They left the postillion to make what he could of the berlin and walked forward in the clear night to Ala.  The shock of the tumble had alarmed Mrs. Misset; the fatigue of the journey had strained her endurance to the utmost.  She made no complaint, but she could walk but slowly and with many rests by the way.  It took a long while for them to reach the village.  They saw the lights diminish in the houses; the stars grew pale; there came a hint of morning in the air.  The laughter at Wogan’s awkwardness had long since died away, and they walked in silence.

Forty-eight hours had passed since the berlin left Innspruck.  Twenty-four hours ago Clementina knew Wogan’s secret.  Now he was aware that she knew it.  They could not look into each other’s faces, but their eyes conversed of it.  If they turned their heads sharply away, that aversion of their gaze spoke no less clearly.  There was a link between them now, and a secret link, the sweeter on that account, perhaps,—­certainly the more dangerous.  The cloud had grown much bigger than a man’s hand.  Moreover, she had never seen James Stuart; she had his picture, it is true, but the picture could not recall.  It must create, not revivify his image to her thoughts, and that it could not do; so that he remained a shadowy figure to her, a mere number of features, almost an abstraction.  On the other hand the King’s emissary walked by her side, sat sleepless before her, had held her in his arms, had talked with her, had risked his life for her; she knew him.  What she knew of James Stuart, she knew chiefly from the lips of this emissary.  On this walk to Ala he spoke of his master, and remorsefully in the highest praise.  But she knew his secret, she knew that he loved her, and therefore every remorseful, loyal word he spoke praised him more than it praised his master.  And it happened that just as they came to the outskirts of the village, she dropped a handkerchief which hung loosely about her neck.  For a moment she did not remark her loss; when she did and turned, she saw that her companion was rising from the ground on which no handkerchief longer lay, and that he had his right hand in his breast.  She turned again without a word, and walked forward.  But she knew that kerchief was against his heart, and the cloud still grew.

CHAPTER XVIII

They reached Ala towards two o’clock of the morning.  The town had some reputation in those days for its velvets and silks, and Wogan made no doubt that somewhere he would procure a carriage to convey them the necessary five miles into Venetian territory.  The Prince of Baden was still ahead of them, however.  The inn of “The Golden Lion” had not a single horse fit for their use in its stables.  Wogan, however, obtained there a few likely addresses and set out alone upon his search.  He returned in a couple of hours with a little two-wheeled cart drawn by a pony, and sent word within that he was ready.  Clementina herself with her hood thrown back from her face came out to him at the door.  An oil lamp swung in the passage and lit up her face.  Wogan could see that the face was grave and anxious.