Clementina

n, so that even when his horse stumbled and went lame at a desolate part of the road from Florence to Bologna, he had no doubt but that somehow fortune would serve him. His horse stepped ginger

his hand and walked forwa

white; and the grass at any distance from the road had the darkness of peat. He led his horse forward for perhaps a mile, and then turning a corner by a knot of trees came unexpectedly upon a wayside inn. In front of the inn stood a travelling carriage with its team of horses. The backs of the horses smoked, and the candles of the lamps were still burning in the broad daylight. Mr. Wogan quickened his pace. He would beg a seat on the box to the next

dy in Italian, "I

, and the childishness was exaggerated by a great muslin bow she wore at her throat. Her pale hair, where it showed beneath her hood, was fine as silk and as glossy; her eyes had the colour of an Italian sky at noon, and her cheeks the del

postillion,"

ing with all a Tuscan peasant's desire to p

a stamp of the foot and saw that Wogan was curiously regarding her carriage. A boy stood at the horses' heads, but his dress and sleepy face showed that he

posite the door. See, I beat him," and she raised the beribboned handle of a toy-like cane. "But it was n

ne nor the hand which wielded it would be likel

" she cried in an extreme agitati

ow. "My horse is lamed, as you see. I will be your chario

y the lady

with a start, l

looked

d he, tho

y speculating what the other was doing alone at

however, was more than passable, and he was a wary man by nature as well as by some ten years' training in a service where wariness was the first need, tho

gna if the landlord will swear to look after my h

nd to get back to bed was extreme. Wogan climbed into the postillion's saddle, d

a favourite?"

se that horse for all the world, for the woman I s

ll might. She hesitated wi

" she asked o

abashed, "in this district he

m, then? He

e. He is o

e lady seemed to wish some assurance on the point, so he gav

rass was like raindrops, the next it shone like polished jewels. The postillion shouted a welcome to the sun, and the lady proceeded to breakfast in her carriage. Wogan had to snatch a

ng alone, and all with consternation upon their faces. The quiet streets were alive with them. Something had happened that day in Bologna,-some catastrophe. Or news had come that day,-bad news. Wogan did not stop to inquire. He drove at a gallop straight to a long white house which fronted the street. The green latticed shutters were closed against the sun, but there were servants about the doorway, and in their aspect, too, there was something o

He was the only man whom Wogan had seen laugh since he

pened, Whittington? T

ve jogged here on a mule and still have lost no tim

the kerb. His face assumed a look of extreme surprise. Then he glanced up the staircase after Wogan and laughed as though the conjunction of the lady and Mr. Wogan was a rare piece of amusement. Mr. Woga

and there was more than court

ou for another week," he said in a low voice. H

ur lodging?

ank suddenly back amongst her cushions. In a m

as he,-my p

ittington, glancing at the

been a scholar and had twisted himself all awry int

t her. Then he burst

ion was Mr. Charles Wogan, who comes from Rome post-haste with the Pope's procuration for t

She clenched her fists viciously, and her blue eyes grew cold and dangerous as steel.

wered his head to a level with hers. "All the procurations in

not com

y. Lean back from the window, and I will te

not repress a c

his ordinary voice, "I have hired a house for your Ladyship, which

the entrance, gave him his orders, bowed to the ground