"Mr. Wogan," she said, stubbornly working herself into a heat to make
more sure of her resolution, "my daughter cannot go to-night. To-morrow,
if the sky clears, yes, but to-night, no. You do not know, sir, being a
man. But my daughter has fasted through this Lent, and that leaves a
woman weak. I do forbid her going, as her father would. The very dogs
running the streets for food keep kennel on such a night. She must not
go."
Wogan did not give way, though he felt a qualm of despair, knowing all
the stubbornness of which the weak are capable, knowing how impervious
to facts or arguments.
"Your Highness," he said quickly, "we are not birds of passage to rule
our flight by seasons. We must take the moment when it comes, and it
comes now. To-night your daughter can escape; for here's a night made
for an escape."
"And for my part," cried Clementina, "I would the snow fell faster." She
crossed to the open window and held out her hands to catch the flakes.
"Would they did not melt! I believe Heaven sends the snow to shelter me.
It's the white canopy spread above my head, that I may go in state to
meet my King." She stood eager and exultant, her eyes shining, her cheek
on fire, her voice thrilling with pride. She seemed not to feel the
cold. She welcomed the hardships of wind and falling snow as her
opportunity. She desired not only for escape, but also to endure.
Wogan looked her over from head to foot, filled with pride and
admiration. He had made no mistake; he had plucked this rose of the
world to give to his King. His eyes said it; and the girl, reading them,
drew a breath and rippled out a laugh of gladness that his trusted
servant was so well content with her. But the Princess-mother stood
unmoved.
"My daughter cannot go to-night," she repeated resentfully. "I do forbid
it."
Wogan had his one argument. This one argument was his last resource. He
had chosen it carefully with an eye to the woman whom it was to
persuade. It was not couched as an inducement; it did not claim the
discharge of an obligation; it was not a reply to any definite
objection. Such arguments would only have confirmed her in her
stubbornness. He made accordingly an appeal to sentiment.
"Your Highness's daughter," said he, "spoke a minute since of the
hazards my friends and I have run to compass her escape. As regards four
of us, the words reached beyond our deserts. For we are men. Such
hazards are our portion; they are seldom lightened by so high an aim.
But the fifth! The words, however kind, were still below that fifth
one's merits; for the fifth is a woman."