"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!"