ld not be recaptured. Though she were dead, he would still carry her
dead body into Bologna and lay it white and still before his King.
Europe from London to the Bosphorus should know the truth of her and
ring with the wonder of her, though she were dead. O'Toole, attracted by
the noise of Mrs. Misset's lamentations, bent down over his horse's neck
and 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 Clementina
back on her seat. Mrs. Misset by good fortune had a small bottle of
Carmelite 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 about
her, imploring her to wake.

"It is nothing," she said. "Take courage, my poor marmosets;" and with a
smile 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 and
were now driving down towards Italy. There was snow about them still on
the mountain-sides and deep in drifts upon the roads. The air was
musical with the sound of innumerable freshets: they could be seen
leaping and sparkling in the sunlight; the valleys below were green with
the young green of spring, and the winds were tempered with the warmth
of Italy. A like change came upon the fugitives. They laughed, where
before they had wept; from under the seat they pulled out chickens which
Misset had cooked with his own hands at Nazareth, bottles of the wine of
St. Laurent, and bread; and Wogan allowed a halt long enough to get
water from a spring by the roadside.

"There is no salt," said Gaydon.

"Indeed there is," replied Misset, indignant at the aspersion on his
catering. "I have it in my tobacco-box." He took his tobacco-box from
his pocket and passed it into the carriage. Clementina made sandwiches
and passed them out to the horsemen. The chickens turned out to be old
cocks, impervious to the soundest tooth. No one minded except Misset,
who had brought them. The jolts of the carriage became matter for a
jest. They picnicked with the merriment of children, and finally
O'Toole, to show his contempt fo