“Your Highness and Mrs. Misset can ride in the cart.  It has no springs, to be sure, and may shake to pieces like plaster.  But if it carries you five miles, it will serve.  Misset and I can run by the side.”

“But Lucy Misset must not go,” said Clementina.  “She is ill, and no wonder.  She must not take one step more to-night.  There would be great danger, and indeed she has endured enough for me.”  The gravity of the girl’s face, as much as her words, convinced Wogan that here was no occasion for encouragement or resistance.  He said with some embarrassment,—­

“Yet we cannot leave her here alone; and of us two men, her husband must stay with her.”

“Dare we wait till the morning?” asked Clementina.  “Lucy may be recovered then.”

Wogan shook his head.

“The courier we stopped at Wellishmile was not the only man sent after us.  Of that we may be very sure.  Here are we five miles from safety, and while those five miles are still unbridged—­Listen!”

Wogan leaned his head forward and held up his hand for silence.  In the still night they could hear far away the galloping of a horse.  The sound grew more distinct as they listened.

“The rider comes from Italy,” said Clementina.  “But he might have come from Trent,” cried Wogan.  “We left Trent behind twelve hours ago, and more.  For twelve hours we crept and crawled along the road; these last miles we have walked.  Any moment the Emperor’s troopers might come riding after us.  Ah, but we are not safe!  I am afraid!”

Clementina turned sharply towards him as he spoke this unwonted confession.

“You!” she exclaimed with a wondering laugh.  Yet he had spoken the truth.  His face was twitching; his eyes had the look of a man scared out of his wits.

“Yes, I am afraid,” he said in a low, uneasy voice.  “When I have all but won through the danger, then comes my moment of fear.  In the thick of it, perils tread too close upon the heels of peril for a man to count them up.  Each minute claims your hands and eyes and brain,—­claims you and inspires you.  But when the danger’s less, and though less still threatens; when you’re just this side of safety’s frontier and not safe,—­indeed, indeed, one should be afraid.  A vain spirit of confidence, and the tired head nods, and the blow falls on it from nowhere.  Oh, but I have seen examples times out of mind.  I beg you, no delay!”

The hoofs of the approaching horse sounded ever louder while Wogan spoke; and as he ended, a man rode out from the street into the open space before the inn.  The gallop became a trot.

“He is riding to the door,” said Wogan.  “The light falls on your face;” and he drew Clementina into the shadow of the wall.  But at the same moment the rider changed his mind.  He swerved; it seemed too that he used his spurs, for his horse bounded beneath him and galloped past the inn.  He disappeared into the darkness, and the sound of the horse diminished.  Wogan listened until they had died away.