Wogan bowed to her without a word. He drew the handkerchief from his
breast slowly.

"It is true," said he; "I have no right to it;" and he gave it back. But
his voice showed that he was hurt.

"You do not understand," said she, with a great gentleness. "You have
every right which the truest loyalty can confer. I ask you for this
handkerchief, because I think at times to wear it in memory of a white
stone on which I could safely set my foot, for the stone was not straw."

Wogan could not trust his voice to answer her. He took her hand to lift
it to his lips.

"No," said she; "as at Innspruck, an honest handclasp, if you please."

Wogan joined his three companions in the road, and they stood together
for a little, recounting to one another the incidents of the flight.

"Here's a great work ended," said Gaydon at last.

"We shall be historical," said O'Toole. "It is my one ambition. I want
to figure in the history-books and be a great plague and nuisance to
children at school. I would sooner be cursed daily by schoolboys than
have any number of golden statues in galleries. It means the more solid
reputation;" and then he became silent. Gaydon had, besides his joy at
the rescue of Clementina, a private satisfaction that matters which were
none of his business had had no uncomfortable issue. Misset, too, was
thankful for that his wife had come safely to the journey's end. O'Toole
alone had a weight upon his mind; and when Gaydon said, "Well, we may go
to bed and sleep without alarms till sundown to-morrow," he remarked,-"There's Jenny. It was on my account she ventured with us."