Wogan jumped down from his box and ran to the carriage-door.
"Her Highness is ill?" he cried in suspense.
"Not the least bit in the world," returned Clementina, whose voice for
once in a way jarred upon Wogan's ears. Nothing short of a positive
sickness could justify the delay.
"What is it, then?" he asked curtly, almost roughly, of Mrs. Misset.
"You carried a packet for her Highness. It is left behind at the
tavern."
Wogan stamped impatiently on the ground.
"And for this, for a petticoat or two, you hinder us," he cried in a
heat. "There's no petticoat in the world, though it were so stiff with
gold that it stood on end of itself, that's worth a single second of the
next forty-eight hours."
"But it contains her Highness's jewels."
Wogan's impatience became an exasperation. Were all women at heart,
then, no better than Indian squaws? A string of beads outweighed the
sacrifices of friends and the chance of a crown! There was a blemish in
his idol, since at all costs she must glitter. Wogan, however, was the
master here.
"Her Highness must lose her jewels," he said roughly, and was turning
away when her Highness herself spoke.
"You are unjust, my friend," she said. "I would lose them very
willingly, were there a chance no one else would discover them. But
there's no chance. The woman of the tavern will find the bundle, will
open it; very likely she has done so already. We shall have all
Innspruck on our heels in half an hour;" and for the first time that
night Wogan heard her voice break, and grieved to know that the tears
were running down her cheeks. He called to O'Toole,-"Ride back to the tavern! Bring the packet without fail!"
O'Toole galloped off, and Gaydon drove the carriage to the side of the
road. There was nothing to do but to wait, and they waited in silence,
counting up the chances. There could be no doubt that the landlady, if
once she discovered the jewels hidden away in a common packet of
clothing, must suspect the travellers who had left them behind. She
would be terrified by their value; she would be afraid to retain them
lest harm should come to her; and all Innspruck would be upon the
fugitives' heels. They waited for half an hour,--thirty minutes of gloom
and despair. Clementina wept over this new danger which her comrades
ran; Mrs. Misset wept for that her negligence was to blame; Gaydon sat
on the box in the falling snow with his arms crossed upon his breast,
and felt his head already loose upon his shoulders. The only one of the
party who had any comfort of that half-hour was Wogan. For he had been
wrong,--the chosen woman had no wish to glitter at all costs, though, to
be sure, she could not help glittering with the refulgence of her great
merits. His idol had no blemish. Wogan paced up and down the road, while
he listened for O'Toole's return, and that thought cheated the time for
him. At last he heard very faintly the sound of galloping hoofs below
him on the road. He ran back to Gaydon.