And the rescue had been effected, and here was Clementina safe out of Austria, and Wogan sure of a deathless renown, of the accomplishment of an endeavour held absurd and preposterous; and these two short sentences were their summary and comment,-- "There are worse lives than a gipsy's." "Are there any better ?" Both had at this supreme crisis of their fortunes but the one thought,--that the only days through which they had really lived were those last two days of flight, of hurry, of hope alternating with despair, of light-hearted companionship, days never to be forgotten, when each snatched meal was a picnic seasoned with laughter, days of unharnessed freedom lived in the open air.
Clementina was the first to perceive that her behaviour fell below the occasion.

She was safe in Italy, journeying henceforward safely to her betrothed.

She spurred herself to understand it, she forced her lips to sing aloud the Te Deum.

Wogan looked at her in surprise as the first notes were sung, and the woful appeal in her eyes compelled him to as brave a show as he could make of joining in the hymn.

But the words faltered, the tune wavered, joyless and hollow in that empty morning.
"Drive on," said Clementina, suddenly; and she had a sense that she was being driven into bondage,--she who had just been freed.