CHAPTER XV.
Wogan jumped down from his box and ran to the carriage-door.
"Her Highness is ill ?" he cried in suspense.
"Not the least bit in the world," returned Clementina, whose voice for once in a way jarred upon Wogan's ears.

Nothing short of a positive sickness could justify the delay.
"What is it, then ?" he asked curtly, almost roughly, of Mrs.Misset.
"You carried a packet for her Highness.

It is left behind at the tavern." Wogan stamped impatiently on the ground.
"And for this, for a petticoat or two, you hinder us," he cried in a heat.

"There's no petticoat in the world, though it were so stiff with gold that it stood on end of itself, that's worth a single second of the next forty-eight hours." "But it contains her Highness's jewels." Wogan's impatience became an exasperation.

Were all women at heart, then, no better than Indian squaws?
A string of beads outweighed the sacrifices of friends and the chance of a crown! There was a blemish in his idol, since at all costs she must glitter.