indeed remember that?" cried Wogan, with so much pleasure thatGaydon stirred in his corner, and Clementina said, "Hush!"

Wogan waited in a suspense lest Gaydon should wake up, which, to besure, would be the most inconsiderate thing in the world. Gaydon, however, settled himself more comfortably, and in a little his regularbreathing might be heard again. 

"Well, " resumed Wogan, "I have a notion that the lady I shall marry willcome riding some sunrise on my black horse across the plain and into mycity of dreams. And she has not. "

"Ah, " said Clementina, "here's a subterfuge, my friend. The lady youshall marry, you say. But tell me this! Has the lady you love ridden onyour black horse into your city of dreams?"

"No, " said Wogan; "for there is no lady whom I love. " There Wogan shouldhave ended, but he added rather sadly, "Nor is there like to be. "

"Then I am sure, " said Clementina. 

"Sure that I speak truth?"

"No, sure that you mislead me. It is not kind; for here perhaps I mightgive you some small token of my gratitude, would you but let me. Oh, itis no matter. I shall find out who the lady is. You need not doubt it. Ishall set my wits and eyes to work. There shall be marriages when I amQueen. I will find out!"

Wogan's face was not visible in the darkness; but he spoke quickly andin a startled voice, --

"That you must never do. Promise that you never will! Promise me thatyou will never try;" and again Gaydon stirred in his corner. 

Clementina made no answer to the passionate words. She did not promise, but she drew a breath, and then from head to foot she shivered. Wogandared not repeat his plea for a promise, but he felt that though she hadnot given it, none the less she would keep it. They sat for awhilesilent. Then Clementina came back to her first question. 

"Tell me of the King, " she said very softly. And as the carriage rolleddown the mountain valley through the night and its wheels struck flashesof fire from the stones, Wogan drew a picture for her of the man she wasto marry. It was a relief to him to escape from the dangerous talk ofthe last hour, and he spoke fervently. The poet in him had always beensensitive to the glamour of that wandering Prince; he had hiscountrymen's instinctive devotion for a failing cause. This was nosuitable moment for dwelling upon the defects and weaknesses. Wogan toldher the story of the campaign in Scotland, of the year's residence inAvignon. He spoke most burningly. A girl would no doubt like to hear ofher love's achievements; and if James Stuart had not so many to his nameas a man could wish, that was merely because chance had served him ill. So a fair tale was told, not to be found in any history book, of anight attack in Scotland and how the Chevalier de St. George, surprisedand already to all purposes a prisoner, forced a way alone through ninegrenadiers with loaded muskets and escaped over the roof-tops. It was agood breathless story as he told it, and he had just come to an end ofit when the carriage drove through the village of Wellishmile andstopped at the posting-house. Wogan opened the door and shook Gaydon bythe shoulder. 

"Let us try if we can get stronger horses here, " said he, and he gotout. Gaydon woke up with surprising alacrity. 

"I must have fallen asleep, " said he. "I beseech your Highness'sforgiveness; I have slept this long while. " It was no business of his ifWogan chose to attribute his own escape from Newgate as an exploit ofthe King's. The story was a familiar one at Bologna, whither they werehurrying; it was sufficiently known that Charles Wogan was its hero. Allthis was Wogan's business, not Gaydon's. Nor had Gaydon anything to dowith any city of dreams or with any lady that might ride into it, orwith any black horse that chanced to carry her. Poets no doubt talkedthat way. It was their business. Gaydon was not sorry that he had sleptso heartily through those last stages. He got down from the carriage andmet Wogan coming from the inn with a face of dismay. 

"We are stopped here. There is no help for it. We have gained on thePrince of Baden, who is no more than two stages ahead. The relays whichcarried him from here to the next stage have only this instant comeback. They are too tired to move. So we must stay until they arerefreshed. And we are still three posts this side of Trent!" he cried. "I would not mind were Trent behind us. But there's no help for it. Ihave hired a room where the Countess and her niece can sleep until suchtime as we can start. "

Clementina and Mrs. Misset descended and supped in company with Gaydonand Wogan, while Misset and O'Toole waited upon them as servants. It wasa silent sort of supper, very different from the meal they had made thatmorning. For though the fare was better, it lacked the exhilaration. This delay weighed heavily upon them all. For the country was now for asure thing raised behind them, and if they had gained on the Prince ofBaden, their pursuers had no less certainly gained on them. 

"Would we were t'other side of Trent!" exclaimed Wogan; and looking uphe saw that Clementina was watching him with a strange intentness. Hereyes were on him again while they sat at supper; and when he led her tothe door of her room and she gave him her hand, she stood for a littlewhile looking deep into his eyes. And though she had much need of sleep, when she had got into the room and the door was closed behind her, sheremained staring at the logs of the fire. 

For she knew his secret, and to her eyes he was now another man. Before, Wogan was the untiring servant, the unflinching friend; now he was theman who loved her. The risks he had run, his journeyings, his unswervingconfidence in the result, his laborious days and nights of preparation, and the swift execution, --love as well as service claimed a share inthese. He was changed for ever to her eyes; she knew his secret. Therewas the cloud no bigger than a man's hand. For she must needs think overall that he had said and done by the new light the secret shed. When didhe first begin to care? Why? She recalled his first visit long ago toOhlau, when he rode across the park on his black horse charged with hismomentous errand. She had been standing, she remembered, before theblazing log-fire in the great stone hall, much as she was standing now. Great changes had come since then. She was James Stuart's chosenwife--and this man loved her. He had no hope of any reward; he desiredeven that she should not know. She should no doubt have been properlysorry and compassionate, but she was a girl simple and frank. To beloved by a man who could so endure and strive and ask no guerdon, --thatlifted her. She thought the more worthily of herself because he lovedher. She was raised thereby. She could not be sorry; her blood pulsed, her heart sang, the starry eyes shone with a brighter light. He lovedher. She knew his secret. A little clock chimed the hour upon themantel-shelf, and lifting her eyes she saw that just twenty-four hourshad passed since she had driven out of Innspruck up the Brenner. 

As she got into bed a horse galloped up to the inn and stopped. Sheremembered that she had not ridden on his black horse out of the sunriseacross the plain. He loved her, and since he loved her, surely--She fellasleep puzzled and wondering why. She was waked up some two hoursafterwards by a rapping on the door, and she grew hot and she recognisedWogan's voice cautiously whispering to her to rise with all speed. Forin her dreams from which she had wakened, she had ridden across the flatgreen plain into the round city of dreams. 

CHAPTER XVI

When the horse galloped up to the door, the Princess turned on her sideand went to sleep. In the common-room below Gaydon and Wogan weresmoking a pipe of tobacco over the fire. Both men rose on the instant;Wogan stealthily opened the door an inch or so and looked down thepassage. Gaydon raised a corner of the blind and peered through thewindow. The two remaining members of the party, Misset and O'Toole, whoas lackeys had served the supper of the Princess, were now eating theirown. When the Princess turned over on her side, and Wogan stepped ontiptoe to the door and Gaydon peeped through the window, Misset laiddown his knife and fork, and drawing a flask from his pocket emptied itscontents into an earthenware water-jug which stood upon the table. O'Toole, for his part, simply continued to eat. 

"He is getting off his horse, " said Gaydon. 

"Has he ridden hard, do you think?" asked Misset. 

"He looks in a mighty ill-humour. "

O'Toole looked up from his plate, and became gradually aware thatsomething was occurring. Before he could speak, however, Gaydon droppedthe blind. 

"He is coming in. It will never do for him to find the four of ustogether. He may not be the courier from Innspruck; on the other hand, he may, and seeing the four of us he will ask questions of the landlord. Seeing no more than two, he will very likely ask none. "

O'Toole began to understand. He understood, at all events, that for himthere was to be no more supper. If two were to make themselves scarce, he knew that he would be one of the two. 

"Very well, " said he, heaving a sigh which made the glasses on the tabledance, and laying his napkin down he got up. To his surprise, however, he was bidden to stay. 

"Gaydon and I will go, " said Wogan. "Jack will find out the fellow'sbusiness. "

Misset nodded his head, took up his knife and fork again. He leanedacross the table to O'Toole as the others stepped out of the room. 

"You speak only French, Lucius. You come from Savoy. " He had no time tosay more, for the new-comer stamped blustering down the passage andflung into the room. The man, as Gaydon had remarked, was in a mightyill-humour; his clothes and his face were splashed with mud, and heseemed, moreover, in the last stage of exhaustion. For though he bawledfor the landlord it was in a weak, hoarse voice, which did not reachbeyond the door. 

Misset looked at him with sympathy. 

"You have no doubt come far, " said he; "and the landlord's a laggard. Here's something that may comfort you till he comes;" and he filled aglass half full with red Tyrol wine from the bottle at his elbow. 

The man thanked him and advanced to the table. 

"It is a raw hot wine, " continued Misset, "and goes better with water;"and he filled up the glass from the water-jug. The courier reached outhis hand for it. 

"I am the thirstiest man in all Germany, " said he, and he took a gulp ofthe wine and immediately fell to spluttering. 

"Save us, " said he, "but this wine is devilishly strong. "

"Try some more water, " said Misset, and again he filled up the glass. The courier drank it all in a single draught, and stood winking his eyesand shaking his head. 

"That warms a man, " said he. "It does one good;" and again he called forthe landlord, and this time in a strange voice. The landlord stilllagged, however, and Misset did not doubt that Wogan had found a meansto detain him. He filled up the courier's glass again, half wine, halfwater. The courier sat heavily down in a chair. 

"I take the liberty, gentlemen, " said he. "I am no better than adung-heap to sit beside gentlemen. But indeed I can stand no longer. Never have I stridden across such vile slaughter-house cattle as theykeep for travellers on the Brenner road. I have sprained my legs withspurring 'em. Seven times, " he cried with an oath, --"seven times has ahorse dropped under me to-day. There's not an inch of me unbruised, curse me if there is! I'm a cake of mud. "

Misset knew very well why the courier had suffered these falls. Thehorses he had ridden had first been tired by the Prince of Baden, andthen had the last spark of fire flogged out of them by the Princess'spostillions. He merely shrugged his shoulders, however, and said, "Thatlooks ill for us. "

The courier gazed suddenly at Misset, then at O'Toole, with a dull sortof suspicion in his eyes. 

"And which way might you gentlemen be travelling?"

"To Innspruck; we're from Trent, " said Misset, boldly. 

The courier turned to O'Toole. 

"And you too, sir?"

O'Toole turned a stolid, uncomprehending face upon the courier. 

"Pour moi, monsieur, je suis Savoyard. Monsieur qui vous parle, c'estmon compagnon de négoce. "

The courier gazed with blank, heavy eyes at O'Toole. He had theappearance of a man fuddled with drink. He heaved a sigh or two. 

"Will you repeat that, " he said at length, "and slowly?"

O'Toole repeated his remark, and the courier nodded at him. "That'svery strange, " said he, solemnly, wagging his head. "I do not disputeits truth, but it is most strange. I will tell my wife of it. " He turnedin his chair, and a twinge from his bruises made him cry out. "I shallbe as stiff as a mummy in the morning, " he exclaimed, and swore loudlyat "the bandits" who had caused him this deplorable journey. Misset andO'Toole exchanged a quick glance, and Misset pushed the glass across thetable. The courier took it, and his eyes lighted up. 

"You have come from Trent, " said he. "Did you pass a travelling carriageon the road?"

"Yes, " said Misset; "the Prince of Baden with a large following droveinto Trent as we came out. "

"Yes, yes, " said the courier. "But no second party behind the Prince?"

Misset shook his head; he made a pretence of consulting O'Toole inFrench, and O'Toole shook his head. 

"Then I shall have the robbers, " cried the courier. "They are to beflayed alive, and they deserve it, " he shouted fiercely to Misset. "Gallows-birds!"

He dropped his head upon his arms and muttered "gallows-birds" again. Itseemed that he was falling asleep, but he suddenly sat up and beat onthe table with his fist. 

"I have eaten nothing since the morning. Ah--gallows-birds--flayedalive, and hanged--no, hanged and flayed alive--no, that's impossible. "He drank off the wine which Misset had poured out for him, and rose fromhis chair. "Where's the landlord? I want supper. I want besides to speakto him;" and he staggered towards the door. 

"As for supper, " said Misset, "we shall be glad if you will share ours. Travellers should be friendly. "

O'Toole caught the courier by the arm and with a polite speech in Frenchdrew him again down into his chair. The courier stared at O'Toole andforgot all about the landlord. He had eaten nothing all day, and thewine and the water-jug had gone to his head. He put a long forefinger onO'Toole's knee. 

"Say that again, " said he, and O'Toole obeyed. A slow, fat smile spreadall over the courier's face. 

"I'll tell my wife about it, " said he. He tried to clap O'Toole on theback, and missing him fell forward with his face on the table. The nextminute he was snoring. Misset walked round the table and deftly pickedhis pockets. There was a package in one of them superscribed to "PrinceTaxis, the Governor of Trent. " Misset deliberately broke the seal andread the contents. He handed the package to O'Toole, who read it, andthen flinging it upon the ground danced upon it. Misset went out of theroom and found Wogan and Gaydon keeping watch by Clementina's door. Tothem he spoke in a whisper. 

"The fellow brings letters from General Heister to the Governor of Trentto stop us at all costs. But his letters are destroyed, and he's lyingdead-drunk on the table. "

The three men quickly concerted a plan. The Princess must be roused; astart must be made at once; and O'Toole must be left behind to keep awatch upon the courier, Wogan rapped at the door and waked Clementina;he sent Gaydon to the stables to bribe the ostlers, and with Misset wentdown to inform O'Toole. 

O'Toole, however, was sitting with his eyes closed and his head nodding, surrounded by scraps of the letter which he had danced to pieces. Woganshook him by the shoulder, and he opened his eyes and smiled fatuously. 

"He means to tell his wife, " he said with a foolish gurgle of laughter. "He must be an ass. I don't think if I had a wife I should tell her. Would you, Wogan, tell your wife if you had one? Misset wouldn't tellhis wife. "

Misset interrupted him. 

"What have you drank since I went out of the room?" he asked roughly. Hetook up the water-jug and turned it topsy-turvy. It was quite empty. 

"Only water, " said O'Toole, dreamily, and he laughed again. "Now Iwouldn't mind telling my wife that, " said he. 

Misset let him go and turned with a gesture of despair to Wogan. 

"I poured my flask out into the water-bottle. It was full of burntStrasbourg brandy, of double strength. It is as potent as opium. Neitherof them will have his wits before to-morrow. It will not help us toleave O'Toole to guard the courier. "

"And we cannot take him, " said Wogan. "There is the Princess to bethought of. We must leave him, and we cannot leave him alone, for hisneck's in danger, --more than in danger if the courier wakes before him. "

He picked up carefully the scraps of the letter and placed them in themiddle of the fire. They were hardly burnt before Gaydon came into theroom with word that horses were already being harnessed to the berlin. Wogan explained their predicament. 

"We must choose which of us three shall stay behind, " said he. 

"Which of us two, " Misset corrected, pointing to Gaydon and himself. "When the Princess drives into Bologna, Charles Wogan, who first had thehigh heart to dare this exploit, the brain to plot, the hand to executeit, --Charles Wogan must ride at her side, not Misset, not Gaydon. I takeno man's honours. " He shook Wogan by the hand as he spoke, and he hadspoken with an extraordinary warmth of admiration. Gaydon could do noless than follow his companion's example, though there was a shade ofembarrassment in his manner of assenting. It was not that he had anyenvy of Wogan, or any desire to rob him of a single tittle of his duecredit. There was nothing mean in Gaydon's nature, but here was ahalving of Clementina's protectors, and he could not stifle a suspicionthat the best man of the four to leave behind was really Charles Woganhimself. Not a word, however, of this could he say, and so he nodded hisassent to Misset's proposal. 

"It is I, then, who stay behind with O'Toole and the courier, " he said. "Misset has a wife; the lot evidently falls to me. We will make a shiftsomehow or another to keep the fellow quiet till sundown to-morrow, which time should see you out of danger. " He unbuckled the sword fromhis waist and laid it on the table, and that simple action somehowtouched Wogan to the heart. He slipped his arm into Gaydon's and saidremorsefully, --

"Dick, I do hate to leave you, you and Lucius. I swept you into theperil, you two, my friends, and now I leave you in the thick of it tofind a way out for yourselves. But there is no remedy, is there? I shallnot rest until I see you both again. Goodbye, Lucius. " He looked atO'Toole sprawling with outstretched legs upon his groaning chair. "Mysix feet four, " said he, turning to Gaydon; "you must give me thepassport. Have a good care of him, Dick;" and he gripped O'Tooleaffectionately by the arms for a second, and then taking the passporthurried from the room. Gaydon had seldom seen Wogan so moved. 

The berlin was brought round to the door; the Princess, rosy with sleep, stepped into it; Wogan had brought with him a muff, and he slipped itover Clementina's feet to keep her warm during the night; Misset tookGaydon's place, and the postillion cracked his whip and set off towardsTrent. Gaydon, sitting before the fire in the parlour, heard the wheelsgrate upon the road; he had a vision of the berlin thundering throughthe night with a trail of sparks from the wheels; and he wonderedwhether Misset was asleep or merely leaning back with his eyes shut, andthus visiting incognito Woman's fairy-land of dreams. However, Gaydonconsoled himself with the reflection that it was none of his business. 

CHAPTER XVII

But Gaydon was out of his reckoning. There were no fairy tales told forMisset to overhear, and the Princess Clementina slept in her corner ofthe carriage. If a jolt upon a stone wakened her, a movement oppositetold her that her sentinel was watchful and alert. Three times theberlin stopped for a change of horses; and on each occasion Wogan wasout of the door and hurrying the ostlers before the wheels had ceased torevolve. 

"You should sleep, my friend, " said she. 

"Not till we reach Italy, " he replied; and with the confidence of achild she nestled warmly in her cloak again and closed her eyes. Thisfeeling of security was a new luxury to her after the months of anxietyand prison. The grey light of the morning stole into the berlin andrevealed to her the erect and tireless figure of her saviour. The sunleaped down the mountain-peaks, and the grey of the light was now asparkling gold. Wogan bade her Highness look from the carriage window, and she could not restrain a cry of delight. On her left, mountain-ridgerose behind mountain-ridge, away to the towering limestone cliffs ofMonte Scanupia; on her right, the white peaks of the Orto d'Abramflashed to the sun; and between the hills the broad valley of the Adigerolled southwards, --a summer country of villages and vines, ofmulberry-trees and fields of maize, in the midst of which rose thebelfries of an Italian town. 

"This is Italy, " she cried. 

"But the Emperor's Italy, " answered Wogan; and at half-past nine thatmorning the carriage stopped in the public square of Trent. As Woganstepped onto the ground, he saw a cloud of dust at the opposite side ofthe square, and wrapped in that cloud men on horseback like soldiers inthe smoke of battle; he heard, too, the sound of wheels. The Prince ofBaden had that instant driven away, and he had taken every procurablehorse in the town. Wogan's own horses could go no further. He came backto the door of the carriage. 

"I must search through Trent, " said he, "on the mere chance of findingwhat will serve us. Your Highness must wait in the inn;" and Clementina, muffling her face, said to him, --

"I dare not. My face is known in Trent, though this is the first timeever I saw it. But many gentlemen from Trent came to the Innspruckcarnival, and of these a good number were kind enough to offer me theirhearts. They were allowed to besiege me to their content. I must needsremain in the shelter of the carriage. "

Wogan left Misset to stand sentinel, and hurried off upon his business. He ran from stable to stable, from inn to inn. The Prince of Baden hadhired thirty-six horses; six more were nowhere to be found. Wogan wouldbe content with four; he ended in a prayer for two. At each house thedoor was shut in his face. Wogan was in despair; nowhere could delay beso dangerous as at Trent, where there were soldiers, and a Governor whowould not hesitate to act without orders if he suspected the PrincessClementina was escaping through his town. Two hours had passed inWogan's vain search, --two hours of daylight, during which Clementina hadsat in an unharnessed carriage in the market square. Wogan ran back tothe square, half expecting to find that she had been recognised andarrested. As he reached the square, he saw that curious people wereloitering about the carriage; as he pushed through them, he heard themquestioning why travellers should on so hot a morning of spring sitmuffled up in a close, dark carriage when they could take their easebeneath trees in the inn-garden. One man laughed out at the Princess andthe comical figure she made with her scarlet cloak drawn tight about herface. Wogan himself had bought that cloak in Strasbourg to guard hisPrincess from the cold of the Brenner, and guessed what discomfort itsermine lining must now be costing her. And this lout dared to laugh andmake her, this incomparable woman, a butt for his ridicule! Wogan took astep towards the fellow with his fists clenched, but thought the betterof his impulse, and turning away ran to the palace of Prince Taxis. 

This desperate course alone remained to him; he must have speech withthe Prince-bishop himself. At the palace, however, he was informed thatthe Prince was in bed with the gout. Mr. Wogan, however, insisted. 

"You will present my duties to the Prince; you will show him mypassport; you will say that the Count of Cernes has business of the lastimportance in Italy, and begs permission, since the Prince of Baden hashired every post-horse in the town, to requisition half a dozenfarm-horses from the fields. "

Mr. Wogan kicked his heels in the courtyard while the message was taken. At any moment some rumour of the curious spectacle in the square mightbe brought to the palace and excite inquiry. There might be anothercourier in pursuit besides the man whom Gaydon kept a prisoner. Woganwas devoured with a fever of impatience. It seemed to him hours beforethe Prince's secretary returned to him. The secretary handed him backhis passport, and on the part of the Prince made a speech full ofcivilities. 

"Here's a great deal of jam, sir, " said Wogan. "I misdoubt me but whatthere's a most unpalatable pill hidden away in it. "

"Indeed, " said the secretary, "the Prince begs you to be content and towait for the post-horses to return. "

"Ah, ah!" cried Wogan, "but that's the one thing I cannot do. I mustspeak plainly, it appears. " He drew the secretary out of ear-shot, andresumed: "My particular business is to catch up the Prince of Baden. Heis summoned back to Innspruck. Do you understand?" he askedsignificantly. 

"Sir, we are well informed in Trent as to the Emperor's wishes, " saidthe secretary, with a great deal of dignity. 

"No, no, my friend, " said Wogan. "It is not by the Emperor the Prince ofBaden is summoned, though I have no doubt the summons is much to histaste. "

The secretary stepped back in surprise. 

"By her Highness the Princess?" he exclaimed. 

"She changes her mind; she is willing where before she was obdurate. Totell you the truth, the Prince plied her too hard, and she would havenone of him. Now that he turns his back and puts the miles as fast as hecan between himself and her, she cannot sleep for want of him. "

The secretary nodded his head sagaciously. 

"Her Highness is a woman, " said he, "and that explains all. But it willdo her no harm to suffer a little longer for her obstinacy, and, to tellyou the truth, the Prince Taxis is so tormented with the gout that--"

"That you are unwilling to approach him a second time, " interruptedWogan. "I have no doubt of it. I have myself seen prelates in a mostunprelatical mood. But here is a case where needs must. I have not toldyou all. There is a devil of a fellow called Charles Wogan. "

The secretary nodded his head. 

"A mad Irishman who has vowed to free her Highness. "

"He has set out from Strasbourg with that aim. "

"He will hang for it, then, but he will never rescue her;" and thesecretary began to laugh. "I cannot upon my honour vex the Prince againbecause a gallows-bird has prated in his cups. "

"No, no, " said Wogan; "you do not follow me. Charles Wogan will come tothe gallows over this adventure. For my part, I would have him broken onthe wheel and tortured in many uncomfortable ways. These Irishmen allthe world over are pestilent fellows. But the trouble is this: If herHighness hears of his attempt, she is, as you sagely discovered, awoman, a trivial, trifling thing. She will be absurd enough to imagineher rescue possible; she will again change her mind, and it is preciselythat which General Heister fears. He would have her formally betrothedto the Prince of Baden before Charles Wogan is caught and hangedsky-high. Therefore, since I was pressing into Italy, he charged me withthis message to the Prince of Baden. Now observe this, if you please. Suppose that I do not overtake the Prince; suppose that her Highnesshears of Wogan's coming and again changes her mind, --who will be toblame? Not I, for I have done my best, not Prince Taxis, for he is notinformed, but Prince Taxis's secretary. "

The secretary yielded to Wogan's argument. He might be in a great fearof Prince Taxis, but he was in a greater of the Emperor's wrath. He leftWogan again, and in a little while came back with the writtenpermission which Wogan desired. Wogan wasted no time in unnecessarycivilities; the morning had already been wasted. The clocks werestriking one as he hurried away from the palace, and before two thePrincess Clementina was able to throw back her cloak from about her faceand take the air; for the berlin was on the road from Trent to Roveredo. 

"Those were the four worst hours since we left Innspruck, " she said. "Ithought I should suffocate. " The revulsion from despair, the knowledgethat each beat of the hoofs brought them nearer to safety, the glow ofthe sun upon a country which was Italy in all but name, raised them allto the top of their spirits. Clementina was in her gayest mood; shelavished caresses upon her "little woman, " as she called Mrs. Misset;she would have Wogan give her an account of his interview with PrinceTaxis's secretary; she laughed with the merriest enjoyment over hisabuse of Charles Wogan. 

"But it was not myself alone whom I slandered, " said he. "Your Highnesshad a share of our abuse. Our heads wagged gravely over woman'sinconstancies. It was not in nature but you must change your mind. Indeed, your Highness would have laughed. "

But at all events her Highness did not laugh now. On the contrary, hereyes lost all their merriment, and her blood rushed hotly into hercheeks. She became for that afternoon a creature of moods, now talkingquickly and perhaps a trifle wildly, now relapsing into long silences. Wogan was troubled by a thought that the strain of her journey wastelling its tale even upon her vigorous youth. It may be that she notedhis look of anxiety, but she said to him abruptly and with a sort ofrebellion, --

"You would despise any woman who had the temerity to change her mind. "

"Nay; I do not say that. "

"But it is merely politeness that restrains you. You would despise her, judging her by men. When a man changes his mind, why, it is so, hechanges his mind. But when a girl does, it may well be that for thefirst time she is seriously exercising her judgment. For her upbringingrenders it natural that she should allow others to make up her mind forher at the first. "

"That I think is very true, " said Wogan. 

Clementina, however, was not satisfied with his assent. She attacked himagain and almost vindictively. 

"You of course would never change your mind for any reason, once it wasfixed. You are resolute. You are quite, quite perfect. "

Mr. Wogan could not imagine what he had done thus to provoke her irony. 

"Madam, " he pleaded, "I am not in truth so obstinate a fellow as youmake me out. I have often changed my mind. I take some pride in it onoccasion. "

Her Highness inclined to a greater graciousness. 

"I am glad to know it. You shall give me examples. One may have a stiffneck and yet no cause for pride. "

Wogan looked so woe-begone under this reproof that Clementina suddenlybroke out into a laugh, and so showed herself in a fresh and morefamiliar mood. The good-humour continued; she sat opposite to Mr. Wogan;if she moved, her hand, her knee, her foot, must needs touch his; shemade him tell her stories of his campaigns; and so the evening came uponthem, --an evening of stars and mysterious quiet and a clear, dark sky. 

They passed Roveredo; they drew near to Ala, the last village in theEmperor's territories. Five miles beyond Ala they would be on Venetiansoil, and already they saw the lights of the village twinkling like somany golden candles. But the berlin, which had drawn them so stoutlyover these rugged mountain-roads, failed them at the last. One of thehind wheels jolted violently upon a great stone, there was a suddencracking of wood, and the carriage lurched over, throwing its occupantsone against the other. 

Wogan disentangled himself, opened the door, and sprang out. He sprangout into a pool of water. One glance at the carriage, dark though thenight was, told him surely what had happened. The axle-tree was broken. He saw that Clementina was about to follow him. 

"There is water, " said he. "It is ankle-deep. "

"And no white stone, " she answered with a laugh, "whereon I can safelyset my foot?"

"No, " said he, "but you can trust without fear to my arms;" and hereached them out to her. 

"Can I?" said she, in a curious voice; and when he had lifted her fromthe carriage, she was aware that she could not. He lifted her daintily, like a piece of porcelain; but to lift her was not enough, he must carryher. His arms tightened about her waist, hers in spite of herself abouthis shoulders. He took a step or two from the carriage, with the waterwashing over his boots, and the respectful support of a servant becamethe warm grip of a man. He no longer held her daintily; he clipped herclose to him, straining her breasts against his chest; he was on firewith her. She could not but know it; his arms shook, his bosom heaved;she felt the quick hammering of his heart; and a murmur, an inarticulatemurmur, of infinite longing trembled from his throat. And something ofhis madness passed into her and made a sweet tumult in her blood. Hestopped still holding her; he felt her fingers clasp tighter; he lookeddownwards into her face upturned to his. They were alone for a moment, these two, alone in an uninhabited world. The broken carriage, the busyfingers about it, the smoking horses, the lights of Ala twinkling in thevalley, had not even the substance of shadows. They simply were not, andthey never had been. There were just two people alive between thePoles, --not princess and servant, but man and woman in the primitiverelationship of rescuer and rescued; and they stood in the dark of atranslucent night of spring, with the stars throbbing above them to thetime of their passionate hearts, and the earth stretching about themrich as black velvet. He looked down into her eyes as once in thenight-time he had done before; and again he marvelled at theirsteadiness and their mysterious depths. Her eyes were fixed on his anddid not flinch; her arms were close about his neck; he bent his headtowards her, and she said in a queer, toneless voice, low but as steadyas her eyes, --

"I know. Ah, but well I know. Last night I dreamed; I rode on your blackhorse into your city of dreams;" and the moment of passion ended infarce. For Wogan, startled by the words, set her down there and theninto the pool. She stood over her ankles in water. She uttered a littlecry and shivered. Then she laughed and sprang lightly onto dry soil, making much of her companion's awkwardness. Wogan joined in thelaughter, finding therein as she did a cover and a cloak. 

"We must walk to Ala, " said he. 

"It is as well, " said she. "There was a time when cavaliers laid theircloaks in the mud to save a lady's shoe-sole. "

"Madam, " said Wogan, "the chivalry of to-day has the same intention. "

"But in its effect, " said she, "it is more rheumatical. "

Wogan searched in the carriage and drew out a coil of rope which heslung across his shoulders like a bandolier. Clementina laughed at himfor his precautions, but Wogan was very serious. "I would not part withit, " said he. "I never travelled for four days without being put to itfor a piece of rope. "

They left the postillion to make what he could of the berlin and walkedforward in the clear night to Ala. The shock of the tumble had alarmedMrs. Misset; the fatigue of the journey had strained her endurance tothe utmost. She made no complaint, but she could walk but slowly andwith many rests by the way. It took a long while for them to reach thevillage. They saw the lights diminish in the houses; the stars grewpale; there came a hint of morning in the air. The laughter at Wogan'sawkwardness had long since died away, and they walked in silence. 

Forty-eight hours had passed since the berlin left Innspruck. Twenty-four hours ago Clementina knew Wogan's secret. Now he was awarethat she knew it. They could not look into each other's faces, but theireyes conversed of it. If they turned their heads sharply away, thataversion of their gaze spoke no less clearly. There was a link betweenthem now, and a secret link, the sweeter on that account, perhaps, --certainly the more dangerous. The cloud had grown much biggerthan a man's hand. Moreover, she had never seen James Stuart; she hadhis picture, it is true, but the picture could not recall. It mustcreate, not revivify his image to her thoughts, and that it could notdo; so that he remained a shadowy figure to her, a mere number offeatures, almost an abstraction. On the other hand the King's emissarywalked by her side, sat sleepless before her, had held her in his arms, had talked with her, had risked his life for her; she knew him. What sheknew of James Stuart, she knew chiefly from the lips of this emissary. On this walk to Ala he spoke of his master, and remorsefully in thehighest praise. But she knew his secret, she knew that he loved her, andtherefore every remorseful, loyal word he spoke praised him more than itpraised his master. And it happened that just as they came to theoutskirts of the village, she dropped a handkerchief which hung looselyabout her neck. For a moment she did not remark her loss; when she didand turned, she saw that her companion was rising from the ground onwhich no handkerchief longer lay, and that he had his right hand in hisbreast. She turned again without a word, and walked forward. But sheknew that kerchief was against his heart, and the cloud still grew. 

CHAPTER XVIII

They reached Ala towards two o'clock of the morning. The town had somereputation in those days for its velvets and silks, and Wogan made nodoubt that somewhere he would procure a carriage to convey them thenecessary five miles into Venetian territory. The Prince of Baden wasstill ahead of them, however. The inn of "The Golden Lion" had not asingle horse fit for their use in its stables. Wogan, however, obtainedthere a few likely addresses and set out alone upon his search. Hereturned in a couple of hours with a little two-wheeled cart drawn by apony, and sent word within that he was ready. Clementina herself withher hood thrown back from her face came out to him at the door. An oillamp swung in the passage and lit up her face. Wogan could see that theface was grave and anxious. 

"Your Highness and Mrs. Misset can ride in the cart. It has no springs, to be sure, and may shake to pieces like plaster. But if it carries youfive miles, it will serve. Misset and I can run by the side. "

"But Lucy Misset must not go, " said Clementina. "She is ill, and nowonder. She must not take one step more to-night. There would be greatdanger, and indeed she has endured enough for me. " The gravity of thegirl's face, as much as her words, convinced Wogan that here was nooccasion for encouragement or resistance. He said with someembarrassment, --

"Yet we cannot leave her here alone; and of us two men, her husband muststay with her. "

"Dare we wait till the morning?" asked Clementina. "Lucy may berecovered then. "

Wogan shook his head. 

"The courier we stopped at Wellishmile was not the only man sent afterus. Of that we may be very sure. Here are we five miles from safety, andwhile those five miles are still unbridged--Listen!"

Wogan leaned his head forward and held up his hand for silence. In thestill night they could hear far away the galloping of a horse. The soundgrew more distinct as they listened. 

"The rider comes from Italy, " said Clementina. "But he might have comefrom Trent, " cried Wogan. "We left Trent behind twelve hours ago, andmore. For twelve hours we crept and crawled along the road; these lastmiles we have walked. Any moment the Emperor's troopers might comeriding after us. Ah, but we are not safe! I am afraid!"

Clementina turned sharply towards him as he spoke this unwontedconfession. 

"You!" she exclaimed with a wondering laugh. Yet he had spoken thetruth. His face was twitching; his eyes had the look of a man scared outof his wits. 

"Yes, I am afraid, " he said in a low, uneasy voice. "When I have all butwon through the danger, then comes my moment of fear. In the thick ofit, perils tread too close upon the heels of peril for a man to countthem up. Each minute claims your hands and eyes and brain, --claims youand inspires you. But when the danger's less, and though less stillthreatens; when you're just this side of safety's frontier and notsafe, --indeed, indeed, one should be afraid. A vain spirit ofconfidence, and the tired head nods, and the blow falls on it fromnowhere. Oh, but I have seen examples times out of mind. I beg you, nodelay!"

The hoofs of the approaching horse sounded ever louder while Woganspoke; and as he ended, a man rode out from the street into the openspace before the inn. The gallop became a trot. 

"He is riding to the door, " said Wogan. "The light falls on your face;"and he drew Clementina into the shadow of the wall. But at the samemoment the rider changed his mind. He swerved; it seemed too that heused his spurs, for his horse bounded beneath him and galloped past theinn. He disappeared into the darkness, and the sound of the horsediminished. Wogan listened until they had died away. 

"He rides into Austria!" said he. "He rides to Trent, to Brixen, toInnspruck! And in haste. Let us go! I had even a fancy that I knew hisvoice. "

"From a single oath uttered in anger! Nay, you are all fears. For mypart, I was afraid that he had it in his mind to stay here at this innwhere my little woman lies. What if suspicion fall on her? What if thosetroopers of the Emperor find her and guess the part she played!"

"You make her safe by seeking safety, " returned Wogan. "You are the preythe Emperor flies at. Once you are out of reach, his mere dignity musthold him in from wreaking vengeance on your friends. "

Wogan went into the inn, and calling Misset told him of his purpose. Hewould drive her Highness to Peri, a little village ten miles from Ala, but in Italy. At Peri, Mrs. Misset and her husband were to rejoin themin the morning, and from Peri they could travel by slow stages toBologna. The tears flowed from Clementina's eyes when she took herfarewell of her little woman. Though her reason bowed to Wogan'sargument, she had a sense of cowardice in deserting so faithful afriend. Mrs. Misset, however, joined in Wogan's prayer; and she mountedinto the trap and at Wogan's side drove out of the town by that streetalong which the horseman had ridden. 

Clementina was silent; her driver was no more talkative. They were aloneand together on the road to Italy. That embarrassment from which Wogan'sconfession of fear had procured them some respite held them in a stiffconstraint. They were conscious of it as of a tide engulfing them. Neither dared to speak, dreading what might come of speech. The mostcareless question, the most indifferent comment, might, as it seemed toboth, be the spark to fire a mine. Neither had any confidence to say, once they had begun to talk, whither the talk would lead; but they werevery much afraid, and they sat very still lest a movement of the oneshould provoke a question in the other. She knew his secret, and he wasaware that she knew it. She could not have found it even then in herheart to part willingly with her knowledge. She had thought over-muchupon it during the last day. She had withdrawn herself into it from thecompany of her fellow-travellers, as into a private chamber; it wasfamiliar and near. Nor would Wogan have desired, now that she had theknowledge, to deprive her of it, but he knew it instinctively for adangerous thing. He drove on in silence while the stars paled in theheavens and a grey, pure light crept mistily up from the under edges ofthe world, and the morning broke hard and empty and cheerless. Wogansuddenly drew in the reins and stopped the cart. 

"There is a high wall behind us. It stretches across the fields fromeither side, " said he. "It makes a gateway of the road. "

Clementina turned. The wall was perhaps ten yards behind them. 

"A gateway, " said she, "through which we have passed. "

"The gateway of Italy, " answered Wogan; and he drew the lash once ortwice across the pony's back and so was silent. Clementina looked at hisset and cheerless face, cheerless as that chill morning, and she too wassilent. She looked back along the road which she had traversed throughsnow and sunshine and clear nights of stars; she saw it winding out fromthe gates of Innspruck over the mountains, above the foaming river, andafter a while she said very wistfully, --

"There are worse lives than a gipsy's. "

"Are there any better?" answered Wogan. 

So this was what Mr. Wogan's fine project had come to. He rememberedanother morning when the light had welled over the hills, sunless andclear and cold, on the road to Bologna, --the morning of the day when hehad first conceived the rescue of Clementina. And the rescue had beeneffected, and here was Clementina safe out of Austria, and Wogan sure ofa deathless renown, of the accomplishment of an endeavour held absurdand preposterous; and these two short sentences were their summary andcomment, --

"There are worse lives than a gipsy's. "

"Are there any better?"

Both had at this supreme crisis of their fortunes but the onethought, --that the only days through which they had really lived werethose last two days of flight, of hurry, of hope alternating withdespair, of light-hearted companionship, days never to be forgotten, when each snatched meal was a picnic seasoned with laughter, days ofunharnessed freedom lived in the open air. 

Clementina was the first to perceive that her behaviour fell below theoccasion. She was safe in Italy, journeying henceforward safely to herbetrothed. She spurred herself to understand it, she forced her lips tosing aloud the Te Deum. Wogan looked at her in surprise as the firstnotes were sung, and the woful appeal in her eyes compelled him to asbrave a show as he could make of joining in the hymn. But the wordsfaltered, the tune wavered, joyless and hollow in that empty morning. 

"Drive on, " said Clementina, suddenly; and she had a sense that she wasbeing driven into bondage, --she who had just been freed. Wogan drove ontowards Peri. 

It was the morning of Sunday, the 30th of April; and as the little cartdrew near to this hamlet of thirty cottages, the travellers could hearthe single bell in the church belfry calling the villagers to Mass. Wogan spoke but once to Clementina, and then only to point out a woodenhut which stood picturesquely on a wooded bluff of Monte Lessini, highup upon the left. A narrow gorge down which a torrent foamed led upwardsto the bluff, and the hut of which the windows were shuttered, and whichseemed at that distance to have been built with an unusual elegance, wasto Wogan's thinking a hunting-box. Clementina looked up at the bluffindifferently and made no answer. She only spoke as Wogan drove pastthe church-door, and the sound of the priest's voice came droning out tothem. 

"Will you wait for me?" she asked. "I will not be long. "

Wogan stopped the pony. 

"You would give thanks?" said he. "I understand. "

"I would pray for an honest heart wherewith to give honest thanks, " saidClementina, in a low voice; and she added hastily, "There is a life ofceremonies, there is a life of cities before me. I have lived under theskies these last two days. "

She went into the church, shrouding her face in her hood, and kneeleddown before a rush chair close to the door. A sense of gratitude, however, was not that morning to be got by any prayers, however earnest. It was merely a distaste for ceremonies and observances, she strenuouslyassured herself, that had grown upon her during these ten days. Shesought to get rid of that distaste, as she kneeled, by picturing in herthoughts the Prince to whom she was betrothed. She recalled theexploits, the virtues, which Wogan had ascribed to him; she stamped themupon the picture. "It is the King, " she said to herself; and the pictureanswered her, "It is the King's servant. " And, lo! the face of thepicture was the face of Charles Wogan. She covered her cheeks with herhands in a burning rush of shame; she struck in her thoughts at the faceof that image with her clenched fists, to bruise, to annihilate it. "Itis the King! It is the King! It is the King!" she cried in her remorse, but the image persisted. It still wore the likeness of Charles Wogan; itstill repeated, "No, it is the King's servant. " There was more of theprimitive woman in this girl bred in the rugged country-side of Silesiathan even Wogan was aware of, and during the halts in their journey shehad learned from Mrs. Misset details which Wogan had been at pains toconceal. It was Wogan who had conceived the idea of her rescue--in theKing's place. In the King's place, Wogan had come to Innspruck andeffected it. In the King's place, he had taken her by the hand and clefta way for her through her enemies. He was the man, the rescuer; she wasthe woman, the rescued. 

She became conscious of the futility of her attitude of prayer. Sheraised her head and saw that a man kneeling close to the altar hadturned and was staring fixedly towards her. The man was the Prince ofBaden. Had he recognised her? She peered between her fingers; sheremarked that his gaze was puzzled; he was not then sure, though hesuspected. She waited until he turned his head again, and then shesilently rose to her feet and slipped out of the church. She found Woganwaiting for her in some anxiety. 

"Did he recognise you?" he asked. 

"He was not sure, " answered Clementina. "How did you know he was atMass?"

"A native I spoke with told me. "

Clementina climbed up into the cart. 

"The Prince is not a generous man, " she said hesitatingly. 

Wogan understood her. The Prince of Baden must not know that she hadcome to Peri escorted by a single cavalier. He would talk bitterly, hewould make much of his good fortune in that he had not married thePrincess Clementina, he would pity the Chevalier de St. George, --therewas a fine tale there. Wogan could trace it across the tea-tables ofEurope, and hear the malicious inextinguishable laughter which winged iton its way. He drove off quickly from the church door. 

"He leaves Peri at nine, " said Wogan. "He will have no time to makeinquiries. We have but to avoid the inn he stays at. There is a secondat the head of the village which we passed. "

To this second inn Wogan drove, and was welcomed by a shrewish womanwhose sour face was warmed for once in a way into something likeenthusiasm. 

"A lodging indeed you shall have, " cried she, "and a better lodging thanthe Prince of Baden can look back upon, though he pay never so dearlyfor it. Poor man, he will have slept wakefully this night! Here, sir, you will find honest board and an honest bed for yourself and your sweetlady, and an honest bill to set you off in a sweet humour in themorning. "

"Nay, my good woman, " interrupted Wogan, hastily. "This is no sweet ladyof mine, nor are we like to stay until the morrow. The truth is, we area party of four, but our carriage snapped its axle some miles back. Theyoung lady's uncle and aunt are following us, and we wait only for theirarrival. "

Wogan examined the inn and thought the disposition of it veryconvenient. It made three sides of a courtyard open to the road. On theright and the bottom were farm-buildings and a stable; the inn was thewing upon the left hand. The guest rooms, of which there were four, wereall situated upon the first floor and looked out upon a little thicketof fir-trees at the back of the wing. They were approached by astaircase, which ran up with a couple of turns from the courtyard itselfand on the outside of the house-wall. Wogan was very pleased with thatstaircase; it was narrow. He was pleased, too, because there were noother travellers in the inn. He went back to the landlady. 

"It is very likely, " said he, "that my friends when they come will, after all, choose to stay here for the night. I will hire all the roomsupon the first floor. "

The landlady was no less pleased than Mr. Wogan. She had a thought thatthey were a runaway couple and served them breakfast in a little parlourup the stairs with many sly and confusing allusions. She becameconfused, however, when after breakfast Clementina withdrew to bed, andWogan sauntered out into the high-road, where he sat himself down on abank to watch for Captain Misset. All day he sat resolutely with hisback towards the inn. The landlady inferred that here were loversquarrelling, and she was yet more convinced of it when she entered theparlour in the afternoon to lay the table for dinner and saw Clementinastanding wistfully at the window with her eyes upon that unmoving back. Wogan meanwhile for all his vigilance watched the road but ill. Merchants, pedlars, friars, and gentlemen travelling for their pleasurepassed down the road into Italy. Mr. Wogan saw them not, or saw themwith unseeing eyes. His eyes were turned inwards, and he gazed at apicture that his heart held of a room in that inn behind him, whereafter all her dangers and fatigues a woman slept in peace. Towardsevening fewer travellers passed by, but there came one party of sixwell-mounted men whose leader suddenly bowed his head down upon hishorse's neck as he rode past. Wogan had preached a sermon on thecarelessness which comes with danger's diminutions, but he was verytired. The head was nodding; the blow might fall from nowhere, and henot know. 

At nightfall he returned and mounted to the parlour, where Clementinaawaited him. 

"There is no sign of Captain Misset, " said he. 

Wogan was puzzled by the way in which Clementina received the news. Fora moment he thought that her eyes lightened, and that she was glad; thenit seemed to him that her eyes clouded and suddenly as if with pain. Norwas her voice a guide to him, for she spoke her simple question withoutsignificance, --

"Must we wait, then, till the morning?"

"There is a chance that they may come before the morning. I will watchon the top stair, and if they come I will make bold to wake yourHighness. "

Their hostess upon this brought their supper into the room, and Woganbecame at once aware of a change in her demeanour. She no longerembarrassed them with her patronage, nor did she continue her slyallusions to the escapades of lovers. On the contrary, she was of anextreme deference. Under the deference, too, Wogan seemed to remark acertain excitement. 

"Have you other lodgers to-night?" he asked carelessly. 

"No, sir, " said she. "Travellers are taken by a big house and a bustleof servants. They stay at the Vapore Inn when they stay at Peri, and totheir cost. "

As soon as she had left the room Wogan asked of Clementina, --

"When did her manner change?"

"I had not remarked the change till now, " replied Clementina. 

Wogan became uneasy. He went down into the courtyard, and found itempty. There was a light in the kitchen, and he entered the room. Thelandlady was having her supper in company with her few servants, andthere were one or two peasants from the village. Wogan chatted with themfor a few minutes and came out again much relieved of his fears. Hethought, however, it might be as well to see that his pony was ready foran emergency. He crossed silently to the stable, which he found dark asthe courtyard. The door was latched, but not locked. He opened it andwent in. The building was long, with many stalls ranged side by side. Wogan's pony stood in the end stall opposite to the door. Wogan tookdown the harness from the pegs and began to fix it ready on the pony. Hehad just put the collar over its head when he heard a horse stamping inone of the stalls at the other end of the stables. Now he had noticed inthe morning that there were only two horses in the building, and thosetwo were tied up in the stalls next to that which his pony occupied. Hewalked along the range of stalls. The two horses were there, then came agap of empty stalls, and beyond the gap he counted six other horses. Wogan became at once curious about those six other horses. They might ofcourse be farm-horses, but he wished to know. It was quite dark withinthe building; he had only counted the horses by the noise of theirmovements in their stalls, the rattle of their head-ropes, and thepawing of their feet. He dared not light a lamp, but horses as a ruleknew him for a friend. He went into the stall of the first, petted itfor a moment and ran his hand down its legs. He repeated the processwith the second, and with so much investigation he was content. Nofarm-horse that ever Wogan had seen had such a smooth sleek skin orsuch fine legs as had those two over which he had passed his hands. "Nowwhere are the masters of those horses?" he asked himself. "Why do theyleave their cattle at this inn and not show themselves in the kitchen orthe courtyard? Why do they not ask for a couple of my rooms?" Woganstood in the dark and reflected. Then he stepped out of the door witheven more caution than he had used when entering by it. He stolesilently along to the shed where his trap was housed, and felt beneaththe seat. From beneath the seat he drew out a coil of rope, and a lamp. The rope he wound about him under his coat. Then he went back to hisstaircase and the parlour. 

Clementina could read in his face that something was amiss, but she hada great gift of silence. She waited for him to speak. Wogan unwound thecoil of rope from his body. 

"Your Highness laughed at me for that I would not part with my rope. Ihave a fear this night will prove my wisdom. " And with that he begandeliberately to break up the chairs in the room. Clementina asked noquestions; she watched him take the rungs and bars of the chairs andtest their strength. Then he cut the coil of rope in half and tied loopsat intervals; into the loops he fitted the wooden rungs. Wogan workedexpeditiously for an hour without opening his mouth. In an hour he hadfashioned a rope-ladder. He went to the window which looked out on theback of the wing, upon the little thicket of fir-trees. He opened thewindow cautiously and dropped the ladder down the wall. 

"Your Highness has courage, " said he. "The ladder does not touch theground, but it will not be far to drop, should there be need. "

The window of Clementina's bedroom was next to that of the parlour andlooked out in the same direction. Wogan fixed the rope-ladder securelyto the foot of the bed and drew the bed close to the window. He left thelamp upon a chair and went back to the parlour and explained. 

"Your Highness, " he added, "there may be no cause for any alarm. On theother hand, the Governor of Trent may have taken a leaf from my ownbook. He may have it in mind to snatch your Highness out of Italy evenas I did out of Austria; and of a truth it would be the easierundertaking. Here are we five miles from the border and in a smalltavern set apart from a small village, instead of in the thick of anarmed town. "

"But we might start now, " she said. "We might leave a message behind forMrs. Misset and wait for her in Verona. "

"I had thought of that. But if my mere suspicion is the truth, the sixmen will not be so far from their six horses that we could drive awayunnoticed by any one of them. Nor could we hope to outpace them and sixmen upon an open road; indeed, I would sooner face them at the head ofmy staircase here. And while I hold them back your Highness can creepdown that ladder. "

"And hide in the thicket, " she interrupted. "Yet--yet--that leaves youalone. I could give you some help;" and her face coloured. "You were sokind as to tell me I had courage. I could at the least load yourpistols. "

"You would do that?" cried Wogan. "Aye, but you would, you would!"

For the first time that day he forgot to address her with the ceremonyof her title. All that day he had schooled his tongue to the use of it. They were not man and woman, though his heart would have it so; theywere princess and servant, and every minute he must remember it. But heforgot it now. Delicate she was to look upon as any princess who hadever adorned a court, delicate and fresh, rich-voiced and young, buthere was the rare woman flashing out like a light over stormy seas, thespirit of her and her courage!

"You would load my pistols!" he repeated, his whole face alight. "To besure, you would do that. But I ask you, I think, for a higher courage. Iask you to climb down that ladder, to run alone, taking shelter whenthere's need, back to that narrow gorge we saw where the path leadsupwards to the bluff. There was a hut; two hours would take you to it, and there you should be safe. I will keep the enemy back till you aregone. If I can, when all is over here I'll follow you. If I do not come, why, you must--"

"Ah, but you will come, " said she, with a smile. "I have no fears butthat you will come;" and she added, "Else would you never persuade meto go. "

"Well, then, I will come. At all events, Captain Misset and his wifewill surely come down the road to-morrow. If I rap twice upon your door, you will take that for my signal. But it is very likely I shall not rapat all. "

Wogan shivered as he spoke. It was not for the first time during thatconversation, and a little later, as they stood together in the passageby the stair-head, Clementina twice remarked that he shivered again. There was an oil lamp burning against the passage wall, and by its lightshe could see that on that warm night of spring his face was pinchedwith cold. He was in truth chilled to the bone through lack of sleep;his eyes had the strained look of a man strung to the breaking point, and at the sight of him the mother in her was touched. 

"What if I watched to-night?" she said. "What if you slept?"

Wogan laughed the suggestion aside. 

"I shall sleep very well, " said he, "upon that top stair. I can countupon waking, though only the lowest step tremble beneath a foot. " Thishe said, meaning not to sleep at all, as Clementina very wellunderstood. She leaned over the balustrade by Wogan's side and lookedupwards to the sky. The night was about them like a perfume of flowers. A stream bubbled and sang over stones behind the inn. The courtyardbelow was very silent. She laid a hand upon his sleeve and said againin a pleading voice, --

"Let me watch to-night. There is no danger. You are racked bysleeplessness, and phantoms born of it wear the face of truth to you. Weare safe; we are in Italy. The stars tell me so. Let me watch to-night. "And at once she was startled. He withdrew his arm so roughly that itseemed he flung off his hand; he spoke in a voice so hoarse and roughshe did not know it for his. And indeed it was a different man who nowconfronted her, --a man different from the dutiful servant who hadrescued her, different even from the man who had held her so tenderly inhis arms on the road to Ala. 

"Go to your room, " said he. "You must not stay here. "

She stepped back in her surprise and faced him. 

"Every minute, " he cried in a sort of exasperation, "I bid myselfremember the great gulf between you and me; every minute you forget it. I make a curtain of your rank, your title, and--let us be frank--yourdestiny; I hang the curtain up between us, and with a gentle hand youtear it down. At the end of it all I am flesh and blood. Why did I sitthe whole long dreary day out on the bank by the roadside there? Towatch? I could not describe to you one traveller out of them all whopassed. Why, then? Ask yourself! It was not that I might stand by yourside afterwards in the glamour of an Italian night with the starspulsing overhead like a smile upon your lips, and all the worldwhispering! You must not stay here!"

His eyes burnt upon her; his hands shook; from head to foot he was hotand fierce with passion, and in spite of herself she kindled to it. Thathe loved she knew before, but his description of his city of dreams hadgiven to him in her thoughts a touch of fancifulness, had led her toconceive of his love as something dreamlike, had somehow spiritualisedhim to the hindrance of her grasp of him as flesh and blood. Thus, sheunderstood, she might well have seemed to be trifling with him, thoughnothing was further from her thoughts. But now he was dangerous; lovehad made him dangerous, and to her. She knew it, and in spite of herselfshe gloried in the knowledge. Her heart leaped into her eyes and shonethere responsive, unafraid. The next moment she lowered her head. But hehad seen the unmistakable look in her eyes. Even as she stood with herbowed head, he could not but feel that every fibre in her body thrilled;he could not but know the transfigured expression of her face. 

"I had no thought to hurt you, " she said, and her voice trembled, and itwas not with fear or any pain. Wogan took a step towards her and checkedhimself. He spoke sharply between clenched teeth. 

"Lock your door, " said he. 

The curtain between them was down. Wogan had patched and patched itbefore; but it was torn down now, and they had seen each other withoutso much as that patched semblance of a screen to veil their eyes. Clementina did not answer him or raise her head. She went quietly intoher room. Wogan did not move until she had locked the door. 

Then he disposed himself for the night. He sat down across the top stepof the stairs with his back propped against the passage wall. Facing himwas the door of Clementina's room, on his left hand the passage with theoil lamp burning on a bracket, stretched to the house-wall; on his rightthe stairs descended straight for some steps, then turned to the leftand ran down still within view to a point where again they turnedoutwards into the courtyard. Wogan saw to the priming of his pistols andlaid them beside him. He looked out to his right over the low-roofedbuildings opposite, and saw the black mountains with their glimmeringcrests, and just above one spur a star which flashed with a particularbrightness. He was very tired and very cold; he drew his cloak abouthim; he leaned back against the wall and watched that star. So long ashe saw that, he was awake, and therefore he watched it. At what timesleep overtook him he could never discover. It seemed to him always thathe did not even for a second lose sight of that star. Only it dilated, it grew brighter, it dropped towards earth, and he was not in any waysurprised. He was merely pleased with it for behaving in so attractiveand natural a way. Then, however, the strange thing happened. When thestar was hung in the air between earth and sky and nearer to the earth, it opened like a flower and disclosed in its bright heart the face of agirl, which was yet brighter. And that girl's face, with the broad lowbrows and the dark eyes and the smile which held all earth and much ofheaven, stooped and stooped out of fire through the cool dark towardshim until her lips touched his. It was then that he woke, quietly as washis wont, without any start, without opening his eyes, and at once hewas aware of someone breathing. 

He raised his eyelids imperceptibly and peered through his eyelashes. Hesaw close beside him the lower part of a woman's frock, and it was thefrock which Clementina wore. One wild question set his heart leapingwithin his breast. "Was there truth in the dream?" he asked himself; andwhile he was yet formulating the question, Clementina's breathing wassuddenly arrested. It seemed to him, too, from the little that he sawbetween his closed eyes, that she stiffened from head to foot. She stoodin that rigid attitude, very still. Something new had plainly occurred, something that brought with it a shock of surprise. Wogan, withoutmoving his head or opening his eyes a fraction wider, looked down thestaircase and saw just above the edge of one of the steep stairs a facewatching them, --a face with bright, birdlike eyes and an indescribableexpression of cunning. 

Wogan had need of all his self-control. He felt that his eyelids werefluttering on his cheeks, that his breath had stopped even asClementina's had. For the face which he saw was one quite familiar tohim, though never familiar with that expression. It was the face of aneasy-going gentleman who made up for the lack of his wit by theheartiness of his laugh, and to whom Wogan had been drawn because of hissimplicity. There was no simplicity in Henry Whittington's face now. Itremained above the edge of the step staring at them with a look ofcrafty triumph, a very image of intrigue. Then it disappeared silently. 

Wogan remembered the voice of the man who had spurred past the doorwayof the inn at Ala. He knew now why he had thought to recognise it. Theexclamation had been one of anger, --because he had seen Clementina andhimself in Italy? He had spurred onwards--towards Trent? There werethose six horses in the stables. Whittington's face had disappeared verysilently. "An honest man, " thought Wogan, "does not take off his bootsbefore he mounts the stairs. "

Clementina was still standing at his side. Without changing his attitudehe rapped with his knuckles gently twice upon the boards of the stair. She turned towards him with a gasp of the breath. He rapped again twice, fearful lest she should speak to him. She understood that he had givenher the signal to go. She turned on her heel and slipped back into herroom. 

CHAPTER XIX

Wogan did not move. In a few minutes he heard voices whispering in thecourtyard below. By that time the Princess should have escaped into thethicket. The stairs creaked, and again he saw a face over the edge of astep. It was the flabby face of a stranger, who turned and whispered inGerman to others behind him. The face rose; a pair of shoulders, aportly body, and a pair of unbooted legs became visible. The man carrieda drawn sword; between his closed eyelashes Wogan saw that four otherswith the like arms followed. There should have been six; but the sixthwas Harry Whittington, who, to be sure, was not likely to show himselfto Wogan awake. The five men passed the first turn of the stairs withoutnoise. Wogan was very well pleased with their noiselessness. Men withoutboots to their feet were at a very great disadvantage when it came to afight. He allowed them to come up to the second turn, he allowed theleader to ascend the last straight flight until he was almost withinsword-reach, and then he quietly rose to his feet. 

"Gentlemen, " said he, "I grieve to disappoint you; but I have hired thislodging for the night. "

The leader stopped, discountenanced, and leaned back against hisfollowers. "You are awake?" he stammered. 

"It is a habit of mine. "

The leader puffed out his cheeks and assumed an appearance of dignity. 

"Then we are saved some loss of time. For we were coming to awake you. "

"It was on that account, no doubt, " said Wogan, folding his arms, "thatyou have all taken off your boots. But, pardon me, your four friendsbehind appear in spite of what I have said to be thrusting you forward. I beg you to remain on the step on which you stand. For if you mount onemore, you will put me to the inconvenience of drawing my sword. "

Wogan leaned back idly against the wall. The Princess should now be onthe road and past the inn--unless perhaps Whittington was at watchbeneath the windows. That did not seem likely, however. Whittingtonwould work in the dark and not risk detection. The leader of the fourhad stepped back at Wogan's words, but he said very bravely, --

"I warn you to use no violence to officers in discharge of their duty. We hold a warrant for your arrest. "

"Indeed?" said Wogan, with a great show of surprise. "I cannot bringmyself to believe it. On what counts?"

"Firstly, in that you stole away her Highness the Princess Clementinafrom the Emperor's guardianship on the night of the 27th of April atInnspruck. "

"Did I indeed do that?" said Wogan, carelessly. "Upon my word, thiscloak of mine is frayed. I had not noticed it;" and he picked at thefringe of his cloak with some annoyance. 

"In the second place, you did kill and put to death, at a wayside innoutside Stuttgart, one Anton Gans, servant to the Countess of Berg. "

Wogan smiled amicably. 

"I should be given a medal for that with a most beautiful ribbon ofsalmon colour, I fancy, salmon or aquamarine. Which would look best, doyou think, on a coat of black velvet? I wear black velvet, as yourrelations will too, my friend, if you forget which step your foot is on. Shall we say salmon colour for the ribbon? The servant was a noxiousfellow. We will. "

The leader of the four, who had set his foot on the forbidden step, withdrew it quickly. Wogan continued in the same quiet voice, --

"You say you have a warrant?" And a voice very different from hisleader's--a voice loud and decisive, which came from the last of thefour--answered him, --

"We have. The Emperor's warrant. "

"And how comes it, " asked Wogan, "that the Emperor's warrant runs inVenice?"

"Because the Emperor's arm strikes in Venice, " cried the hindermostagain, and he pushed past the man in front of him. 

"That we have yet to see, " cried Wogan, and his sword flashed naked inhis hand. At the same moment the man who had spoken drew a pistol andfired. He fired in a hurry; the bullet cut a groove in the rail of thestair and flattened itself against the passage wall. 

"The Emperor's arm shakes, it seems, " said Wogan, with a laugh. Theleader of the party, thrust forward by those behind him, was lifted tothe forbidden step. 

"I warned you, " cried Wogan, and his sword darted out. But whether fromdesign or accident, the man uttered a cry and stumbled forward on hisface. Wogan's sword flashed over his shoulder, and its point sank intothe throat of the soldier behind him. That second soldier fell back, with the blood spurting from his wound, upon the man with the smokingpistol, who thrust him aside with an oath. 

"Make room, " he cried, and lunged over the fallen leader. 

"Here's a fellow in the most desperate hurry, " said Wogan, and parryingthe thrust he disengaged, circled, disengaged again, and lunging feltthe soldier's leather coat yield to his point. "The Emperor's arm isweak, too, one might believe, " he laughed, and he drove his sword home. The man fell upon the stairs; but as Wogan spoke the leader crouched onthe step plucked violently at his cloak below his knees. Wogan had notrecovered from his lunge; the jerk at the cloak threw him off hisbalance, his legs slipped forward under him, in another moment he wouldhave come crashing down the stairs upon his back, and at the bottom ofthe flight there stood one man absolutely unharmed supporting hiscomrade who had been wounded in the throat. Wogan felt the jerk, understood the danger, and saw its remedy at the same instant. He didnot resist the impetus, he threw his body into it, he sprang from thestairs forwards, tearing his cloak from the leader's hands, he sprangacross the leader, across the soldier who had fired at him, and hedropped with all his weight into the arms of the third man with thepierced throat. The blood poured out from the wound over Wogan's faceand breast in a blinding jet. The fellow uttered one choking cry andreeling back carried the comrade who supported him against thebalustrade at the turn of the stairs. Wogan did not give that fourth mantime to disengage himself, but dropping his sword caught him by thethroat as the third wounded man slipped between them to the ground. Wogan bent his new opponent backwards over the balustrade, and felt themuscles of his back resist and then slacken. Wogan bent him further andfurther over until it seemed his back must break. But it was thebalustrade which broke. Wogan heard it crack. He had just time to loosehis hands and step back, and the railing and the man poised on the railfell outwards into the courtyard. Wogan stepped forward and peereddownwards. The soldier had not broken his neck, for Wogan saw himwrithe upon the ground. He bent his head to see the better; he heard areport behind him, and a bullet passed through the crown of his hat. Heswung round and saw the leader of the four with one of his own pistolssmoking in his hand. 

"You!" cried Wogan. "Sure, here's a rabbit attacking a terrier dog;" andhe sprang up the stairs. The man threw away the pistol, fell on hisknees, and held up his hands for mercy. 

"Now what will I do to you?" said Wogan. "Did you not fire at my back?That's reprehensible cowardice. And with my own pistol, too, which issheer impertinence. What will I do with you?" The man's expression wasso pitiable, his heavy cheeks hung in such despairing folds, that Woganwas stirred to laughter. "Well, you have put me to a deal ofinconvenience, " said he; "but I will be merciful, being strong, beingmost extraordinary strong. I'll send you back to your master the Emperorwith a message from me that four men are no manner of use at all. Comein here for a bit. "

Wogan took the unfortunate man and led him into the parlour. Then he lita lamp, and making his captive sit where he could see any movement thathe made, he wrote a very polite note to his Most Catholic Majesty theEmperor wherein he pointed out that it was a cruel thing to send fourpoor men who had never done harm to capture Charles Wogan; that no Kingor Emperor before who had wanted to capture Charles Wogan, of whom therewere already many, and by God's grace he hoped there would be more, hadever despatched less than a regiment of horse upon so hazardous anexpedition; and that when Captain O'Toole might be expected to bestanding side by side with Wogan, it was usually thought necessary toadd seven batteries of artillery and a field marshal. Wogan thereuponwent on to point out that Peri was in Venetian territory, which his MostCatholic Majesty had violated, and that Charles Wogan would accordinglyfeel it his bounden duty not to sleep night or day until he had made aconfederation of Italian states to declare war and captivity upon hisMost Catholic Majesty. Wogan concluded with the assurances of hisprofoundest respects and was much pleased by his letter, which he sealedand compelled his prisoner upon his knees to promise to deliver into theEmperor's own hands. 

"Now where is that pretty warrant?" said Wogan, as soon as thisimportant function was accomplished. 

"It is signed by the Governor of Trent, " said the man. 

"Who in those regions is the Emperor's deputy. Hand it over. "

The man handed it over reluctantly. 

"Now, " continued Wogan, "here is paper and ink and a chair. Sit down andwrite a full confession of your audacious incursion into a friendlycountry, and just write, if you please, how much you paid the landladyto hear nothing of what was doing. "

"You will not force me to that, " cried the fellow. 

"By no means. The confession must be voluntary and written of your ownfree will. So write it, my friend, without any compulsion whatever, orI'll throw you out of the window. "

Then followed a deal of sighing and muttering. But the confession waswritten and handed to Wogan, who glanced over it. 

"But there's an omission, " said he. "You make mention of only five men. "

"There were only five men on the staircase. "

"But there are six horses in the stables. Will you be good enough towrite down at what hour on what day Mr. Harry Whittington knocked at theGovernor's door in Trent and told the poor gout-ridden man that thePrincess and Mr. Wogan had put up at the Cervo Inn at Ala. "

The soldier turned a startled face on Wogan. 

"So you knew!" he cried. 

"Oh, I knew, " answered Wogan, suddenly. "Look at me! Did you ever seeeyes so heavy with want of sleep, a face so worn by it, a body so jerkedupon strings like a showman's puppet? Write, I tell you! We who servethe King are trained to wakefulness. Write! I am in haste!"

"Yet your King does not reign!" said the man, wonderingly, and he wrote. He wrote the truth about Harry Whittington; for Wogan was looking overhis shoulder. 

"Did he pay you to keep silence as to his share in the business?" askedWogan, as the man scattered some sand over the paper. "There is no wordof it in your handwriting. "

The man added a sentence and a figure. 

"That will do, " said Wogan. "I may need it for a particular purpose;"and he put the letter carefully away in the pocket of his coat. "For avery particular purpose, " he added. "It will be well for you to conveyyour party back with all haste to Trent. You are on the wrong side ofthe border. "

CHAPTER XX

Wogan went from the parlour and climbed out of the house by therope-ladder. He left it hanging at the window and walked up theglimmering road, a ribbon of ghostly white between dim hills. It wasthen about half-past twelve of the night, and not a feather of cloudstained the perfection of the sky. It curved above his head spangledlike a fair lady's fan, and unfathomably blue like Clementina's eyeswhen her heart stirred in their depths. He reached the little footwayand turned into the upward cleft of the hills. He walked now into thethick night of a close-grown clump of dwarf-oaks, which weaved so densea thatch above his head that he knocked against the boles. The treesthinned, he crossed here and there a dimpled lawn in the pure starshine, he traversed a sparse grove of larches in the dreamy twilight, he cameout again upon the grassy lip of a mountain torrent which henceforthkept him company, and which, speaking with many voices, seemed a friendtrying to catch his mood. For here it leaped over an edge of rock, andhere in a tiny waterfall, and splashed into a pellucid pool, and thereverberating noise filled the dell with a majestic din; there it ransmoothly kissing its banks with a murmur of contentment, embosoming thestars; beyond, it chafed hoarsely between narrow walls; and again half amile higher up it sang on shallows and evaded the stones with a tinklinglaugh. But Wogan was deaf to the voices; he mounted higher, the treesceased, he came into a desolate country of boulders; and the higher heascended, the more heavily he walked. He stopped and washed his face andhands clean of blood-stains in the stream. Above him and not very faraway was the lonely hut. 

He came upon it quite suddenly. For the path climbed steeply at theback, and slipping from the mouth of a narrow gully he stood upon theedge of a small plateau in the centre of which stood the cabin, a littlehouse of pinewood built with some decoration and elegance. One unglazedwindow was now unshuttered, and the light from a lantern streamed out ofit in a yellow fan, marking the segment of a circle upon the rough rockyground and giving to the dusk of the starshine a sparkle of gold. Through the window Wogan could see into the room. It was furnishedsimply, but with an eye to comfort. He saw too the girl he had dared tobear off from the thick of a hostile town. She was lying upon a couch, her head resting upon her folded arms. She was asleep, and in a placemost solitary. Behind the cabin rose a black forest of pines, prickingthe sky with their black spires, and in front of it the ground fellsharply to the valley, in which no light gleamed; beyond the valley rosethe dim hills again. Nor was there any sound except the torrent. Theair at this height was keen and fresh with a smell of primeval earth. Wogan hitched his cloak about his throat, and his boots rang upon therock. The Princess raised her head; Wogan walked to the door and stoodfor a little with his hand upon the latch. He lifted it and entered. Clementina looked at him for a moment, and curiously. She had noquestions as to how his struggle with the Governor of Trent's emissarieshad fared. Wogan could understand by some unspoken sympathy that thatmatter had no place in her thoughts. She stood up in an attitude ofexpectation. 

"It grows towards morning?" said she. 

"In two hours we shall have the dawn, " he replied; and there was asilence between them. 

"You found this cabin open?" said Wogan. 

"The door was latched. I loosed a shutter. The night is very still. "

"One might fancy there were no others alive but you and me across allthe width of the world. "

"One could wish it, " she said beneath her breath, and crossed to thewindow where she stayed, breathing the fresh night. The sigh, however, had reached to Wogan's ears. He took his pistols from his belt, and toengage his thoughts, loaded the one which had been fired at him. After alittle he looked up and saw that Clementina's eyes dwelt upon him withthat dark steady look, which held always so much of mystery and toldalways one thing plainly, her lack of fear. And she said suddenly, --

"There was trouble at Peri. I climbed from the window. I had almostforgotten. As I ran down the road past the open court, I saw a littlegroup of men gathered about the foot of the staircase! I was in twominds whether to come back and load your pistols or to obey you. Iobeyed, but I was in much fear for you. I had almost forgotten, it seemsso long ago. Tell me! You conquered; it is no new thing. Tell me how!"

She did not move from the window, she kept her eyes fixed upon Woganwhile he told his story, but it was quite clear to him that she did nothear one half of it. And when he had done she said, --

"How long is it till the morning?"

Wogan had spun his tale out, but half an hour enclosed it, from thebeginning to the end. He became silent again; but he was aware at oncethat silence was more dangerous than speech, for in the silence he couldhear both their hearts speaking. He began hurriedly to talk of theirjourney, and there could be no more insidious topic for him to lightupon. For he spoke of the Road, and he had already been given a warningthat to the romance of the Road her heart turned like a compass-needleto the north. They were both gipsies, for all that they had no Egyptianblood. That southward road from Innspruck was much more than a merehighway of travel between a starting-place and a goal, even to these twoto whom the starting-place meant peril and the goal the firstopportunity of sleep. 

"Even in our short journey, " said Clementina, "how it climbed hillsidesangle upon angle, how it swept through the high solitudes of ice whereno trees grow, where silence lives; how it dropped down into greenvalleys and the noise of streams! And it still sweeps on, through darkand light, a glimmer at night, a glare in the midday, between lines ofpoplars, hidden amongst vines, through lighted cities, down to Veniceand the sea. If one could travel it, never retracing a step, pitching atent by the roadside when one willed! That were freedom!" She stoppedwith a remarkable abruptness. She turned her eyes out of the window fora little. Then again she asked, --

"How long till morning?"

"But one more hour. "

She came back into the room and seated herself at the table. 

"You gave me some hint at Innspruck of an adventurous ride from Ohlau, "and she drew her breath sharply at the word, as though the name with allits associations struck her a blow, "into Strasbourg. Tell me itshistory. So will this hour pass. "

He told her as he walked about the room, though his heart was not in thetelling, nor hers in the hearing, until he came to relate the story ofhis escape from the inn a mile or so beyond Stuttgart. He described howhe hid in the garden, how he crossed the rich level of lawn to thelighted window, how to his surprise he was admitted without a questionby an old bookish gentleman--and thereupon he ceased so suddenly thatClementina turned her head aside and listened. 

"Did you hear a step?" she asked in a low voice. 

"No. "

And they both listened. No noise came to their ears but the brawling ofthe torrent. That, however, filled the room, drowning all the naturalmurmurs of the night. 

"Indeed, one would not hear a company of soldiers, " said Clementina. Shecrossed to the window. 

"Yet you heard my step, and it waked you, " said Wogan, as he followedher. 

"I listened for it in my sleep, " said she. 

For a second time that night they stood side by side looking upondarkness and the spangled sky. Only there was no courtyard with itssigns of habitation. Clementina drew herself away suddenly from thesill. Wogan at once copied her example. 

"You saw--?" he began. 

"No one, " said she, bending her dark eyes full upon him. "Will you closethe shutter?"

Wogan drew back instinctively. He had a sense that this open window, though there was no one to spy through it, was in some way a security. Suppose that he closed it! That mere act of shutting himself and herapart, though it gave not one atom more of privacy, still had asemblance of giving it. He was afraid. He said, --

"There is no need. Who should spy on us? What would it matter if we werespied upon?"

"I ask you to close that shutter. "

From the quiet, level voice he could infer nothing of the thought behindthe request; and her unwavering eyes told him nothing. 

"Why?"

"Because I am afraid, as you are, " said she, and she shivered. "Youwould not have it shut. I am afraid while it stays open. There is toomuch expectation in the night. Those great black pines stand waiting;the stars are very bright and still, they wait, holding their breath. Itseems to me the whirl of the earth has stopped. Never was there a nightso hushed in expectation;" and these words too she spoke without afalter or a lifting note, breathing easily like a child asleep, and notchanging her direct gaze from Wogan's face. "I am afraid, " shecontinued, "of you and me. I am the more afraid;" and Wogan set theshutter in its place and let the bar fall. Clementina with a breath ofrelief came back to her seat at the table. 

"How long is it till dawn?" she said. 

"We have half an hour, " said Wogan. 

"Well, that old man--Count von Ahlen, you said--received you, heapedlogs upon his fire, stanched your wounds, and asked no questions. Well?You stopped suddenly. Tell me all!"

Wogan looked doubtfully at her and then quickly seated himself overagainst her. 

"All? I will. It will be no new thing to you;" and as Clementina raisedher eyes curiously to his, he met her gaze and so spoke the restlooking at her with her own direct gaze. 

"Why did he ask no question, seeing me disordered, wounded, a bandit, for all he knew, with a murder on my hands? Because thirty years beforeCount Philip Christopher von Königsmarck had come in just that same wayover the lawn to the window, and had sat by that log-fire and charmedthe old gentleman into an envy by his incomparable elegance and wit. "

"Königsmarck!" exclaimed the girl. She knew the history of thatbrilliant and baleful adventurer at the Court of Hanover. "He came asyou did, and wounded?"

"The Princess Sophia Dorothea was visiting the Duke of Würtemberg, "Wogan explained, and Clementina nodded. 

"Count Otto von Ahlen, my host, " he continued, "had a momentary thoughtthat I was Königsmarck mysteriously returned as he had mysteriouslyvanished; and through these thirty years' retention of his youth, CountOtto could never think of Königsmarck but as a man young and tossed in afroth of passion. He would have it to the end that I had escaped fromsuch venture as had Königsmarck; he would have it my wounds were themere offset to a love well worth them; he _would_ envy me. 'Passion, 'said he, 'without passion there can be no great thing. '"

"And the saying lived in your thoughts, " cried Clementina. "I do notwonder. 'Without passion there can be no great thing!' Can books teacha man so much?"

"Nay, it was an hour's talk with Königsmarck which set the old man'sthoughts that way; and though Königsmarck talked never so well, I wouldnot likely infer from his talk an eternal and universal truth. CountOtto left me alone while he fetched me food, and he left me in a panic. "

"A panic?" said Clementina, with a little laugh. "You!"

"Yes. That first mistake of me for Königsmarck, that insistence that mycase was Königsmarck's--"

"There was a shadow of truth in it--even then?" said Clementina, suddenly leaning across the table towards him. Wogan strove not to seethe light of her joy suddenly sparkling in her eyes. 

"I sat alone, feeling the ghost of Königsmarck in the room with me, " heresumed quickly, and his voice dropped, and he looked round the littlecabin. Clementina looked round quickly too. Then their eyes met again. "I heard his voice menacing me. 'For love of a queen I lived. For loveof a queen I died most horribly; and it would have gone better with thequeen had she died the same death at the same time--'" And Clementinainterrupted him with a cry which was fierce. 

"Ah, who can say that, and know it for the truth--except the Queen? Youmust ask her in her prison at Ahlden, and that you cannot do. She hasher memories maybe. Maybe she has built herself within these thirtyyears a world of thought so real, it makes her gaolers shadows, andthat prison a place of no account, save that it gives her solitude andis so more desirable than a palace. I can imagine it;" and then shestopped, and her voice dropped to the low tone which Wogan had used. 

"You looked round you but now and most fearfully. Is Königsmarck'sspirit here?"

"No, " exclaimed Wogan; "I would to God it were! I would I felt itsmemories chilling me as they chilled me that night! But I cannot. Icannot as much as hear a whisper. All the heavens are dumb, " he cried. 

"And the earth waits, " said Clementina. 

She did not move, neither did Wogan. They both sat still as statues. They had come to the great crisis of their destiny. A change of posture, a gesture, an assumed expression which might avert the small, the merelyawkward indiscretions of the tongue, they both knew to be futile. It wasin the mind of each of them that somehow without their participation thetruth would out that night; for the dawn was so long in coming. 

"All the way up from Peri, " said Wogan, suddenly, "I strove to make realto myself the ignominy, the odium, the scandal. "

"But you could not, " said Clementina, with a nod of comprehension, asthough that inability was a thing familiar to her. 

"When I reached the hut, and saw that fan of light spreading from thewindow, as it spread over the lawn beyond Stuttgart, I remembered Ottovon Ahlen and his talk of Königsmarck. I tried to hear the menaces. "

"But you could not. "

"No. I saw you through the window, " he cried, "stretched out upon thatcouch, supple and young and sweet. I saw the lamplight on your hair, searching out the gold in its dark brown. I could only remember howoften I have at nights wakened and reached out my hands in the vaindream that they would meet in its thick coils, that I should feel itssilk curl and nestle about my fingers. There's the truth out, thoughit's a familiar truth to you ever since I held you in my arms beneaththe stars upon the road to Ala. "

"It was known to me a day before, " said she; "but it was known to you solong ago as that night in the garden. "

"Oh, before then, " cried Wogan. 

"When? Let the whole truth be known, since we know so much. "

"Why, on that first day at Ohlau. "

"In the great hall. I stood by the fire and raised my head, and our eyesmet. I do remember. "

"But I had no thought ever to let you know. I was the King'sman-at-arms, as I am now;" and he burst into a harsh laugh. "Here'smadness! The King's man-at-arms dumps him down in the King's chair! Ihad a thought to live to you, if you understand, as a man writes a poemto his mistress, to make my life the poem, an unsigned poem that youwould never read, and yet unsigned, unread, would make its creator gladand fill his days. And here's the poem!" and at that a great cry ofterror leaped from Clementina's lips and held them both aghast. 

Wogan had risen from his seat; with a violent gesture he had thrown backhis cloak, and his coat beneath was stained and dark with blood. Clementina stood opposite to him, all her quiet and her calmness gone. There was no longer any mystery in her eyes. Her bosom rose and fell;she pointed a trembling hand towards his breast. 

"You are hurt. Again for love of me you are hurt. "

"It is not my wound, " he answered. "It is blood I spilt for you;" hetook a step towards her, and in a second she was between his arms, sobbing with all the violence of passion which she had so longrestrained. Wogan was wrung by it. That she should weep at all was athought strange to him; that he should cause the tears was a sorrowwhich tortured him. He touched her hair with his lips, he took her bythe arms and would have set her apart; but she clung to him, hiding herface, and the sobs shook her. Her breast was strained against him, hefelt the beating of her heart, a fever ran through all his blood. And ashe held her close, a queer inconsequential thought came into his mind. It shocked him, and he suddenly held her off. 

"The blood upon my coat is wet, " he cried. The odium, the scandal of aflight which would make her name a byword from London to Budapest, thathe could envisage; but that this blood upon his coat should stain thedress she wore--no! He saw indeed that the bodice was smeared a darkred. 

"See, the blood stains you!" he cried. 

"Why, then, I share it, " she answered with a ringing voice of pride. "Ishare it with you;" and she smiled through her tears and a glowing blushbrightened upon her face. She stood before him, erect and beautiful. Through Wogan's mind there tripped a procession of delicate ladies whowould swoon gracefully at the sight of a pricked finger. 

"That's John Sobieski speaking, " he exclaimed, and with an emphasis ofdespair, "Poland's King! But I was mad! Indeed, I blame myself. "

"Blame!" she cried passionately, her whole nature rising in revoltagainst the word. "Are we to blame? We are man and woman. Who shall castthe stone? Are you to blame for that you love me? Who shall blame you?Not I, who thank you from my heart. Am I to blame? What have we heartsfor, then, if not to love? I have a thought--it may be very wrong. I donot know. I do not trouble to think--that I should be much more to blamedid I not love you too. There's the word spoken at the last, " and shelowered her head. 

Even at that moment her gesture struck upon Wogan as strange. Itoccurred to him that he had never before seen her drop her eyes fromhis. He had an intuitive fancy that she would never do it but as adeliberate token of submission. Nor was he wrong. Her next words toldhim it was her white flag of surrender. 

"I believe the spoken truth is best, " she said simply in a low voicewhich ever so slightly trembled. "Unspoken and yet known by both of us, I think it would breed thoughts and humours we are best without. Unspoken our eyes would question, each to other, at every meeting; therewould be no health in our thoughts. But here's the truth out, and I amglad--in whichever way you find its consequence. "

She stood before him with her head bent. She made no movement save withher hands, which worked together slowly and gently. 

"In whichever way--I--?" repeated Wogan. 

"Yes, " she answered. "There is Bologna. Say that Bologna is our goal. Ishall go with you to Bologna. There is Venice and the sea. Bid me go, then; hoist a poor scrap of a sail in an open boat. I shall adventureover the wide seas with you. What will you do?"

Wogan drew a long breath. The magnitude of the submission paralysed him. The picture which she evoked was one to blind him as with a glory ofsunlight. He remained silent for a while. Then he said timidly, --

"There is Ohlau. "

The girl shivered. The name meant her father, her mother, their grief, the disgrace upon her home. But she answered only with her question, --

"What will you do?"

"You would lose a throne, " he said, and even while he spoke was awarethat such a plea had not with her now the weight of thistledown. 

"You would become the mock of Europe, --you that are its wonder;" and hesaw the corner of her lip curve in a smile of scorn. 

"What will you do?" she asked, and he ceased to argue. It was he whomust decide; she willed it so. He turned towards the door of the hut andopened it. As he passed through, he heard her move behind, and lookingover his shoulder, he saw that she leaned down upon the table and kissedthe pistol which he had left loaded there. He stepped out of the cabinand closed the door behind him. 

The dark blue of the sky had faded to a pure and pearly colour; acolourless grey light invaded it; the pale stars were drowning; and allabout him the trees shivered to the morning. Wogan walked up and downthat little plateau, torn by indecision. Inside the sheltered cabin satwaiting the girl, whose destiny was in his hands. He had a sentence tospeak, and by it the flow of all her years would be irrevocably ordered. She had given herself over to him, --she, with her pride, her courage, her endurance. Wogan had seen too closely into her heart to bring anyfoolish charge of unmaidenliness against her. No, the very completenessof her submission raised her to a higher pinnacle. If she gave herself, she did so without a condition or a reserve, body and bone, heart andsoul. Wogan knew amongst the women of his time many who made theirbargain with the world, buying a semblance of esteem with a doublepayment of lies. This girl stood apart from them. She loved, thereforeshe entrusted herself simply to the man she loved, and bade him disposeof her. That very simplicity was another sign of her strength. She wasthe more priceless on account of it. He went back into the hut. Throughthe chinks of the shutter the morning stretched a grey finger; the roomwas filled with a vaporous twilight. 

"We travel to Bologna, " said he. "I will not have you wasted. Otherwomen may slink into kennels and stop their ears--not you. The King istrue to you. You are for the King. "

As she had not argued before, she did not argue now. She nodded her headand fastened her cloak about her throat. She followed him out of the hutand down the gorge. In the northeast the sky already flamed, and the sunwas up before they reached the road. They walked silently towards Peri, and Wogan was wondering whether in her heart she despised him when shestopped. 

"I am to marry the King, " said she. 

"Yes, " said Wogan. 

"But you?" she said with her brows in a frown; "there is no compulsionon you to marry--anyone. "

Wogan was relieved of his fears. He broke into a laugh, to which shemade no reply. She still waited frowning for his answer. 

"No woman, " he said, "will ride on my black horse into my city ofdreams. You may be very sure I will not marry. "

"No. I would not have you married. "

Wogan laughed again, but Clementina was very serious. That she had noright to make any such claim did not occur to her. She was merelycertain and resolved that Wogan must not marry. She did not again referto the matter, nor could she so have done had she wished. For a littlelater and while they were not yet come to Peri, they were hailed frombehind, and turning about they saw Gaydon and O'Toole riding after them. O'Toole had his story to tell. Gaydon and he had put the courier to bedand taken his clothes and his money, and after the fellow had waked up, they had sat for a day in the bedroom keeping him quiet and telling thelandlord he was very ill. O'Toole finished his story as they came toPeri. They went boldly to the Cervo Inn, where all traces of the night'sconflict had been removed, and neither Wogan nor the landlady thought itprudent to make any mention of the matter; they waited for Misset andhis wife, who came the next day. And thus reunited they passed oneevening into the streets of Bologna and stopped at the Pilgrim Inn. 

CHAPTER XXI

In the parlour of the Pilgrim Inn the four friends took their leave ofthe Princess. She could not part from them lightly; she spoke with afaltering voice:--

"Five days ago I was in prison at Innspruck, perpetually harassed andwith no hope of release but in you. Now I am in Bologna, and free. Icould not believe that any girl could find such friends except infairyland. You make the world very sweet and clean to me. I should thankyou. See my tears fall! Will you take them for my thanks? I have nowords which can tell as much of my thoughts towards you. My little womanI keep with me, but to you gentlemen I would gladly give a token each, so that you may know I will never forget, and so that you too may keepfor me a home within your memories. " To Major Gaydon she gave a ringfrom off her finger, to Captain Misset a chain which she wore about herneck, to O'Toole, "her six feet four, " as she said between laughter andtears, her watch. Each with a word of homage took his leave. Clementinaspoke to Wogan last of all, and when the room was empty but for thesetwo. 

"To you, my friend, " said she, "I give nothing. There is no need. But Iask for something. I would be in debt to you still deeper than I am. Iask for a handkerchief which I dropped from my shoulders one eveningunder the stars upon the road to Ala. "

Wogan bowed to her without a word. He drew the handkerchief from hisbreast slowly. 

"It is true, " said he; "I have no right to it;" and he gave it back. Buthis voice showed that he was hurt. 

"You do not understand, " said she, with a great gentleness. "You haveevery right which the truest loyalty can confer. I ask you for thishandkerchief, because I think at times to wear it in memory of a whitestone on which I could safely set my foot, for the stone was not straw. "

Wogan could not trust his voice to answer her. He took her hand to liftit to his lips. 

"No, " said she; "as at Innspruck, an honest handclasp, if you please. "

Wogan joined his three companions in the road, and they stood togetherfor a little, recounting to one another the incidents of the flight. 

"Here's a great work ended, " said Gaydon at last. 

"We shall be historical, " said O'Toole. "It is my one ambition. I wantto figure in the history-books and be a great plague and nuisance tochildren at school. I would sooner be cursed daily by schoolboys thanhave any number of golden statues in galleries. It means the more solidreputation;" and then he became silent. Gaydon had, besides his joy atthe rescue of Clementina, a private satisfaction that matters which werenone of his business had had no uncomfortable issue. Misset, too, wasthankful for that his wife had come safely to the journey's end. O'Toolealone had a weight upon his mind; and when Gaydon said, "Well, we may goto bed and sleep without alarms till sundown to-morrow, " he remarked, --

"There's Jenny. It was on my account she ventured with us. "

"That's true, " said Wogan; "but we shall put an end to her captivity, now we are safe at Bologna. I have friends here who can serve me so far, I have no doubt. "

O'Toole was willing to leave the matter in Wogan's hands. If Wogan oncepledged himself to Jenny's release, why, Jenny _was_ released; and hewent to bed now with a quite equable mind. Wogan hurried off to thepalace of the Cardinal Origo, whom he found sitting at his supper. TheCardinal welcomed Wogan back very warmly. 

"I trust, your Eminence, " said Wogan, "that Farini is now at Bologna. "

"You come in the nick of time, " replied the Cardinal. "This is his lastweek. There is a great demand for the seats; but you will see to it, Mr. Wogan, that the box is in the first tier. "

"There was to be a dinner, too, if I recollect aright. I have not dinedfor days. Your Eminence, I shall be extraordinarily hungry. "

"You will order what you will, Mr. Wogan. I am a man of a smallappetite and have no preferences. "

"Your Eminence's cook will be the better judge of what is seasonable. Your Eminence will be the more likely to secure the box in the firsttier. Shall we fix a day? To-morrow, if it please you. To-morrow I shallhave the honour, then, to be your Eminence's guest. "

The Cardinal started up from the table and stared at his visitor. 

"You are jesting, " said he. 

"So little, " replied Wogan, "that her Highness, the Princess Clementina, is now at the Pilgrim Inn at Bologna. "

"In Bologna!" cried the Cardinal; and he stood frowning in a greatperturbation of spirit. "This is great news, " he said, but in a doubtfulvoice which Wogan did not understand. "This is great news, to be sure;"and he took a turn or two across the room. 

"Not wholly pleasant news, one might almost think, " said Wogan, in someperplexity. 

"Never was better news, " exclaimed the Cardinal, hastily, --a trifle toohastily, it seemed to Wogan. "But it surprises one. Even the King didnot expect this most desirable issue. For the King's in Spain. It isthat which troubles me. Her Highness comes to Bologna, and the King's inSpain. "

"Yes, " said Wogan, with a wary eye upon his Eminence. "Why is the Kingin Spain?"

"There is pressing business in Spain, --an expedition from Cadiz. TheKing's presence there was urged most earnestly. He had no hope you wouldsucceed. I myself have some share in the blame. I did not hide from youmy thought, Mr. Wogan. "

Wogan was not all reassured. He could not but remember that the excusefor the King's absence which the Cardinal now made to him was preciselythat which he himself had invented to appease Clementina at Innspruck. It was the simple, natural excuse which came first of all to thetongue's tip, but--but it did not satisfy. There was, besides, too muchflurry and agitation in the Cardinal's manner. Even now that he wastaking snuff, he spilled the most of it from the trembling of hisfingers. Moreover, he must give reason upon reason for his perturbationthe while he let his supper get cold. 

"Her Highness I cannot but feel will have reason to think slightly ofour welcome. A young girl, she will expect, and rightly, something moreof ceremony as her due. "

"Your Eminence does not know her, " interrupted Wogan, with somesharpness. His Eminence was adroit enough to seize the occasion ofending a conversation which was growing with every minute moreembarrassing. 

"I shall make haste to repair my defect, " said he. "I beg you to presentmy duty to her Highness and to request her to receive me to-morrow atten. By that, I will hope to have discovered a lodging more suitable toher dignity. "

Wogan made his prayer for the Pope's intervention on Jenny's behalf andthen returned to the Pilgrim Inn, dashed and fallen in spirit. He hadthought that their troubles were at an end, but here was a newdifficulty at which in truth he rather feared to guess. The Chevalier'sdeparture to Spain had been a puzzle to him before; he remembered nowthat the Chevalier had agreed with reluctance to his enterprise, and hadnever been more than lukewarm in its support. That reluctance, thatlukewarmness, he had attributed to a natural habit of discouragement;but the evasiveness of Cardinal Origo seemed to propose a differentexplanation. Wogan would not guess at it. 

"The King is to marry the Princess, " said he, fiercely. "I brought herout of Innspruck to Bologna. The King must marry the Princess;" and, quite unawares, he set off running towards the inn. As he drew near toit, he heard a confused noise of shouting. He quickened his pace, andrushing out of the mouth of a side street into the square where the innstood, came suddenly to a stop. The square was filled with a great mobof people, and in face of the inn the crowd was so thick Wogan couldhave walked upon the shoulders. Many of the people carried blazingtorches, which they waved in the air, dropping the burning resin upontheir companions; others threw their hats skywards; here were boysbeating drums, and grown men blowing upon toy trumpets; and all wereshouting and cheering with a deafening enthusiasm. The news of thePrincess's arrival had spread like wildfire through the town. Wogan'sspirits rose at a bound. Here was a welcome very different from theCardinal's. Wogan rejoiced in the good sense of the citizens of Bolognawho could appreciate the great qualities of his chosen woman. Theirenthusiasm did them credit; he could have embraced them one by one. 

He strove to push his way towards the door, but he would hardly havepierced through that throng had not a man by the light of a torchrecognised him and bawled out his name. He was lifted shoulder high in asecond; he was passed from hand to hand over the heads of the people; hewas set tenderly down in the very doorway of the Pilgrim Inn, and hefound Clementina at the window of an unlighted room gazing unperceivedat the throng. 

"Here's a true welcome, madam, " said he, cordially, with his thoughtsaway upon that bluff of hillside where the acclamations had seemed sodistant and unreal. It is possible that they seemed of small account toClementina now, for though they rang in ears and were visible to hereyes, she sat quite unmoved by them. 

"This is one tiny square in a little town, " he continued. "But itsshouts will ring across Europe;" and she turned her head to him and saidquietly, --

"The King is still in Spain, is he not?"

Wogan's enthusiasm was quenched in alarm. Her voice had rung, for allits quietude, with pride. What if she guessed what he for one would notlet his wildest fancy dwell upon? Wogan repeated to himself the resolvewhich he had made, though with an alteration. "The King must marry thePrincess, " he had said; now he said, "The Princess must marry the King. "

He began hurriedly to assure her that the King had doubted his capacityto bring the enterprise to a favourable issue, but that now he wouldwithout doubt return. Cardinal Origo would tell her more upon that headif she would be good enough to receive him at ten in the morning; andwhile Wogan was yet speaking, a torch waved, and amongst thatclose-pressed throng of faces below him in the street, one sprang to hisview with a remarkable distinctness, a face most menacing andvindictive. It was the face of Harry Whittington. Just for a second itshone out, angles and lines so clearly revealed that it was as thoughthe crowd had vanished, and that one contorted face glared alone at thewindows in a flare of hell-fire. 

Clementina saw the face too, for she drew back instinctively within thecurtains of the window. 

"The man at Peri, " said she, in a whisper. 

"Your Highness will pardon me, " exclaimed Wogan, and he made a movementtowards the door. Then he stopped, hesitated for a second, and cameback. He had a question to put, as difficult perhaps as ever lips had toframe. 

"At Peri, " he said in a stumbling voice, "I waked from a dream and sawthat man, bird-like and cunning, watching over the rim of the stairs. Iwas dreaming that a star out of heaven stooped towards me, that awoman's face shone out of the star's bright heart, that her lips deignedto bend downwards to my earth. And I wonder, I wonder whether thosecunning eyes had cunning enough to interpret my dream. "

And Clementina answered him simply, --

"I think it very likely that they had so much skill;" and Wogan ran downthe stairs into the street. He forced his way through the crowd to thepoint where Whittington's face had shown, but his hesitation, hisquestion, had consumed time. Whittington had vanished. Nor did he appearagain for some while in Bologna. Wogan searched for him high and low. Here was another difficulty added to the reluctance of his King, thepride of his Queen. Whittington had a piece of dangerous knowledge, andcould not be found. Wogan said nothing openly of the man's treachery, though he kept very safely the paper in which that treachery wasconfessed. But he did not cease from his search. He was still engagedupon it when he received the summons from Cardinal Origo. He hurried tothe palace, wondering what new thing had befallen, and was at onceadmitted to the Cardinal. It was no bad thing, at all events, as Wogancould judge from the Cardinal's smiling face. 

"Mr. Wogan, " said he, "our Holy Father the Pope wishes to testify hisapprobation of your remarkable enterprise on behalf of a princess who ishis god-daughter. He bids me hand you, therefore, your patent of RomanSenator, and request you to present yourself at the Capitol in Rome onJune 15, when you will be installed with all the ancient ceremonies. "

Wogan thanked his Eminence dutifully, but laid the patent on the table. 

"You hardly know what you refuse, " said his Eminence. "The Holy Fatherhas no greater honour to bestow, and, believe me, he bestows itcharily. "

"Nay, your Eminence, " said Wogan, "I do not undervalue so high adistinction. But I had three friends with me who shared every danger. Icannot accept an honour which they do not share; for indeed they riskedmore than I did. For they hold service under the King of France. "

The Cardinal was pleased to compliment Wogan upon his loyalty to hisfriends. 

"They shall not be the losers, " said he. "I think I may promise indeedthat each will have a step in rank, and I do not doubt that when theHoly Father hears what you have said to me, I shall have three otherpatents like to this;" and he locked Wogan's away in a drawer. 

"And what of the King in Spain?" asked Wogan. 

"I sent a messenger thither on the night of your coming, " said theCardinal; "but it is a long journey into Spain. We must wait. "

To Wogan it seemed the waiting would never end. The Cardinal had founda little house set apart from the street with a great garden of lawnsand cedar-trees and laurels; and in that garden now fresh with springflowers and made private by high walls, the Princess passed her days. Wogan saw her but seldom during this time, but each occasion sent himback to his lodging in a fever of anxiety. She had grown silent, and hersilence alarmed him. She had lost the sparkling buoyancy of her spirits. Mrs. Misset, who attended her, told him that she would sit for longwhiles with a red spot burning in each cheek. Wogan feared that herpride was chafing her gentleness, that she guessed there was reluctancein the King's delay. "But she must marry the King, " he still perseveredin declaring. Her hardships, her imprisonment, her perilous escape, thesnows of Innspruck, --these were known now; and if at the last the endfor which they had been endured--Wogan broke off from his reflections tohear the world laughing. The world would not think; it would laugh. "Forher own sake she must marry, " he cried, as he paced about his rooms. "For ours, too, for a country's sake;" and he looked northwards towardsEngland. But "for her own sake" was the reason uppermost in histhoughts. 

But the days passed. The three promised patents came from Rome, andCardinal Origo unlocked the drawer and joined Wogan's to them. Hepresented all four at the same time. 

"The patents carry the titles of 'Excellency, '" said he. 

O'Toole beamed with delight. 

"Sure, " said he, "I will have a toga with the arms of the O'Toolesembroidered on the back, to appear in at the Capitol. It is on June 15, your Eminence. Upon my soul, I have not much time;" and he grewthoughtful. 

"A toga will hardly take a month, even with the embroidery, which I donot greatly recommend, " said the Cardinal, drily. 

"I was not at the moment thinking of the toga, " said O'Toole, gloomily. 

"And what of the King in Spain?" asked Wogan. 

"We must wait, my friend, " said the Cardinal. 

In a week there was brought to Wogan one morning a letter in the King'shand. He fingered it for a little, not daring to break the seal. When hedid break it, he read a great many compliments upon his success, andafter the compliments a statement that the marriage should take place atMontefiascone as soon as the King could depart from Spain, and afterthat statement, a declaration that since her Highness's position was notmeanwhile one that suited either her dignity or the love the King hadfor her, a marriage by proxy should take place at Bologna. The Chevalieradded that he had written to Cardinal Origo to make the necessaryarrangements for the ceremony, and he appointed herewith Mr. CharlesWogan to act as his proxy, in recognition of his great services. 

Wogan felt a natural distaste for the part he was to take in theceremony. To stand up before the Cardinal and take Clementina's hand inhis, and speak another's marriage vows and receive hers as another'sdeputy, --there was a certain mockery in the situation for which he hadno liking. The memory of the cabin on the mountain-side was somethingtoo near. But, at all events, the King was to marry the Princess, andWogan's distaste was swallowed up in a great relief. There would be nolaughter rippling over Europe like the wind over a field of corn. Hestood by his window in the spring sunshine with a great contentment ofspirit, and then there came a loud rapping on his door. 

He caught his breath; he grew white with a sudden fear; you would havethought it was his heart that was knocked upon. For there was anotherside to the business. The King would marry the Princess; but how wouldthe Princess take this marriage by proxy and the King's continuedabsence? She had her pride, as he knew well. The knocking was repeated. Wogan in a voice of suspense bade his visitor enter. The visitor was oneof her Highness's new servants. "Without a doubt, " thought Wogan, "shehas received a letter by the same messenger who brought me mine. "

The servant handed him a note from the Princess, begging him to attendon her at once. "She must marry the King, " said Wogan to himself. Hetook his hat and cane, and followed the servant into the street. 

CHAPTER XXII

Wogan was guided through the streets to the mouth of a blind alley, atthe bottom of which rose a high garden wall, and over the wall thesmoking chimneys of a house among the tops of many trees freshly green, which shivered in the breeze and shook the sunlight from their leaves. This alley, from the first day when the Princess came to lodge in thehouse, had worn to Wogan a familiar air; and this morning, as hepondered dismally whether, after all, those laborious months since hehad ridden hopefully out of Bologna to Ohlau were to bear no fruit, hechanced to remember why. He had passed that alley at the moment of greydawn, when he was starting out upon this adventure, and he had seen aman muffled in a cloak step from its mouth and suddenly draw back as hishorse's hoofs rang in the silent street, as though to elude recognition. Wogan wondered for a second who at that time had lived in the house; buthe was admitted through a door in the wall and led into a little roomwith French windows opening on a lawn. The garden seen from here was awealth of white blossoms and yellow, and amongst them Clementina pacedalone, the richest and the whitest blossom of them all. She was dressedsimply in a white gown of muslin and a little three-cornered hat ofstraw; but Wogan knew as he advanced towards her that it was not merelythe hat which threw the dark shadow on her face. 

She took a step or two towards him and began at once without anyfriendly greeting in a cold, formal voice, --

"You have received a letter this morning from his Majesty?"

"Yes, your Highness. "

"Why does the King linger in Spain?"

"The expedition from Cadiz--"

"Which left harbour a week ago. Well, Mr. Wogan, " she asked in bitingtones, "how does that expedition now on the high seas detain his Majestyin Spain?"

Wogan was utterly dumfounded. He stood and gazed at her, a great troublein his eyes, and his wits with that expedition all at sea. 

"Is your Highness sure?" he babbled. 

"Oh, indeed, most sure, " she replied with the hardest laugh which he hadever heard from a woman's lips. 

"I did not know, " he said in dejection, and she took a step nearer tohim, and her cheeks flamed. 

"Is that the truth?" she asked, her voice trembling with anger. "You didnot know?"

And Wogan understood that the real trouble with her at this moment wasnot so much the King's delay in Spain as a doubt whether he himself hadplayed with her and spoken her false. For if he was proved untrue here, why, he might have been untrue throughout, on the stairway at Innspruck, on the road to Ala, in the hut on the bluff of the hills. He could seehow harshly the doubt would buffet her pride, how it would wound her tothe soul. 

"It is the truth, " he answered; "you will believe it. I pledge my soulupon it. Lay your hand in mine. I will repeat it standing so. Could Ispeak false with your hand close in mine?"

He held out his hand; she did not move, nor did her attitude of distrustrelent. 

"Could you not?" she asked icily. 

Wogan was baffled; he was angered. "Have I ever told you lies?" he askedpassionately, and she answered, "Yes, " and steadily looked him in theface. 

The monosyllable quenched him like a pail of cold water. He stoodsilent, perplexed, trying to remember. 

"When?" he asked. 

"In the berlin between Brixen and Wellishmile. "

Wogan remembered that he had told her of his city of dreams. But it wasplainly not to that that she referred. He shrugged his shoulders. 

"I cannot remember. "

"You told me of an attack made upon a Scottish town, what time the Kingwas there in the year '15. He forced a passage through nine grenadierswith loaded muskets and escaped over the roof-tops, where he played agame of hide-and-seek among the chimneys. Ah, you remember the storynow. There was a chain, I remember, which even then as you told of itpuzzled me. He threw the chain over the head of one of those ninegrenadiers, and crossing his arms jerked it tight about the man's neck, stifling his cry of warning. 'What chain?' I asked, and youanswered, --oh, sir, with a practised readiness, --'The chain he woreabout his neck. ' Do you remember that? The chain linked your hand-locks, Mr. Wogan. It was your own escape of which you told me. Why did youascribe your exploits to your King?"

"Your Highness, " he said, "we know the King, we who have served him dayin and day out for years. We can say freely to each other, 'The King'sachievements, they are to come. ' We were in Scotland with him, and weknow they will not fail to come. But with you it's different. You didnot know him. You asked what he had done, and I told you. You asked formore. You said, 'Amongst his throng of adventurers, each of whom hassomething to his credit, what has he, the chief adventurer?'"

"Well, sir, why not the truth in answer to the question?"

"Because the truth's unfair to him. "

"And was the untruth fair to me?"

Mr. Wogan was silent. 

"I think I understand, " she continued bitterly; "you thought, here's afoolish girl, aflame for knights and monsters overthrown. She cries fordeeds, not statecraft. Well, out of your many, you would toss her one, and call it the King's. You could afford the loss, and she, please God, would be content with it. " She spoke with an extraordinary violence in alow, trembling voice, and she would not listen to Wogan's stammeredinterruption. 

"Very likely, too, the rest of your words to me was of a piece. I was agirl, and girls are to have gallant speeches given to them like so manylollipops. Oh, but you have hurt me beyond words. I would not havethought I could have suffered so much pain!"

That last cry wrung Wogan's heart. She turned away from him with thetears brimming in her eyes. It was this conjecture of hers which he haddreaded, which at all costs he must dispel. 

"Do not believe it!" he exclaimed. "Think! Should I have been at so muchpains to refrain from speech, if speech was what I had intended?"

"How should I know but what that concealment was part of the gallantry, a necessary preface to the pretty speeches?"

"Should I have urged your rescue on the King had I believed you what youwill have it that I did, --a mere witless girl to be pampered withfollies?"

"Then you admit, " she cried, "you _urged_ the King. "

"Should I have travelled over Europe to search for a wife and lit onyou? Should I have ridden to Ohlau and pestered your father till heyielded? Should I have ridden across Europe to Strasbourg? Should I haveendangered my friends in the rush to Innspruck? No, no, no! From firstto last you were the chosen woman. "

The vehemence and fire of sincerity with which he spoke had its effecton her. She turned again towards him with a gleam of hopefulness in herface, but midway in the turn she stopped. 

"You spoke to me words which I have not forgotten, " she said doubtfully. "You said the King had need of me. I will be frank, hoping that you willmatch my frankness. On that morning when we climbed down the gorge, andever since I cheered myself with that one thought. The King had need ofme. "

"Never was truer word spoken, " said Wogan, stoutly. 

"Then why is the King in Spain?"

They had come back to the first question. Wogan had no new answer to it. He said, --

"I do not know. "

For a moment or two Clementina searched his eyes. It seemed in the endthat she was satisfied he spoke the truth. For she said in a voice ofgreater gentleness, --

"Then I will acquaint you. Will you walk with me for half a mile?"

Wogan bowed, and followed her out of the garden. He could not thinkwhither she was leading him, or for what purpose. She walked without aword to him, he followed without a question, and so pacing with muchdignity they came to the steps of a great house. Then Clementina halted. 

"Sir, " said she, "can you put a name to the house?"

"Upon my word, your Highness, I cannot. "

"It is the Caprara Palace, " said she, suddenly, and suddenly she benther eyes upon Wogan. The name, however, conveyed no meaning whatever tohim, and his blank face told her so clearly. She nodded in a sort ofapproval. "No, " she said, relenting, "you did not know. "

She mounted the steps, and knocking upon the door was admitted by an oldbroken serving-man, who told her that the Princess Caprara was away. Itwas permitted him, however, to show the many curiosities and treasuresof the palace to such visitors as desired it. Clementina did desire it. The old man led her and her companion to the armoury, where he was forspending much time and breath over the trophies which the distinguishedGeneral Caprara had of old rapt from the infidels. But Clementinaquickly broke in upon his garrulity. 

"I have a great wish to see the picture gallery, " said she, and the oldman tottered onwards through many shrouded and darkened rooms. In thepicture gallery he drew up the blinds and then took a wand in his hand. 

"Will you show me first the portrait of Mlle. De Caprara?" saidClementina. 

It was a full-length portrait painted with remarkable skill. MariaVittoria de Caprara was represented in a black dress, and the warmItalian colouring of her face made a sort of glow in the dark picture. Her eyes watched you from the canvas with so life-like a glance you hada thought when you turned that they turned after you. Clementina gazedat the picture for a long while, and the blood slowly mounted on herneck and transfused her cheeks. 

"There is a face, Mr. Wogan, --a passionate, beautiful face, --which mightwell set a seal upon a man's heart. I do not wonder. I can well believethat though to-day that face gladdens the streets of Rome, a lover inSpain might see it through all the thick earth of the Pyrenees. There, sir, I promised to acquaint you why the King lingered in Spain. I havefulfilled that promise;" and making a present to the custodian, shewalked back through the rooms and down the steps to the street. Woganfollowed her, and pacing with much dignity they walked back to thelittle house among the trees, and so came again into the garden ofblossoms. 

The anger had now gone from her face, but it was replaced by a greatweariness. 

"It is strange, is it not, " she said with a faltering smile, "that on aspring morning, beneath this sky, amongst these flowers, I should thinkwith envy of the snows of Innspruck and my prison there? But I owe you areparation, " she added. "You said the King had need of me. For thatsaying of yours I find an apt simile. Call it a stone on which you bademe set my foot and step. I stepped, and found that your stone wasstraw. "

"No, madam, " cried Wogan. 

"I had a thought, " she continued, "you knew the stone was straw whenyou commended it to me as stone. But this morning I have learned myerror. I acquit you, and ask your pardon. You did not know that the Kinghad no need of me. " And she bowed to him as though the conversation wasat an end. Wogan, however, would not let her go. He placed himself infront of her, engrossed in his one thought, "She must marry the King. "He spoke, however, none the less with sincerity when he cried, --

"Nor do I know now--no, and I shall not know. "

"You have walked with me to the Caprara Palace this morning. Or did Idream we walked?"

"What your Highness has shown me to-day I cannot gainsay. For this isthe first time that ever I heard of Mlle. De Caprara. But I am very surethat you draw your inference amiss. You sit in judgment on the King, notknowing him. You push aside the firm trust of us who know him as a thingof no account. And because once, in a mood of remorse at my ownpresumption, I ascribed one trivial exploit--at the best a success ofmuscle and not brain--to the King which was not his, you strip him ofall merit on the instant. " He saw that her face flushed. Here, at allevents, he had hit the mark, and he cried out with a ringingconfidence, --

"Your stone is stone, not straw. "

"Prove it me, " said she. 

"What do you know of the Princess Caprara at the end of it all? Youhave told me this morning all you know. I will go bail if the wholetruth were out the matter would take a very different complexion. "

Again she said, --

"Prove that to me!" and then she looked over his shoulder. Wogan turnedand saw that a servant was coming from the house across the lawn with aletter on a salver. The Princess opened the letter and read it. Then sheturned again to Wogan. 

"His Eminence the Cardinal fixes the marriage in Bologna here for to-dayfortnight. You have thus two weeks wherein to make your word good. "

Two weeks, and Wogan had not an idea in his head as to how he was to setabout the business. But he bowed imperturbably. 

"Within two weeks I will convince your Highness, " said he, and for agood half-hour he sauntered with her about the garden before he took hisleave. 

CHAPTER XXIII

But his thoughts had been busy during that half-hour, and as soon as hehad come out from the mouth of the alley, he ran to Gaydon's lodging. Gaydon, however, was not in. O'Toole lodged in the same house, and Woganmounted to his apartments, hoping there to find news of Gaydon'swhereabouts. But O'Toole was taking the air, too, but Wogan foundO'Toole's servant. 

"Where will I find Captain O'Toole?" asked Wogan. 

"You will find his Excellency, " said the servant, with a reproachfulemphasis upon the title, "at the little bookseller's in the Piazza. "

Wogan sprang down the stairs and hurried to the Piazza, wondering whatin the world O'Toole was doing at a bookseller's. O'Toole was bendingover the counter, which was spread with open books, and Wogan hailed himfrom the doorway. O'Toole turned and blushed a deep crimson. He came tothe door as if to prevent Wogan's entrance into the shop. Wogan, however, had but one thought in his head. 

"Where shall I find Gaydon?" he asked. 

"He went towards the Via San Vitale, " replied O'Toole. 

Wogan set off again, and in an hour came upon Gaydon. He had lost anhour of his fortnight; with the half-hour during which he had saunteredin the garden, an hour and a half. 

"You went to Rome in the spring, " said he. "There you saw the King. Didyou see anyone else by any chance whilst you were in Rome?"

"Edgar, " replied Gaydon, with a glance from the tail of his eye whichWogan did not fail to remark. 

"Aha!" said he. "Edgar, to be sure, since you saw the King. But besidesEdgar, did you see anyone else?"

"Whittington, " said Gaydon. 

"Oho!" said Wogan, thoughtfully. "So you saw my friend Harry Whittingtonat Rome. Did you see him with the King?"

Gaydon was becoming manifestly uncomfortable. 

"He was waiting for the King, " he replied. 

"Indeed. And whereabouts was he waiting for the King?"

"Oh, outside a house in Rome, " said Gaydon, as though he barelyremembered the incident. "It was no business of mine, that I could see. "

"None whatever, to be sure, " answered Wogan, cordially. "But why in theworld should Whittington be waiting for the King outside a house inRome?"

"It was night-time. He carried a lantern. "

"Of course, if it was night-time, " exclaimed Wogan, in his mostunsuspicious accent, "and the King wished to pay a visit to a house inRome, he would take an attendant with a lantern. A servant, though, onewould have thought, unless, of course, it was a private sort of visit--"

"It was no business of mine, " Gaydon interrupted; "and so I made noinquiries of Whittington. "

"But Whittington did not wait for inquiries, eh?" said Wogan, shrewdly. "You are hiding something from me, my friend, --something which that goodhonest simpleton of a Whittington blurted out to you without the leastthought of making any disclosure. Oh, I know my Whittington. And I knowyou, too, Dick. I do not blame you. For when the King goes a-visitingthe Princess Caprara privately at night-time while the girl to whom heis betrothed suffers in prison for her courageous loyalty to him, andhis best friends are risking their heads to set her free, why, there'sknowledge a man would be glad to keep even out of his own hearing. Soyou see I know more than you credit me with. So tell me the rest! Don'tfob me off. Don't plead it is none of your business, for, upon my soul, it is. " Gaydon suddenly changed his manner. He spoke with no lessearnestness than Wogan, --

"You are in the right. It is my business, and why? Because it touchesyou, Charles Wogan, and you are my friend. "

"Therefore you will tell me, " cried Wogan. 

"Therefore I will not tell you, " answered Gaydon. He had a very keenrecollection of certain pages of poetry he had seen on the table atSchlestadt, of certain conversations in the berlin when he had feignedto sleep. 

Wogan caught him by the arm. 

"I must know. Here have I lost two hours out of one poor fortnight. Imust know. "

"Why?"

Gaydon stood quite unmoved, and with a remarkable sternness ofexpression. Wogan understood that only the truth would unlock his lips, and he cried, --

"Because unless I do, in a fortnight her Highness will refuse to marrythe King. " And he recounted to him the walk he had taken and theconversation he had held with Clementina that morning. Gaydon listenedwith an unfeigned surprise. The story put Wogan in quite a differentlight, and moreover it was told with so much sincerity of voice and soclear a simplicity of language, Gaydon could not doubt one syllable. 

"I am afraid, my friend, " said he, "my thoughts have done you somewrong--"

"Leave me out of them, " cried Wogan, impatiently. He had no notion andno desire to hear what Gaydon meant. "Tell me from first to last whatyou saw in Rome. "

Gaydon told him thereupon of that secret passage from the Chevalier'shouse into the back street, and of that promenade to the Princess'shouse which he had spied upon. Wogan listened without any remark, andyet without any attempt to quicken his informant. But as soon as he hadthe story, he set off at a run towards the Cardinal's palace. "So thePrincess, " he thought, "had more than a rumour to go upon, though howshe came by her knowledge the devil only knows. " At the palace he wastold that the Cardinal was gone to the Archiginnasio. 

"I will wait, " said Wogan; and he waited in the library for anhour, --another priceless hour of that swiftly passing fortnight, and hewas not a whit nearer to his end! He made it his business, however, toshow a composed face to his Eminence, and since his Eminence's dinnerwas ready, to make a pretence of sharing the meal. The Cardinal was in amood of great contentment. 

"It is your presence, Mr. Wogan, puts me in a good humour, " he waspleased to say. 

"Or a certain letter your Eminence received from Spain to-day?" askedWogan. 

"True, the letter was one to cause all the King's friends satisfaction. "

"And some few of them, perhaps, relief, " said Wogan. 

The Cardinal glanced at Wogan, but with a quite impassive countenance. He took a pinch of snuff and inhaled it delicately. Then he glanced atWogan again. 

"I have a hope, Mr. Wogan, " said he, with a great cordiality. "You shalltell me if it is to fall. I see much of you of late, and I have a hopethat you are thinking of the priesthood. We should welcome you verygladly, you may be sure. Who knows but what there is a Cardinal's hathung up in the anteroom of the future for you to take down from itspeg?"

The suggestion was sufficiently startling to Wogan, who had thought ofnothing less than of entering into orders. But he was not to be divertedby this piece of ingenuity. 

"Your Eminence, " said he, "although I hold myself unworthy of priestlyvows, I am here in truth in the character of a catechist. "

"Catechise, then, my friend, " said the Cardinal, with a smile. 

"First, then, I would ask your Eminence how many of the King's followershave had the honour of being presented to the Princess Clementina?"

"Very few. "

"Might I know the names?"

"To be sure. "

Cardinal Origo repeated three or four names. They were the names of menknown to Wogan for irreproachable loyalty. Not one of them would havegone about the Princess with slanders upon his master; he would havegone bail for them all, --at least, a month ago he would, he reflected, though now indeed he hardly knew where to put his trust. 

"Her Highness lives, as you know, a very suitable, secluded life, "continued Origo. 

"But might not others have had access to her at the Pilgrim Inn?"

"Nay, she was there but the one night, --the night of her arrival. I donot think it likely. For if you remember, I myself went to her early thenext morning, and by a stroke of good luck I had already come upon thelittle house in the garden which was offered to me by a friend of yoursfor her Highness's service. "

"On the evening of our arrival? A friend of mine offered you the house, "said Wogan, puzzling over who that friend could be. 

"Yes. Harry Whittington. "

Wogan started to his feet. So, after all, Whittington was at the bottomof the trouble. Wogan wondered whether he had done wisely not to publishthe fellow's treachery. But he could not, --no, he had to make hisaccount with the man alone. There were reasons. 

"It was Harry Whittington who offered the house for her Highness's use?"Wogan exclaimed. 

"It was an offer most apt and kind. "

"And made on the evening of our arrival?"

"Not an hour after you left me. But you are surprised?"

Wogan was reflecting that on the evening of his arrival, and indeed justbefore Whittington made his offer to Origo, he had seen Whittington'sface by the torchlight in the square. That face lived very plainly inWogan's thoughts. It was certainly not for Clementina's service thatWhittington had offered the house. Wogan resumed his seat, sayingcarelessly, --

"I was surprised, for I had a notion that Whittington lodged oppositethe Torre Garisenda, and not at the house. "

"Nor did he. He hired it for a friend who has now left Bologna. "

"Man or woman?" asked Wogan, remembering that visitor who had drawn backinto the alley one early morning of last autumn. The man might verylikely have been Whittington. 

"I did not trouble to inquire, " said the Cardinal. "But, Mr. Wogan, whydo you ask me these questions?"

"I have not come yet to the end of them, " answered Wogan. "There is onemore. "

"Ask it!" said his Eminence, crossing his legs. 

"Will your Eminence oblige me with a history of the affection of MariaVittoria, Mlle. De Caprara, for the King?"

The Cardinal uncrossed his legs and bounced in his chair. 

"Here is a question indeed!" he stuttered. 

"And a history of the King's response to it, " continued Wogan, implacably, "with a particular account of why the King lingers in Spainafter the Cadiz expedition has put out to sea. "

Origo was now quite still. His face was pale, and he had lost in aninstant that air of affectation which so contrasted with his broadfeatures. 

"This is very dangerous talk, " said he, solemnly. 

"Not so dangerous as silence. "

"Some foolish slanderer has been busy at your ears. "

"Not at my ears, " returned Wogan. 

The Cardinal took his meaning. "Is it so, indeed?" said he, thoughtfully, once or twice. Then he reached out his hand towards anescritoire. "But here's the King's letter come this morning. "

"It is not enough, " said Wogan, "for the King lingers in Spain, and theportrait of Maria Vittoria glows on the walls of the Caprara Palace, whither I was bidden to escort her Highness this morning. "

The Cardinal walked thoughtfully to and fro about the room, but made uphis mind in the end. 

"I will tell you the truth of the matter, Mr. Wogan. The King saw Mlle. De Caprara for the first time while you were searching Europe for a wifefor him. He saw her here one morning at Mass in the Church of theCrucifixion, and came away most silent. Of their acquaintance I need notspeak. The King just for one month became an ardent youth. He appealedto the Pope for his consent to marry Mlle. De Caprara, and the Popeconsented. The King was just sending off a message to bid you cease yoursearch when you came back with the news that her Highness the PrincessClementina had accepted the King's hand and would shortly set out forBologna. Sir, the King was in despair, though he showed to you asmiling, grateful face. Mlle. De Caprara went to Rome; the King stayedhere awaiting his betrothed. There came the news of her imprisonment. The King, after all, is a man. If his heart leaped a little at the news, who shall blame him? Do you remember how you came privately one nightto the King's cabinet and found me there in the King's company?"

"But, " stammered Wogan, "I do remember that evening. I remember that theKing was pale, discouraged--"

"And why?" said Origo. "Because her Highness's journey had beeninterrupted, because the marriage now seemed impossible? No, but becauseMr. Charles Wogan was back in Bologna, because Mr. Charles Wogan hadsought for a private interview, because the King had no more doubt thanI as to what Mr. Charles Wogan intended to propose, and because the Kingknew that what Mr. Wogan set his hand to was as good as done. Youremember I threw such hindrances as I could in your way, and made muchof the risks you must run, and the impossibility of your task. Now youknow why. "

Never was a man more confused than Wogan at this story of theCardinal's. "It makes me out a mere meddlesome fool, " he cried, and satstunned. 

"It is an unprofitable question at this time of day, " said the Cardinal, with a smile. "Matters have gone so far that they can no longer beremedied. This marriage must take place. "

"True, " said Wogan. 

"The King, indeed, is firmly inclined to it. "

"Yet he lingers in Spain. "

"That I cannot explain to you, but he has been most loyal. That you musttake my word for, so must your Princess. "

"Yet this winter when I was at Schlestadt preparing the expedition toInnspruck, " Wogan said with a certain timidity, for he no longer feltthat it was within his right to make reproaches, "the King was in Romevisiting Mlle. De Caprara. "

The Cardinal flushed with some anger at Wogan's persistence. 

"Come, sir, " said he, "what has soured you with suspicions? Upon myword, here is a man sitting with me who bears your name, but few ofthose good qualities the name is linked with in my memories. Your Kingsaw Mlle. De Caprara once in Rome, once only. Major Gaydon had come atyour request to Rome to fetch a letter in the King's hand, bidding herHighness entrust herself to you. Up to that moment the issue of yourexploit was in the balance. But your request was to the King a verycertain sign that you would indeed succeed. So the night before he wrotethe letter he went to the Caprara Palace and took his farewell of thewoman he loved. So much may be pardoned to any man, even by you, who, itseems, stand pinnacled above these earthly affections. "

The blood rushed into Wogan's face at the sneer, but he bowed his headto it, being much humbled by Origo's disclosures. 

"This story I have told you, " continued the Cardinal, "I will make boldto tell to-morrow to her Highness. "

"But you must also explain why the King lingers in Spain, " Woganobjected. "I am very certain of it. The Princess has her pride; shewill not marry a reluctant man. "

"Well, that I cannot do, " cried the Cardinal, now fairly exasperated. "Pride! She has her pride! Is it to ruin a cause, this pride of hers? Isit to wreck a policy?"

"No, " cried Wogan, starting up. "I have a fortnight. I beg your Eminencenot to speak one word to her Highness until this fortnight is gone, until the eve of the marriage in Bologna. Give me till then. I have ahope there will be no need for us to speak at all. "

The Cardinal shrugged his shoulders. 

"You must do more than hope. Will you pledge your word to it?"

Here it seemed to Wogan was an occasion when a man must dare. 

"Yes, " he said, and so went out of the house. He had spoken under asudden inspiration; the Cardinal's words had shown him a way which withcareful treading might lead to his desired result. He went first to hislodging, and ordered his servant Marnier to saddle his black horse. Thenhe hurried again to O'Toole's lodging, and found his friend back fromthe bookseller's indeed, but breathing very hard of a book which he slidbehind his back. 

"I am to go on a journey, " said Wogan, "and there's a delicate sort ofwork I would trust to you. "

O'Toole looked distantly at Wogan. 

"_Opus_, " said he, in a far-away voice. 

"I want you to keep an eye on the little house in the garden--"

O'Toole nodded. "_Hortus, hortus, hortum_, " said he, "_horti--hortus_, "and he fingered the book at his back, "no, _horti, horto, horto_. Do youknow, my friend, that the difference between the second and fourthdeclensions was solely invented by the grammarians for their own profit. It is of no manner of use, and the most plaguy business that ever Iheard of. "

"O'Toole, " cried Wogan, with a bang of his fist, "you are no morelistening to me than this table. "

At once O'Toole's face brightened, and with a shout of pride he reeledout, "_Mensa, mensa, mensam, mensae, mensae, mensa_. " Wogan sprang up ina rage. 

"Don't _mensa, mensam_ me when I am talking most seriously to you! Whatis it you are after? What's that book you are hiding? Let me look atit!" O'Toole blushed on every visible inch of him and handed the book toWogan. 

"It's a Latin grammar, my friend, " said he, meekly. 

"And what in the world do you want to be addling your brains with aLatin grammar for, when there's other need for your eyes?"

"Aren't we to be enrolled at the Capitol in June as Roman Senators withall the ancient honours, _cum titubis_--it is so--_cum titubis_, whichare psalters or pshawms?"

"Well, what then?"

"You don't understand, Charles, the difficulty of my position. You haveLatin at your finger-ends. Sure, I have often admired you for yourextraordinary comprehension of Latin, but never more than I do now. Itwill be no trouble in the world for you to trip off a neat littlespeech, thanking the Senators kindly for the great honour they are doingthemselves in electing us into their noble body. But it will not be easyfor me, " said O'Toole, with a sigh. "How can I get enough Latin throughmy skull by June not to disgrace myself?" He looked so utterly miserableand distressed that Wogan never felt less inclined to laugh. "I sit upat nights with a lamp, but the most unaccountable thing happens. I maycome in here as lively as any cricket, but the moment I take this bookin my hands I am overpowered with sleep--"

"Oh, listen to me, " cried Wogan. "I have only a fortnight--"

"And I have only till June, " sighed O'Toole. "But there! I am listening. I have no doubt, my friend, your business is more important than mine, "he said with the simplicity of which not one of his friends could resistthe appeal. Wogan could not now. 

"My business, " he said, "is only more important because you have no needof your Latin grammar at all. There's a special deputy, a learnedprofessor, appointed on these occasions to make a speech for us, and allwe have to do is to sit still and nod our heads wisely when he lookstowards us. "

"Is that all?" cried O'Toole, jumping up. "Swear it!"

"I do, " said Wogan; and "Here's to the devil with the Latin grammar!"exclaimed O'Toole. He flung open his window and hurled the book outacross the street with the full force of his prodigious arm. Therefollowed a crash and then the tinkle of falling glass. O'Toole beamedcontentedly and shut the window. 

"Now what will I do for you in return for this?" he asked. 

"Keep a watch on the little house and the garden. I will tell you whywhen I return. Observe who goes in to visit the Princess, but hinder noone. Only remember who they are and let me know. " And Wogan got back tohis lodging and mounted his black horse. He could trust O'Toole to playwatchdog in his absence. If the mysterious visitor who had bestowed uponClementina with so liberal a hand so much innuendo and such an artfulcombination of truth and falsity, were to come again to the little houseto confirm the slanders, Wogan in the end would not fail to discover thevisitor's identity. 

He dismissed the matter from his mind and rode out from Bologna. Fourdays afterwards he presented himself at the door of the Caprara Palace. 

CHAPTER XXIV

Maria Vittoria received the name of her visitor with a profoundastonishment. Then she stamped her foot and said violently, "Send himaway! I hate him. " But curiosity got the better of her hate. She felt astrong desire to see the meddlesome man who had thrust himself betweenher and her lover; and before her woman had got so far as the door, shesaid, "Let him up to me!" She was again surprised when Wogan wasadmitted, for she expected a stout and burly soldier, stupid andconfident, of the type which blunders into success through sheerignorance of the probabilities of defeat. Mr. Wogan, for his part, sawthe glowing original of the picture at Bologna, but armed at all pointswith hostility. 

"Your business, " said she, curtly. Wogan no less curtly replied that hehad a wish to escort Mlle. De Caprara to Bologna. He spoke as though hewas suggesting a walk on the Campagna. 

"And why should I travel to Bologna?" she asked. Wogan explained. Theexplanation required delicacy, but he put it in as few words as mightbe. There were slanderers at work. Her Highness the Princess Clementinawas in great distress; a word from Mlle. De Caprara would make allclear. 

"Why should I trouble because the Princess Clementina has a crumpledrose-leaf in her bed? I will not go, " said Mlle. De Caprara. 

"Yet her Highness may justly ask why the King lingers in Spain. " Wogansaw a look, a smile of triumph, brighten for an instant on the angryface. 

"It is no doubt a humiliation to the Princess Clementina, " said MariaVittoria, with a great deal of satisfaction. "But she must learn to bearhumiliation like other women. "

"But she will reject the marriage, " urged Wogan. 

"The fool!" cried Maria Vittoria, and she laughed almost gaily. "I willnot budge an inch to persuade her to it. Let her fancy what she will andweep over it! I hate her; therefore she is out of my thought. "

Wogan was not blind to the inspiriting effect of his argument upon MariaVittoria. He had, however, foreseen it, and he continuedimperturbably, --

"No doubt you think me something of a fool, too, to advance so unlikelya plea. But if her Highness rejects the marriage, who suffers? HerHighness's name is already widely praised for her endurance, herconstancy. If, after all, at the last moment she scornfully rejects thatfor which she has so stoutly ventured, whose name, whose cause, willsuffer most? It will be one more misfortune, one more disaster, to addto the crushing weight under which the King labours. There will beignominy; who will be dwarfed by it? There will be laughter; whom willit souse? There will be scandal; who will be splashed by it? ThePrincess or the King?"

Maria Vittoria stood with her brows drawn together in a frown. "I willnot go, " she said after a pause. "Never was there so presumptuous arequest. No, I will not. "

Wogan made his bow and retired. But he was at the Caprara Palace againin the morning, and again he was admitted. He noticed without regretthat Maria Vittoria bore the traces of a restless night. 

"What should I say if I went with you?" she asked. 

"You would say why the King lingers in Spain. "

Maria Vittoria gave a startled look at Wogan. 

"Do you know why?"

"You told me yesterday. "

"Not in words. "

"There are other ways of speech. "

That one smile of triumph had assured Wogan that the King's delay washer doing and a condition of their parting. 

"How will my story, though I told it, help?" asked Mlle. De Caprara. Wogan had no doubts upon that score. The story of the Chevalier andMaria Vittoria had a strong parallel in Clementina's own history. Circumstance and duty held them apart, as it held apart Clementina andWogan himself. In hearing Maria Vittoria's story, Clementina would hearher own; she must be moved to sympathy with it; she would regard withher own generous eyes those who played unhappy parts in itsdevelopment; she could have no word of censure, no opportunity forscorn. 

"Tell the story, " said Wogan. "I will warrant the result. "

"No, I will not go, " said she; and again Wogan left the house. And againhe came the next morning. 

"Why should I go?" said Maria Vittoria, rebelliously. "Say what you havesaid to me to her! Speak to her of the ignominy which will befall theKing! Tell her how his cause will totter! Why talk of this to me? If sheloves the King, your words will persuade her. For on my life they havenearly persuaded me. "

"If she loves the King!" said Wogan, quietly, and Maria Vittoria staredat him. There was something she had not conjectured before. 

"Oh, she does not love him!" she said in wonderment. Her wondermentswiftly changed to contempt. "The fool! Let her go on her knees and prayfor a modest heart. There's my message to her. Who is she that sheshould not love him?" But it nevertheless altered a trifle pleasurablyMaria Vittoria's view of the position. It was pain to her to contemplatethe Chevalier's marriage, a deep, gnawing, rancorous pain, but the painwas less, once she could believe he was to marry a woman who did notlove him. She despised the woman for her stupidity; none the less, thatwas the wife she would choose, if she must needs choose another thanherself. "I have a mind to see this fool-woman of yours, " she saiddoubtfully. "Why does she not love the King?"

Wogan could have answered that she had never seen him. He thoughtsilence, however, was the more expressive. The silence led MariaVittoria to conjecture. 

"Is there another picture at her heart?" she asked, and again Wogan wassilent. "Whose, then? You will not tell me. "

It might have been something in Wogan's attitude or face which revealedthe truth to her; it might have been her recollection of what the Kinghad said concerning Wogan's enthusiasm; it might have been merely herwoman's instinct. But she started and took a step towards Wogan. Hereyes certainly softened. "I will go with you to Bologna, " she said; andthat afternoon with the smallest equipment she started from Rome. Woganhad ridden alone from Bologna to Rome in four days; he had spent threedays in Rome; he now took six days to return in company with Mlle. DeCaprara and her few servants. He thus arrived in Bologna on the eve ofthat day when he was to act as the King's proxy in the marriage. 

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon when the tiny cavalcadeclattered through the Porta Castiglione. Wogan led the way to thePilgrim Inn, where he left Maria Vittoria, saying that he would returnat nightfall. He then went on foot to O'Toole's lodging. O'Toole, however, had no news for him. 

"There has been no mysterious visitor, " said he. 

"There will be one to-night, " answered Wogan. "I shall need you. "

"I am ready, " said O'Toole. 

The two friends walked back to the Pilgrim Inn. They were joined byMaria Vittoria, and they then proceeded to the little house among thetrees. Outside the door in the garden wall Wogan posted O'Toole. 

"Let no one pass, " said he, "till we return. "

He knocked on the door, and after a little delay--for the night hadfallen, and there was no longer a porter at the gate--a little hatch wasopened, and a servant inquired his business. 

"I come with a message of the utmost importance, " said Wogan. "I beg youto inform her Highness that the Chevalier Wogan prays for two words withher. "

The hatch was closed, and the servant's footsteps were heard to retreat. Wogan's anxieties had been increasing with every mile of that homewardjourney. On his ride to Rome he had been sensible of but oneobstacle, --the difficulty of persuading the real Vittoria to return withhim. But once that had been removed, others sprang to view, and eachhour enlarged them. There was but this one night, this one interview!Upon the upshot of it depended whether a woman, destined by nature for aqueen, should set her foot upon the throne-steps, whether a cause shouldsuffer its worst of many eclipses, whether Europe should laugh orapplaud. These five minutes while he waited outside the door threw himinto a fever. "You will be friendly, " he implored Mlle. De Caprara. "Oh, you cannot but be! She must marry the King. I plead for him, not theleast bit in the world for her. For his sake she must complete the workshe has begun. She is not obstinate; she has her pride as a womanshould. You will tell her just the truth, --of the King's loyalty andyours. Hearts cannot be commanded. Alas, mademoiselle, it is a hardworld at the end of it. It is mortised with the blood of broken hearts. But duty, mademoiselle, duty, a consciousness of rectitude, --these arevery noble qualities. It will be a high consolation, mademoiselle, oneof these days, when the King sits upon his throne in England, to thinkthat your self-sacrifice had set him there. " And Mr. Wogan hopped like abear on hot bricks, twittering irreproachable sentiments until thegarden door was opened. 

Beyond the door stretched a level space of grass intersected by a gravelpath. Along this path the servant led Wogan and his companion into thehouse. There were lights in the windows on the upper floor, and a smalllamp illuminated the hall. But the lower rooms were dark. The servantmounted the stairs, and opening the door of a little library, announcedthe Chevalier Wogan. Wogan led his companion in by the hand. 

"Your Highness, " said he, "I have the honour to present to you thePrincess Maria Vittoria Caprara. " He left the two women standingopposite to and measuring each other silently; he closed the door andwent down stairs into the hall. A door in the hall opened on to a smallparlour, with windows giving on to the garden. There once before LadyFeatherstone and Harry Whittington had spoken of Wogan's love for thePrincess Clementina and speculated upon its consequences. Now Wogan satthere alone in the dark, listening to the women's voices overhead. Hehad come to the end of his efforts and could only wait. At all events, the women were talking, that was something; if he could only hear themweeping! The sound of tears would have been very comforting to Wogan atthat moment, but he only heard the low voices talking, talking. Heassured himself over and over again that this meeting could not fail ofits due result. That Maria Vittoria had exacted some promise which heldhis King in Spain he was now aware. She would say what that promise was, the condition of their parting. She had come prepared to say it--and thethread of Wogan's reasonings was abruptly cut. It seemed to him that heheard something more than the night breeze through the trees, --a soundof feet upon the gravel path, a whispering of voices. 

The windows were closed, but not shuttered. Wogan pressed his eyes tothe pane and looked out. The night was dark, and the sky overclouded. But he had been sitting for some minutes in the darkness, and his eyeswere able to prove that his ears had not deceived him. For he saw thedim figures of two men standing on the lawn before the window. Theyappeared to be looking at the lighted windows on the upper floor, thenone of them waved to his companion to stand still, and himself walkedtowards the door. Wogan noticed that he made no attempt at secrecy; hewalked with a firm tread, careless whether he set his foot on gravel oron grass. As this man approached the door, Wogan slipped into the halland opened it. But he blocked the doorway, wondering whether these menhad climbed the wall or whether O'Toole had deserted his post. 

O'Toole had not deserted his post, but he had none the less admittedthese two men. For Wogan and Maria Vittoria had barely been ten minuteswithin the house when O'Toole heard the sound of horses' hoofs in theentrance of the alley. They stopped just within the entrance. O'Tooledistinguished three horses, he saw the three riders dismount; and whileone of the three held the horses, the other two walked on foot towardsthe postern-door. 

O'Toole eased his sword in its scabbard. 

"The little fellows thought to catch Charles Wogan napping, " he said tohimself with a smile, and he let them come quite close to him. He wasstanding motionless in the embrasure of the door, nor did he move whenthe two men stopped and whispered together, nor when they advancedagain, one behind the other. But he remarked that they held their cloaksto their faces. At last they came to a halt just in front of O'Toole. The leader produced a key. 

"You stand in my way, my friend, " said he, pleasantly, and he pushed byO'Toole to the lock of the door. O'Toole put out a hand, caught him bythe shoulder, and sent him spinning into the road. The man came back, however, and though out of breath, spoke no less pleasantly than before. 

"I wish to enter, " said he. "I have important business. "

O'Toole bowed with the utmost dignity. 

"_Romanus civis sum_, " said he. "_Sum_ senator too. _Dic Latinamlinguam, amicus meus_. "

O'Toole drew a breath; he could not but feel that he had acquittedhimself with credit. He half began to regret that there was to be alearned professor to act as proxy on that famous day at the Capitol. Hisantagonist drew back a little and spoke no longer pleasantly. 

"Here's tomfoolery that would be as seasonable at a funeral, " said he, and he advanced again, still hiding his face. "Sir, you are blocking myway. I have authority to pass through that door in the wall. "

"_Murus?_" asked O'Toole. He shook his head in refusal. 

"And by what right do you refuse me?"

O'Toole had an inspiration. He swept his arm proudly round and gave thereason of his refusal. 

"_Balbus aedificabat murum_, " said he; and a voice that made O'Toolestart cried, "Enough of this! Stand aside, whoever you may be. "

It was the second of the two men who spoke, and he dropped the cloakfrom his face. "The King!" exclaimed O'Toole, and he stood aside. Thetwo men passed into the garden, and Wogan saw them from the window. 

Just as O'Toole had blocked the King's entrance into the garden, so didWogan bar his way into the house. 

"Who, in Heaven's name, are you?" cried the Chevalier. 

"Nay, there's a question for me to ask, " said Wogan. 

"Wogan!" cried the Chevalier, and "The King!" cried Wogan in one breath. 

Wogan fell back; the Chevalier pushed into the hall and turned. 

"So it is true. I could not, did not, believe it. I came from Spain toprove it false. I find it true, " he said in a low voice. "You whom I sotrusted! God help me, where shall I look for honour?"

"Here, your Majesty, " answered Wogan, without an instant'shesitation, --"here, in this hall. There, in the rooms above. "

He had seized the truth in the same second when he recognised his King, and the King's first words had left him in no doubt. He knew now why hehad never found Harry Whittington in any corner of Bologna. HarryWhittington had been riding to Spain. 

The Chevalier laughed harshly. 

"Sir, I suspect honour which needs such barriers to protect it. You arehere, in this house, at this hour, with a sentinel to forbid intrusionat the garden door. Explain me this honourably. "

"I had the honour to escort a visitor to her Highness, and I wait untilthe visit is at an end. "

"What? Can you not better that excuse?" said the Chevalier. "A visitor!We will make acquaintance, Mr. Wogan, with your visitor, unless you haveanother sentinel to bar my way;" and he put his foot upon the step ofthe stairs. 

"I beg your Majesty to pause, " said Wogan, firmly. "Your thoughts wrongme, and not only me. "

"Prove me that!"

"I say boldly, 'Here is a servant who loves his Queen!' What then?"

"This! That you should say, 'Here is a man who loves a woman, --loves herso well he gives his friends the slip, and with the woman comes alone toPeri. '"

"Ah. To Peri! So I thought, " began Wogan, and the Chevalier whispered, --

"Silence! You raise your voice too high. You no doubt are anxious inyour great respect that there should be some intimation of my coming. But I dispense with ceremony. I will meet this fine visitor of yours atonce;" and he ran lightly up the stairs. 

Then Wogan did a bold thing. He followed, he sprang past the King, heturned at the stair-top and barred the way. 

"Sir, I beg you to listen to me, " he said quietly. 

"Beg!" said the Chevalier, leaning back against the wall with his darkeyes blazing from a white face; "you insist. "

"Your Majesty will yet thank me for my insistence. " He drew apocket-book out of his coat. "At Peri in Italy we were attacked by fivesoldiers sent over the border by the Governor of Trent. Who guided thosefive soldiers? Your Majesty's confidant and friend, who is now, I thankGod, waiting in the garden. Here is the written confession of the leaderof the five. I pray your Majesty to read it. "

Wogan held out the paper. The Chevalier hesitated and took it. Then heread it once and glanced at it again. He passed his hand over hisforehead. 

"Whom shall I trust?" said he, in a voice of weariness. 

"What honest errand was taking Whittington to Peri?" asked Wogan, andagain the Chevalier read a piece here and there of the confession. Woganpressed his advantage. "Whittington is not the only one of Walpole's menwho has hoodwinked us the while he filled his pockets. There are others, one, at all events, who did not need to travel to Spain for an ear topoison;" and he leaned forward towards the Chevalier. 

"What do you mean?" asked the Chevalier, in a startled voice. 

"Why, sir, that the same sort of venomous story breathed to you in Spainhas been spoken here in Bologna, only with altered names. I told yourMajesty I brought a visitor to this house to-night. I did; there was noneed I should, since the marriage is fixed for to-morrow. I brought herall the way from Rome. "

"From Rome?" exclaimed the Chevalier. 

"Yes;" and Wogan flung open the door of the library, and drawing himselfup announced in his loudest voice, "The King!"

A loud cry came through the opening. It was not Clementina's voice whichuttered it. The Chevalier recognised the cry. He stood for a moment ortwo looking at Wogan. Then he stepped over the threshold, and Woganclosed the door behind him. But as he closed it he heard Maria Vittoriaspeak. She said, --

"Your Majesty, a long while ago, when you bade me farewell, I demandedof you a promise, which I have but this moment explained to thePrincess, who now deigns to call me friend. Your Majesty has broken thepromise. I had no right to demand it. I am very glad. "

Wogan went downstairs. He could leave the three of them shut up in thatroom to come by a fitting understanding. Besides, there was other workfor him below, --work of a simple kind, to which he had now for someweeks looked forward. He crept down the stairs very stealthily. The halldoor was still open. He could see dimly the figure of a man standing onthe grass. 

 * * * * *

When the Chevalier came down into the garden an hour afterwards, a manwas still standing on the grass. The man advanced to him. "Who is it?"asked the Chevalier, drawing back. The voice which answered him wasWogan's. 

"And Whittington?"

"He has gone, " replied Wogan. 

"You have sent him away?"

"I took so much upon myself. "

The Chevalier held out his hand to Wogan. "I have good reason to thankyou, " said he, and before he could say another word, a door shut above, and Maria Vittoria came down the stairs towards them. O'Toole was stillstanding sentry at the postern-door, and the three men escorted thePrincess Caprara to the Pilgrim Inn. She had spoken no word during thewalk, but as she turned in the doorway of the inn, the light struck uponher face and showed that her eyes glistened. To the Chevalier she said, "I wish you, my lord, all happiness, and the boon of a great love. Withall my heart I wish it;" and as he bowed over her hand, she lookedacross his shoulder to Wogan. 

"I will bid you farewell to-morrow, " she said with a smile, and theChevalier explained her saying afterwards as they accompanied him to hislodging. 

"Mlle. De Caprara will honour us with her presence to-morrow. You willstill act as my proxy, Wogan. I am not yet returned from Spain. I wishno questions or talk about this evening's doings. Your friend willremember that?"

"My friend, sir, " said Wogan, "who was with me at Innspruck, is CaptainLucius O'Toole of Dillon's regiment. "

"_Et_ senator too, " said the Chevalier, with a laugh; and he added afriendly word or two which sent O'Toole back to his lodging in a highpleasure. Wogan walked thither with him and held out his hand at thedoor. 

"But you will come up with me, " said O'Toole. "We will drink a glasstogether, for God knows when we speak together again. I go back toSchlestadt to-morrow. "

"Ah, you go back, " said Wogan; and he came in at the door and mountedthe stairs. At the first landing he stopped. 

"Let me rouse Gaydon. "

"Gaydon went three days ago. "

"Ah! And Misset is with his wife. Here are we all once more scattered, and, as you say, God knows when we shall speak together again;" and hewent on to the upper storey. 

O'Toole remarked that he dragged in his walk and that his voice had astrange, sad note of melancholy. 

"My friend, " said he, "you have the black fit upon you; you are plainlydiscouraged. Yet to-night sees the labour of many months brought to itsdue close;" and as he lit the candles on his chimney, he was quiteamazed by the white, tired face which the light showed to him. Wogan, indeed, harassed by misgivings, and worn with many vigils, presented asufficiently woe-begone picture. The effect was heightened by thedisorder of his clothes, which were all daubed with clay in a mannerquite surprising to O'Toole, who knew the ground to be dry underfoot. 

"True, " answered Wogan, "the work ends to-night. Months ago I rode downthis street in the early morning, and with what high hopes! The workends to-night, and may God forgive me for a meddlesome fellow. Cup andball's a fine game, but it is ill playing it with women's hearts;" andhe broke off suddenly. "I'll give you a toast, Lucius! Here's to thePrincess Clementina!" and draining his glass he stood for a while, lostin the recollecting of that flight from Innspruck; he was far away fromBologna thundering down the Brenner through the night, with the sparksstriking from the wheels of the berlin, and all about him a glimmering, shapeless waste of snow. 

"To the Princess--no, to the Queen she was born to be, " cried O'Toole, and Wogan sprang at him. 

"You saw that, " he exclaimed, his eyes lighting, his face transfiguredin the intensity of this moment's relief. "Aye, --to love a nation, --thatis her high destiny. For others, a husband, a man; for her, a nation. And you saw it! It is evident, to be sure. Yet this or that thing shedid, this or that word she spoke, assured you, eh? Tell me what provedto you here was no mere woman, but a queen!"

The morning had dawned before Wogan had had his fill. O'Toole was verywell content to see his friend's face once more quivering like a boy'swith pleasure, to hear him laugh, to watch the despondency vanish fromhis aspect. "There's another piece of good news, " he said at the end, "which I had almost forgotten to tell you. Jenny and the Princess'smother are happily set free. It seems Jenny swore from daybreak todaybreak, and the Pope used his kindliest offices, and for those tworeasons the Emperor was glad to let them go. But there's a question Iwould like to ask you. One little matter puzzles me. "

"Ask your question, " said Wogan. 

"To-night through that door in the garden wall which I guarded, therewent in yourself and a lady, --the King and a companion he had withhim, --four people. Out of that door there came yourself, the lady, andthe King, --three people. "

"Ah, " said Wogan, as he stood up with a strange smile upon his lips, "Ihave a deal of clay upon my clothes. "

O'Toole nodded his head wisely once or twice. "I am answered, " he said. "Is it indeed so?" He understood, however, nothing except that the roomhad suddenly grown cold. 

CHAPTER XXV

An account remains of the marriage ceremony, which took place the nextmorning in Cardinal Origo's house. It was of the simplest kind and waswitnessed by few. Murray, Misset and his wife, and Maria Vittoria deCaprara made the public part of the company; Wogan stood for the King;and the Marquis of Monti Boulorois for James Sobieski, the bride'sfather. Bride and bridegroom played their parts bravely and well, onemust believe, for the chronicler speaks of their grace and modesty ofbearing. Clementina rose at five in the morning, dressed in a robe ofwhite, tied a white ribbon about her hair, and for her only ornamentfixed a white collar of pearls about her neck. In this garb she went atonce to the church of San Domenico, where she made her confession, andfrom the church to the Cardinal's Palace. There the Cardinal, with oneMaas, an English priest from Rome, at his elbow, was already waiting forher. Mr. Wogan thereupon read the procuration, for which he had riddento Rome in haste so many months before, and pronounced the consent ofthe King his master to its terms. Origo asked the Princess whether shelikewise consented, and the manner in which she spoke her one word, "Yes, " seems to have stirred the historian to pćans. It seems that allthe virtues launched that one little word, and were clearly expressed init. The graces, too, for once in a way went hand in hand with thevirtues. Never was a "Yes" so sweetly spoken since the earth rose out ofthe sea. In a word, there was no ruffle of the great passion which thesetwo, man and woman, had trodden beneath their feet. She did not hint ofIphigenia; he borrowed no plumes from Don Quixote. Nor need one fancythat their contentment was all counterfeit. They were neither of themgrumblers, and "fate" and "destiny" were words seldom upon their lips. 

One incident, indeed, is related which the chronicler thought to becurious, though he did not comprehend it. The Princess Clementinabrought from her confessional box a wisp of straw which clung to herdress at the knee. Until Wogan had placed the King's ring upon herfinger, she did not apparently remark it; but no sooner had that officebeen performed than she stooped, and with a friendly smile at hermakeshift bridegroom, she plucked it from her skirt and let it fallbeneath her foot. 

And that was all. No words passed between them after the ceremony, forher Royal Highness went straight back to the little house in the garden, and that same forenoon set out for Rome. 

She was not the only witness of the ceremony to take that road that day. For some three hours later, to be precise, at half-past two, MariaVittoria stepped into her coach before the Pilgrim Inn. Wogan held thecarriage door open for her. He was still in the bravery of his weddingclothes, and Maria Vittoria looked him over whimsically from the top ofhis peruke to his shoe-buckles. 

"I came to see a fool-woman, " said she, "and I saw a fool-man. Well, well!" and she suddenly lowered her voice to a passionate whisper. "Why, oh, why did you not take your fortunes in your hands at Peri?"

Wogan leaned forward to her. "Do you know so much?"

She answered him quickly. "I will never forgive you. Yes, I know. " Sheforced her lips into a smile. "I suppose you are content. You have yourblack horse. "

"You know of the horse, too, " said Wogan, colouring to the edge of hisperuke. "You know I have no further use for it. "

"Say that again, and I will beg it of you. "

"Nay, it is yours, then. I will send him after you to Rome. "

"Will you?" said Maria Vittoria. "Why, then, I accept. There's myhand;" and she thrust it through the window to him. "If ever you come toRome, the Caprara Palace stands where it did at your last visit. I donot say you will be welcome. No, I do not forgive you, but you may come. Having your horse, I could hardly bar the door against you. So you maycome. "

Wogan raised her hand to his lips. 

"Aye, " said she, with a touch of bitterness, "kiss my hand. You have hadyour way. Here are two people crossmated, and two others not mated atall. You have made four people entirely unhappy, and a kiss on the glovesets all right. "

"Nay, not four, " protested Wogan. 

"Your manners, " she continued remorselessly, ticking off the names uponher fingers, "will hinder you from telling me to my face the King ishappy. And the Princess?"

"She was born to be a queen, " replied Wogan, stubbornly. "Happiness, mademoiselle! It does not come by the striving after it. That's theroyal road to miss it. You may build up your house of happiness with allyour care through years, and you will find you have only built it up todraw down the blinds and hang out the hatchment above the door, for thetenant to inhabit it is dead. "

Maria Vittoria listened very seriously till he came to the end. Then shemade a pouting grimace. "That is very fine, moral, and poetical. YourPrincess was born to be a queen. But what if her throne is set up onlyin your city of dreams? Well, it is some consolation to know that youare one of the four. "

"Nay, I will make a shift not to plague myself upon the way the worldtreats you. "

"Ah, but because it treats you well, " cried she. "There will be work foryou, hurryings to and fro, the opportunities of excelling, nights in thesaddle, and perhaps again the quick red life of battlefields. It is wellwith you, but what of me, Mr. Wogan? What of me?" and she leaned back inher carriage and drove away. Wogan had no answer to that despairingquestion. He stood with his head bared till the carriage passed round acorner and disappeared, but the voice rang for a long while in his ears. And for a long while the dark eyes abrim with tears, and the torturedface, kept him company at nights. He walked slowly back to his lodging, and mounting a horse rode out of Bologna, and towards the Apennines. 

On one of the lower slopes he came upon a villa just beyond a curve ofthe road, and reined in his horse. The villa nestled on the hillsidebelow him in a terraced garden of oleander and magnolias, very pretty tothe eye. Cypress hedges enclosed it; the spring had made it a bower ofrose blossoms, and depths of shade out of whose green darkness glowedhere and there a red statue like a tutelary god. Wogan dismounted andled his horse down the path to the door. He inquired for LadyFeatherstone, and was shown into a room from the windows of which helooked down on Bologna, that city of colonnades. Lady Featherstone, however, had heard the tramp of his horse; she came running up from thegarden, and without waiting to hear any particulars of her visitor, burst eagerly into the room. 

"Well?" she said, and stopped and swayed upon the threshold. Woganturned from the window towards her. 

"Your Ladyship was wise, I think, to leave Bologna. The little house inthe trees there had no such wide prospect as this. "

He spoke rather to give her time than out of any sarcasm. She set ahand against the jamb of the door, and even so barely sustained hertrifling weight. Her knees shook, her childlike face grew white aspaper, a great terror glittered in her eyes. 

"I am not the visitor whom you expect, " continued Wogan, "nor do I bringthe news which you would wish to hear;" and at that she raised atrembling hand. "I beg you--a moment's silence. Then I will hear you, Mr. Warner. " She made a sort of stumbling run and reached a couch. Woganshut the door and waited. He was glad that she had used the name ofWarner. It recalled to him that evening at Ohlau when she had stoodbehind the curtain with a stiletto in her hand, and the three last daysof his perilous ride to Schlestadt. He needed his most vividrecollections to steel his heart against her; for he was beginning tothink it was his weary lot to go up and down the world causing pain towomen. After a while she said, "Now your news;" and she held her handlightly to her heart to await the blow. 

"The King married this morning the Princess Clementina, " said Wogan. Lady Featherstone did not move her hand; she still waited. It was justto hinder this marriage that she had come to Italy, but her failure wasat this moment of no account. She heard of it with indifference; it hadno meaning to her. She waited. Wogan's mere presence at the villa toldher there was more to come. He continued:--

"Last night Mr. Whittington came with the King to Bologna--youunderstand, no doubt, why;" and she nodded without moving her eyes fromhis face. She made no pretence as to the part she had played in theaffair. All the world might know it. That was a matter at this moment ofcomplete indifference. She waited. 

"The King and Mr. Whittington came at nine of the night to the littlehouse which you once occupied. I was there, but I was not there alone. Can your Ladyship conjecture whom I brought there? Your Ladyship, as Ilearned last night from Mr. Whittington's own lips, had paid a visitsecretly, using a key which you had retained to the house on an excusethat you had left behind jewels of some value. You saw her Highness thePrincess. You told her a story of the King and Mlle. De Caprara. I rodeto Rome, and when the King came last night Mlle. De Caprara was with thePrincess. I had evidence against Mr. Whittington, a confession of one ofthe soldiers of the Governor of Trent, the leader of a party of five whoattacked me at Peri. No doubt you know of that little matter too;" andagain Lady Featherstone nodded. 

"Thus your double plot--to set the King against the Princess, and thePrincess against the King--doubly failed. "

"Go on, " said Lady Featherstone, moistening her dry lips. Wogan told herhow from the little sitting-room on the ground-floor he had seen theKing and Whittington cross the lawn; he described his interview withthe King, and how he had come quietly down the stairs. 

"I went into the garden, " he went on, "and touched Whittington on theelbow. I told him just what I have explained to you. I said, 'You are acoward, a liar, a slanderer of women, ' and I beat him on the mouth. "

Lady Featherstone uttered a cry and drew herself into an extraordinarycrouching attitude, with her eyes blazing steadily at him. He thoughtshe meant to spring at him; he looked at that hand upon her heart to seewhether it held a weapon hidden in the fold of her bosom. 

"Go on, " she said; "and he?"

"He answered me in the strangest quiet way imaginable. 'You insultedLady Featherstone at Ohlau, Mr. Wogan, ' said he, 'one evening when shehid behind your curtain. It was a very delicate piece of drollery, nodoubt. But I shall be glad to show you another, view of it. ' It isstrange how that had rankled in his thoughts. I liked him for it, --uponmy soul, I did, --though it was the only thing I liked in him. "

"Go on, " said Lady Featherstone. Mr. Wogan's likes or dislikes were ofno more interest to her than the failure of her effort to hinder themarriage. 

"We went to the bottom of the garden where there is a little square oflawn hedged in with myrtle-trees. The night was very dark, so westripped to our shirts. From the waist upwards we were visible to eachother as a vague glimmer of white, and thus we fought, foot to foot, among the myrtle-trees. We could not see so much as our swords unlessthey clashed more than usually hard, and a spark struck from them. Wefought by guesswork and feel, and in the end luck served me. I drove mysword through his chest until the hilt rang upon his breast-bone. "

Then just a movement from Lady Featherstone as though she drew up herfeet beneath her. 

"He lived for perhaps five minutes. He was in great distress lest harmshould come to you; and since there was no one but his enemy to whom hecould speak, why, he spoke to his enemy. I promised him, madam, thatwith his death the story should be closed, if you left Italy within theweek. "

"And he?" she interrupted, --"he died there. Well?"

"You know the laurel hedge by the sun-dial? There is an out-house wherethe gardener keeps his tools. I found a spade there, and beneath thatlaurel hedge I buried him. "

Lady Featherstone rose to her feet. She spoke no word; she uttered nocry; her face was white and terrible. She stood rigid like oneparalysed; then she swayed round and fell in a swoon upon the floor. Andas she fell, something bright slipped from her hand and dropped atWogan's feet. He picked it up. It was a stiletto. He stood looking downat the childish figure with a queer compassionate smile upon his face. "She could love, " said he; "yes, she could love. "

He walked out of the house, led his horse back onto the road and mountedit. The night was gathering; there were purple shadows upon theApennines. Wogan rode away alone. 

EPILOGUE

Sir Charles Wogan had opportunities enough to appreciate in later yearsthe accuracy of Maria Vittoria's prophecy. "Here are two peoplecross-mated, " said she, and events bore her out. The jealousies ofcourtiers no doubt had their share in the estrangement of that unhappycouple, but that was no consolation to Wogan, who saw, within so short atime of that journey into Italy, James separated from the chosen woman, and the chosen woman herself seeking the seclusion of a convent. As hisreward he was made Governor of La Mancha in Spain, and no place couldhave been found with associations more suitable to this Irishman whoturned his back upon his fortunes at Peri. At La Mancha he lived formany years, writing a deal of Latin verse, and corresponding with manydistinguished men in England upon matters of the intellect. Matters ofthe heart he left alone, and meddled with no more. Nor did any womanever ride on his black horse into his city of dreams. He lived and dieda bachelor. The memory of that week when he had rescued his Princess andcarried her through the snows was to the last too vivid in his thoughts. The thunderous roll of the carriage down the slopes, the sparksstriking from the wheels, the sound of Clementina's voice singing softlyin the darkness of the carriage, the walk under the stars to Ala, thecoming of the dawn about that lonely hut, high-placed amongst the pines. These recollections bore him company through many a solitary evening. Somehow the world had gone awry. Clementina, withdrawn into her convent, was, after all, "wasted, " as he had sworn she should not be. James wasfallen upon a deeper melancholy, and diminished hopes. He himself was anexile alone in his white _patio_ in Spain. In only one point was MariaVittoria's prophecy at fault. She had spoken of two who were to find nomates, and one of the two was herself. She married five years later. 

THE END