Clementina

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

friend."

"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 landlord

raised and lowered his candle that Wogan might see.

"I do not wish to be unjust to the frame of the door," said Wogan, and

he drew off his boots. The landlord bade his guest good-night and

descended the stairs.

Wogan, being a campaigner, was methodical even though lost in

reflection. He was reflecting now why in the world he should lately have

become sensible of loneliness; but at the same time he put the Prince's

letter beneath his pillow and a sheathed hunting-knife beside the

letter. 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 had

merely to seek out; he took the charges from his pistol lest they should

be damp, and renewed them and placed the pistols by the candle. He had

even begun to pity himself for his loneliness, and pity of that sort, he

recognised, was a discreditable quality; the matter was altogether very

disquieting. He propped his sword against the chair and undressed. Wogan

cast back in his memories for the first sensations of loneliness. They

were recent, since he had left Ohlau, indeed. He opened the window; the

rain splashed in on the sill, pattered in the street puddles below, and

fell across the country with a continuous roar as though the level plain

was a stretched drum. No; he had only felt lonely since he had come near

to Schlestadt, since, in a word, he had deemed himself to have

outstripped 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 the

darkness thinned at one point and a barred square of grey became

visible; the square of grey was the window. Wogan understood that his

loneliness came upon him with the respite from his difficulties, and

concluded that, after all, it was as well that he had not a comfortable

fireside whereby to sun himself. He turned over on his right side and

saw the white door and its white frame. The rain made a dreary sound

outside the window, but in three days he would be at Schlestadt. Besides

he fell asleep.