Clementina

"Lady Featherstone!" said Misset. "Who can she be?"

Wogan told them of his first meeting with Lady Featherstone on the

Florence road, but he knew no more about her, and not one of the three

knew anything at all.

"So the secret's out," said Gaydon. "But you outstripped it."

"Barely," said Wogan. "Forty miles away I had last night to fight for my

life."

"But you have the Prince's written consent?" said Misset.

"I had last night, but I made a spill of it to light my pipe. There were

six men against me. Had that been found on my dead body, why, there was

proof positive of our attempt, and the attempt foiled by sure

safeguards. As it is, if we lie still a little while, their fears will

cease and the rumour become discredited."

Misset leaned across Gaydon's arm and scanned the letter.

"But her Highness writes most clearly she will not move without that

sure token of her father's consent."

Wogan drew from his breast pocket a snuff-box made from a single

turquoise.

"Here's a token no less sure. It was Prince Sobieski's New Year's gift

to me,--a jewel unique and in an unique setting. This must persuade her.

His father, great King John of Poland, took it from the Grand Vizier's

tent when the Turks were routed at Vienna."

O'Toole reached out his hand and engulfed the jewel.

"Sure," said he, "it is a pretty sort of toy. It would persuade any

woman to anything so long as she was promised it to hang about her neck.

You must promise it to the Princess, but not give it to her--no, lest

when she has got it she should be content to remain in Innspruck. I

know. You must promise it."

Wogan bowed to O'Toole's wisdom and took back the snuff-box. "I will not

forget to promise it," said he.

"But here's another point," said Gaydon. "Her Highness, the Princess's

mother, insists that a woman shall attend upon her daughter, and where

shall we find a woman with the courage and the strength?"

"I have thought of that," said Wogan. "Misset has a wife. By the

luckiest stroke in the world Misset took a wife this last spring."

There was at once a complete silence. Gaydon stared into the fire,

O'Toole looked with intense interest at the ceiling, Misset buried his

face in his hands. Wogan was filled with consternation. Was Misset's

wife dead? he asked himself. He had spoken lightly, laughingly, and he

went hot and cold as he recollected the raillery of his words. He sat in

his chair shocked at the pain which he had caused his friend. Moreover,

he had counted surely upon Mrs. Misset.