hrough nine
grenadiers with loaded muskets and escaped over the roof-tops. It was a
good breathless story as he told it, and he had just come to an end of
it when the carriage drove through the village of Wellishmile and
stopped at the posting-house. Wogan opened the door and shook Gaydon by
the shoulder.

"Let us try if we can get stronger horses here," said he, and he got
out. Gaydon woke up with surprising alacrity.

"I must have fallen asleep," said he. "I beseech your Highness's
forgiveness; I have slept this long while." It was no business of his if
Wogan chose to attribute his own escape from Newgate as an exploit of
the King's. The story was a familiar one at Bologna, whither they were
hurrying; it was sufficiently known that Charles Wogan was its hero. All
this was Wogan's business, not Gaydon's. Nor had Gaydon anything to do
with any city of dreams or with any lady that might ride into it, or
with any black horse that chanced to carry her. Poets no doubt talked
that way. It was their business. Gaydon was not sorry that he had slept
so heartily through those last stages. He got down from the carriage and
met Wogan coming from the inn with a face of dismay.

"We are stopped here. There is no help for it. We have gained on the
Prince of Baden, who is no more than two stages ahead. The relays which
carried him from here to the next stage have only this instant come
back. They are too tired to move. So we must stay until they are
refreshed. And we are still three posts this side of Trent!" he cried.
"I would not mind were Trent behind us. But there's no help for it. I
have hired a room where the Countess and her niece can sleep until such
time as we can start."

Clementina and Mrs. Misset descended and supped in company with Gaydon
and Wogan, while Misset and O'Toole waited upon them as servants. It was
a silent sort of supper, very different from the meal they had made that
morning. For though the fare was better, it lacked the exhilaration.
This delay weighed heavily upon them all. For the country was now for a
sure thing raised behind them, and if they had gained on the Prince of
Baden, their pursuers had no less certainly gained on them.

"Would we were t'other side of Trent!" exclaimed Wogan; and looking up
he saw that Clementina was watching him with a strange intentness. Her
eyes were on him again while they sat at supper; and when he led her to
the door of her room and she gave him her hand, she stood