It was that low musical, good-humoured laugh to which Wogan had never listened without a thrill of gladness, but it waked no response in him now.
"You told me of a white stone on which I might safely set my foot," she said.

"Well, sir, your white stone was straw." They were both to remember these words afterwards and to make of them a parable, but it seemed that Wogan barely heard them now.

"Come!" he said, and taking her arm he set off running again.
Clementina understood that something inopportune, something terrible, had happened since she had left the villa.

She asked no questions; she trusted herself without reserve to these true friends who had striven at such risks for her, she desired to prove to them that she was what they would have her be,--a girl who did not pester them with inconvenient chatter, but who could keep silence when silence was helpful, and face hardships with a buoyant heart.
They crossed the bridge and stopped before a pair of high folding doors.
They were the doors of the tavern.

Wogan drew a breath of relief, pulled the bobbin, and pushed the doors open.