“And hide in the thicket,” she interrupted.  “Yet—­yet—­that leaves you alone.  I could give you some help;” and her face coloured.  “You were so kind as to tell me I had courage.  I could at the least load your pistols.”

“You would do that?” cried Wogan.  “Aye, but you would, you would!”

For the first time that day he forgot to address her with the ceremony of her title.  All that day he had schooled his tongue to the use of it.  They were not man and woman, though his heart would have it so; they were princess and servant, and every minute he must remember it.  But he forgot it now.  Delicate she was to look upon as any princess who had ever adorned a court, delicate and fresh, rich-voiced and young, but here was the rare woman flashing out like a light over stormy seas, the spirit of her and her courage!

“You would load my pistols!” he repeated, his whole face alight.  “To be sure, you would do that.  But I ask you, I think, for a higher courage.  I ask you to climb down that ladder, to run alone, taking shelter when there’s need, back to that narrow gorge we saw where the path leads upwards to the bluff.  There was a hut; two hours would take you to it, and there you should be safe.  I will keep the enemy back till you are gone.  If I can, when all is over here I’ll follow you.  If I do not come, why, you must—­”

“Ah, but you will come,” said she, with a smile.  “I have no fears but that you will come;” and she added, “Else would you never persuade me to go.”

“Well, then, I will come.  At all events, Captain Misset and his wife will surely come down the road to-morrow.  If I rap twice upon your door, you will take that for my signal.  But it is very likely I shall not rap at all.”

Wogan shivered as he spoke.  It was not for the first time during that conversation, and a little later, as they stood together in the passage by the stair-head, Clementina twice remarked that he shivered again.  There was an oil lamp burning against the passage wall, and by its light she could see that on that warm night of spring his face was pinched with cold.  He was in truth chilled to the bone through lack of sleep; his eyes had the strained look of a man strung to the breaking point, and at the sight of him the mother in her was touched.

“What if I watched to-night?” she said.  “What if you slept?”

Wogan laughed the suggestion aside.

“I shall sleep very well,” said he, “upon that top stair.  I can count upon waking, though only the lowest step tremble beneath a foot.”  This he said, meaning not to sleep at all, as Clementina very well understood.  She leaned over the balustrade by Wogan’s side and looked upwards to the sky.  The night was about them like a perfume of flowers.  A stream bubbled and sang over stones behind the inn.  The courtyard below was very silent.  She laid a hand upon his sleeve and said again in a pleading voice,—­