Clementina

Wogan mounted the stairs, not daring to speculate upon the nature of the

bad news. But his face was pale beneath its sunburn, and his hand

trembled on the balustrade; for he knew--in his heart he knew. There

could be only one piece of news which would make his haste or tardiness

matters of no account.

Both branches of the stairs ran up to a common landing, and in the wall

facing him, midway between the two stairheads, was a great door of tulip

wood. An usher stood by the door, and at Wogan's approach opened it.

Wogan, however, signed to him to be silent. He wished to hear, not to

speak, and so he slipped into the room unannounced. The door was closed

silently behind him, and at once he was surprised by the remarkable

silence, almost a cessation of life it seemed, in a room which was quite

full. Wherever the broad bars of sunshine fell, as they slanted dusty

with motes through the open lattices of the shutters, they striped a

woman's dress or a man's velvet coat. Yet if anyone shuffled a foot or

allowed a petticoat to rustle, that person glanced on each side

guiltily. A group of people were gathered in front of the doorway. Their

backs were towards Wogan, and they were looking towards the centre of

the room. Wogan raised himself on his toes and looked that way too.

Having looked he sank down again, aware at once that he had travelled of

late a long way in a little time, and that he was intolerably tired. For

that one glance was enough to deprive him of his last possibility of

doubt. He had seen the Chevalier de St. George, his King, sitting apart

in a little open space, and over against him a short squarish man, dusty

as Wogan himself, who stood and sullenly waited. It was Sir John Hay,

the man who had been sent to fetch the Princess Clementina privately to

Bologna, and here he now was back at Bologna and alone.

Wogan had counted much upon this marriage, more indeed than any of his

comrades. It was to be the first step of the pedestal in the building up

of a throne. It was to establish in Europe a party for James Stuart as

strong as the party of Hanover. But so much was known to everyone in

that room; to Wogan the marriage meant more. For even while he found

himself muttering over and over with dry lips, as white and exhausted he

leaned against the door, Clementina's qualifications,--"Daughter of the

King of Poland, cousin to the Emperor and to the King of Portugal, niece

to the Electors of Treves, Bavaria, and Palatine,"--the image of the

girl herself rose up before his eyes and struck her titles from his

thoughts. She was the chosen woman, chosen by him out of all Europe--and

lost by John Hay!