Clementina

"That I think is very true," said Wogan.

Clementina, however, was not satisfied with his assent. She attacked him

again and almost vindictively.

"You of course would never change your mind for any reason, once it was

fixed. 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 you

make me out. I have often changed my mind. I take some pride in it on

occasion."

Her Highness inclined to a greater graciousness.

"I am glad to know it. You shall give me examples. One may have a stiff

neck and yet no cause for pride."

Wogan looked so woe-begone under this reproof that Clementina suddenly

broke out into a laugh, and so showed herself in a fresh and more

familiar mood. The good-humour continued; she sat opposite to Mr. Wogan;

if she moved, her hand, her knee, her foot, must needs touch his; she

made him tell her stories of his campaigns; and so the evening came upon

them,--an evening of stars and mysterious quiet and a clear, dark sky.

They passed Roveredo; they drew near to Ala, the last village in the

Emperor's territories. Five miles beyond Ala they would be on Venetian

soil, and already they saw the lights of the village twinkling like so

many golden candles. But the berlin, which had drawn them so stoutly

over these rugged mountain-roads, failed them at the last. One of the

hind wheels jolted violently upon a great stone, there was a sudden

cracking of wood, and the carriage lurched over, throwing its occupants

one against the other.

Wogan disentangled himself, opened the door, and sprang out. He sprang

out into a pool of water. One glance at the carriage, dark though the

night 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 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 her ankles in water. She uttered a little

cry and shivered. Then she laughed and sprang lightly onto dry soil,

making much of her companion's awkwardness. Wogan joined in the

laughter, finding therein as she did a cover and a cloak.