u'll hear Jenny sob with pity for the heiress and Lucius O'Toole
when she hears it. It will be a bad day, too, for the merciless parents
when they discover Jenny in her Highness's bed. She stands six feet in
her stockings."

"Six feet!" exclaimed Wogan.

"In her stockings," returned O'Toole. "Her height is her one vanity.
Therefore in her shoes she is six feet four."

"Well, she must take her heels off and make herself as short as she
can."

"You will have trouble, my friend, to persuade her to that," said
O'Toole.

"Hush!" said Gaydon. He rose and unlocked the door. The doctor was
knocking for admission below. Gaydon let him in, and he dressed Wogan's
wounds with an assurance that they were not deep and that a few days'
quiet would restore him.

"I will sleep the night here if I may," said Wogan, as soon as the
doctor had gone. "A blanket and a chair will serve my turn."

They took him into Gaydon's bedroom, where three beds were ranged.

"We have slept in the one room and lived together since your message
came four days ago," said Gaydon. "Take your choice of the beds, for
there's not one of us has so much need of a bed as you."

Wogan drew a long breath of relief.

"Oh! but it's good to be with you," he cried suddenly, and caught at
Gaydon's arm. "I shall sleep to-night. How I shall sleep!"

He stretched out his aching limbs between the cool white sheets, and
when the lamp was extinguished he called to each of his three friends by
name to make sure of their company. O'Toole answered with a grunt on his
right, Misset on his left, and Gaydon from the corner of the room.

"But I have wanted you these last three days!" said Wogan. "To-morrow
when I tell you the story of them you will know how much I have wanted
you."

They got, however, some inkling of Wogan's need before the morrow came.
In the middle of the night they were wakened by a wild scream and heard
Wogan whispering in an agony for help. They lighted a lamp and saw him
lying with his hand upon his throat and his eyes starting from his head
with horror.

"Quick," said he, "the hand at my throat! It's not the letter so much,
it's my life they want."

"It's your own hand," said Gaydon, and taking the hand he found it
lifeless. Wogan's arm in that position had gone to sleep, as the saying
is. He had waked suddenly in the dark with the cold pressure at his
throat, and in the moment of waking was back again alone in the inn near
Augsburg. Wogan in