Clementina looked up at the bluff
indifferently and made no answer. She only spoke as Wogan drove past
the church-door, and the sound of the priest's voice came droning out to
them.
"Will you wait for me?" she asked. "I will not be long."
Wogan stopped the pony.
"You would give thanks?" said he. "I understand."
"I would pray for an honest heart wherewith to give honest thanks," said
Clementina, in a low voice; and she added hastily, "There is a life of
ceremonies, there is a life of cities before me. I have lived under the
skies these last two days."
She went into the church, shrouding her face in her hood, and kneeled
down before a rush chair close to the door. A sense of gratitude,
however, was not that morning to be got by any prayers, however earnest.
It was merely a distaste for ceremonies and observances, she strenuously
assured herself, that had grown upon her during these ten days. She
sought to get rid of that distaste, as she kneeled, by picturing in her
thoughts the Prince to whom she was betrothed. She recalled the
exploits, the virtues, which Wogan had ascribed to him; she stamped them
upon the picture.
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