The light was behind, within the room, so that Wogan could not see the face.

But the shape of the head, its gracious poise upon the young shoulders, the curve of the neck, the bright hair drawn backwards from the brows,--here were marks Wogan could not mistake.

They had been present before his eyes these many months.

The head at the open window was the head of the Princess.
Wogan felt a thrill run through his blood.

To a lover the sight of his mistress is always unexpected, though he foreknows the very moment of her coming.