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Updated: June 6, 2025
I am a Christian, and as to the uncle he can go to the devil! He can do nothing to me but talk, and I don't understand his stupid language." Jenny was the one person really happy during this month. It was Wogan's effort to keep her so, for she was the very pivot of his plan. There remains yet one other who had most reason of all to repine at the delay, the Princess Clementina.
So when I had made sure that those five men were joined against me, I twisted that letter into a taper and before their faces lit my pipe with it." Clementina's eyes were fixed steadily and intently upon Wogan's face. When he ended she drew a deep breath, but otherwise she did not move. The Princess-mother, however, was unmistakably relieved.
He could see dimly the figure of a man standing on the grass. When the Chevalier came down into the garden an hour afterwards, a man was still standing on the grass. The man advanced to him. "Who is it?" asked the Chevalier, drawing back. The voice which answered him was Wogan's. "And Whittington?" "He has gone," replied Wogan. "You have sent him away?" "I took so much upon myself."
At this moment, however, her mere presence put an end to the demands for an explanation of Wogan's saying about his horse, and in a grateful mood to her he slipped from the room. This evening was but one of many during that Christmastide. Wogan must wear an easy countenance, though his heart grew heavy as lead.
A narrow gorge down which a torrent foamed led upwards to the bluff, and the hut of which the windows were shuttered, and which seemed at that distance to have been built with an unusual elegance, was to Wogan's thinking a hunting-box. Clementina looked up at the bluff indifferently and made no answer.
But earlier in the evening Wogan's foot had slipped upon the polished boards; there had been no mat or skin at all. It had been pushed there since. Wogan could not doubt for what reason. It was to conceal the light of a lamp or candle within the room. Someone, in a word, was prying in Wogan's room, and Wogan began to consider who.
After several months of desultory warfare, in which Wogan's skill and courage gained him the highest reputation, he had the misfortune to be wounded in a dangerous manner, and no surgical assistance being within reach, he terminated his short but glorious career.
"There's no petticoat in the world, though it were so stiff with gold that it stood on end of itself, that's worth a single second of the next forty-eight hours." "But it contains her Highness's jewels." Wogan's impatience became an exasperation. Were all women at heart, then, no better than Indian squaws? A string of beads outweighed the sacrifices of friends and the chance of a crown!
She spoke with an extraordinary violence in a low, trembling voice, and she would not listen to Wogan's stammered interruption. "Very likely, too, the rest of your words to me was of a piece. I was a girl, and girls are to have gallant speeches given to them like so many lollipops. Oh, but you have hurt me beyond words. I would not have thought I could have suffered so much pain!"
She looked back along the road which she had traversed through snow and sunshine and clear nights of stars; she saw it winding out from the gates of Innspruck over the mountains, above the foaming river, and after a while she said very wistfully, "There are worse lives than a gipsy's." "Are there any better?" answered Wogan. So this was what Mr. Wogan's fine project had come to.
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