CHAPTER XIII

Meanwhile within the room the Princess-mother clung to Clementina.  The terror which her sharp cry had expressed was visible in her strained and startled face.  Her eyes, bright with terror, stared at the drawn curtain; she could not avert them; she still must gaze, fascinated by her fears; and her dry, whispering lips were tremulous.

“Heaven have mercy!” she whispered; “shut the window!  Shut it fast!” and as Clementina moved in surprise, she clung the closer to her daughter.  “No, do not leave me!  Come away!  Jesu! here are we alone,—­two women!”

“Mother,” said Clementina, soothing her and gently stroking her hair, as though she in truth was the mother and the mother her daughter, “there’s no cause for fear.”

“No cause for fear!  I saw him—­the sentry—­he is climbing up.  Ah!” and again her voice rose to a cry as Wogan’s foot grated on the window-ledge.

“Hush, mother!  A cry will ruin us.  It’s not the sentinel,” said Clementina.

Clementina was laughing, and by her laughter the Princess-mother was in some measure reassured.

“Who is it, then?” she asked.

“Can you not guess?” said Clementina, incredulously.  “It is so evident.  Yet I would not have you guess.  It is my secret, my discovery.  I’ll tell you.”  She heard a man behind the curtain spring lightly from the window to the floor.  She raised her voice that he might know she had divined him.  “Your sentinel is the one man who has the right to rescue me.  Your sentinel’s the King.”

At that moment Wogan pushed aside the curtain.

“No, your Highness,” said he, “but the King’s servant.”

The Princess-mother dropped into a chair and looked at her visitor with despair.  It was not the sentinel, to be sure, but, on the other hand, it was Mr. Wogan, whom she knew for a very insistent man with a great liking for his own way.  She drew little comfort from Mr. Wogan’s coming.

It seemed, too, that he was not very welcome to Clementina; for she drew back a step and in a voice which dropped and had a tremble of disappointment, “Mr. Wogan,” she said, “the King is well served;” and she stood there without so much as offering him her hand.  Wogan had not counted on so cold a greeting, but he understood the reason, and was not sure but what he approved of it.  After all, she had encountered perils on the King’s account; she had some sort of a justification to believe the King would do the like for her.  It had not occurred to him or indeed to anyone before; but now that he saw the chosen woman so plainly wounded, he felt a trifle hot against his King for having disappointed her.  He set his wits to work to dispel the disappointment.

“Your Highness, the truth is there are great matters brewing in Spain.  His Majesty was needed there most urgently.  He had to decide between Innspruck and Cadiz, and it seemed that he would honour your great confidence in him and at the same time serve you best—­”