Beyond the door stretched a level space of grass intersected by a gravel
path. Along this path the servant led Wogan and his companion into the
house. There were lights in the windows on the upper floor, and a small
lamp illuminated the hall. But the lower rooms were dark. The servant
mounted the stairs, and opening the door of a little library, announced
the Chevalier Wogan. Wogan led his companion in by the hand.
"Your Highness," said he, "I have the honour to present to you the
Princess Maria Vittoria Caprara." He left the two women standing
opposite to and measuring each other silently; he closed the door and
went down stairs into the hall. A door in the hall opened on to a small
parlour, with windows giving on to the garden. There once before Lady
Featherstone and Harry Whittington had spoken of Wogan's love for the
Princess Clementina and speculated upon its consequences. Now Wogan sat
there alone in the dark, listening to the women's voices overhead. He
had come to the end of his efforts and could only wait. At all events,
the women were talking, that was something; if he could only hear them
weeping! The sound of tears would have been very comforting to Wogan at
that moment, but he only heard the low voices talking, talking. He
assured himself over and over again that this meeting could not fail of
its due result. That Maria Vittoria had exacted some promise which held
his King in Spain he was now aware. She would say what that promise was,
the condition of their parting. She had come prepared to say it--and the
thread of Wogan's reasonings was abruptly cut. It seemed to him that he
heard something more than the night breeze through the trees,--a sound
of feet upon the gravel path, a whispering of voices.
The windows were closed, but not shuttered. Wogan pressed his eyes to
the pane and looked out. The night was dark, and the sky overclouded.
But he had been sitting for some minutes in the darkness, and his eyes
were able to prove that his ears had not deceived him. For he saw the
dim figures of two men standing on the lawn before the window. They
appeared to be looking at the lighted windows on the upper floor, then
one of them waved to his companion to stand still, and himself walked
towards the door. Wogan noticed that he made no attempt at secrecy; he
walked with a firm tread, careless whether he set his foot on gravel or
on grass. As this man approached the door, Wogan slipped into the hall
and opened it. But he blocked the doorway, wondering whether these men
had climbed the wall or whether O'Toole had deserted his post.