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 safely
set my foot?"

"No," said he, "but you can trust without fear to my arms;" and he
reached them out to her.

"Can I?" said she, in a curious voice; and when he had lifted her from
the 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 carry
her. His arms tightened about her waist, hers in spite of herself about
his shoulders. He took a step or two from the carriage, with the water
washing over his boots, and the respectful support of a servant became
the warm grip of a man. He no longer held her daintily; he clipped her
close to him, straining her breasts against his chest; he was on fire
with 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 inarticulate
murmur, of infinite longing trembled from his throat. And something of
his madness passed into her and made a sweet tumult in her blood. He
stopped still holding her; he felt her fingers clasp tighter; he looked
downwards into her face upturned to his. They were alone for a moment,
these two, alone in an uninhabited world. The broken carriage, the busy
fingers about it, the smoking horses, the lights of Ala twinkling in the
valley, had not even the substance of shadows. They simply were not, and
they never had been. There were just two people alive between the
Poles,--not princess and servant, but man and woman in the primitive
relationship of rescuer and rescued; and they stood in the dark of a
translucent night of spring, with the stars throbbing above them to the
time of their passionate hearts, and the earth stretching about them
rich as black velvet. He looked down into her eyes as once in the
night-time he had done before; and again he marvelled at their
steadiness and their mysterious depths. Her eyes were fixed on his and
did not flinch; her arms were close about his neck; he bent his head
towards her, and she said in a queer, toneless voice, low but as steady
as her eyes,--

"I know. Ah, but well I know. Last night I dreamed; I rode on your black
horse into your city of dreams;" and the moment of passion ended in
farce. For Wogan, startled by the words, set her down there and then
into the pool. She stood over