"The relays are only fresh to us," returned Misset. "We can go no faster. There is someone ahead with three stages' start of us,--someone of importance, it would seem, and who travels with a retinue, for he takes all the horses at each stage." Wogan thrust his head out of the window. There was no doubt of it; the horses lagged. In this hurried flight the most trifling hindrance was a monumental danger, and this was no trifling hindrance. For the hue and cry was most certainly raised behind them; the pursuit from Innspruck had begun twelve hours since, on the most favourable reckoning. At any moment they might hear the jingle of a horse's harness on the road behind. And now here was a man with a great retinue blocking their way in front. "We can do no more, but make a fight of it in the end," said he. "They may be few who follow us. But who is he ahead?" Misset did not know. "I can tell you," said Clementina, with a slight hesitation. "It is the Prince of Baden, and he travels to Italy." Wogan remembered a certain letter which his King had written to him from Rome; and the hesitation in the girl's voice told him the rest of the story. Wogan would have given much to have had his fingers about the scruff of that pompous gentleman's neck with the precipice handy at his feet. It was intolerable that the fellow should pester the Princess in prison and hinder her flight when she had escaped from it. "Well, we can do no more," said he, and he drew up the window. Neither Gaydon nor Mrs. Misset were awakened; Clementina and Wogan were alone in the darkness. She leaned forward to him and said in a low voice,-- "Tell me of the King. I shall make mistakes in this new world. Will he have patience with me while I learn?" She had spoken upon the same strain in the darkness of the staircase only the night before. Wogan gently laughed her fears aside. "I will tell you the truest thing about the King. He needs you at his side. For all his friends, he is at heart a lonely man, throned upon sorrows. I dare to tell you that, knowing you. He needs not a mere wife, but a mate, a helpmate, to strive with him, her hand in his. Every man needs the helpmate, as I read the world. For it cannot but be that a man falls below himself when he comes home always to an empty room." The Princess was silent. Wogan hoped that he had reassured her. But her thoughts were now turned from herself. She leaned yet further forward with her elbows upon her knees, and in a yet lower voice she asked a question which fairly startled him. "Does she not love you?"