absolute hindrance, should spoil a scheme of
so much consequence, that was inconceivable.

Yet there was Jenny sobbing her heart out on the steps not half a mile
from the villa; the minutes were passing; the inconceivable thing was
true. Wogan could have torn his hair in the rage of his despair. He
could have laughed out loudly and passionately until even on that stormy
night he brought the guard. He thought of the perils he had run, the
difficulties he had surmounted. He had outwitted the Countess de Berg
and Lady Featherstone, he had persuaded the reluctant Prince Sobieski,
he had foiled his enemies on the road to Schlestadt, he had made his
plans, he had gathered his friends, he had crept out with them from
Strasbourg, yet in the end they had come to Innspruck to be foiled
because Jenny would not go without her heels. Wogan could have wept like
Jenny.

But he did not. On the contrary, he sat down by her side on the steps
and took her hand, gentle as a sheep.

"You are in the right of it, Jenny," said he, in a most remorseful
voice.

Jenny looked up.

"Yes," he continued. "I was in the wrong. O'Toole is the most selfish
man in the whole world. Cowardly, too! But there never was a selfish man
who was not at heart a bit of a coward. Sure enough, sooner or later the
cowardice comes out. It is a preposterous thing that O'Toole should
think that you and I are going to rescue his heiress for him while he
sits at his ease by the inn fire. No; let us go back to him and tell him
to his face the selfish cowardly man he is."

It seemed, however, that Jenny was not entirely pleased to hear her own
sentiments so frankly uttered by Mr. Wogan. Besides, he seemed to
exaggerate them, for she said with a little reluctance, "I would not say
that he was a coward."

"But I would," exclaimed Wogan, hotly. "Moreover, I do. With all my
heart 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 much
to Wogan's taste.

"It's as plain as the palm of my hand. Why should he make a dwarf of
you, Jenny?--for it's the truth he has done that; he has made a little
dwarf 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 Wogan
would not listen to her. "A dwarf," he continued, "it was your own word,
Jenny. I could say nothing to