to be applied to the sprained leg.

"The horse is a favourite?" asked the lady.

"Madam," said Wogan, with a laugh, "I would not lose that horse for all
the world, for the woman I shall marry will ride on it into my city of
dreams."

The lady stared, as she well might. She hesitated with her foot upon the
step.

"Is he sober?" she asked of the landlord.

"Madam," said the landlord, unabashed, "in this district he is nicknamed
the water drinker."

"You know him, then? He is Italian?"

"He is more. He is of Tuscany."

The landlord had never seen Wogan in his life before, but the lady
seemed to wish some assurance on the point, so he gave it. He shut the
carriage door, and Wogan cracked his whip.

The postillion's desires were of a piece with the lady's. They raced
across the valley, and as they climbed the slope beyond, the sun came
over the crests. One moment the dew upon the grass was like raindrops,
the next it shone like polished jewels. The postillion shouted a welcome
to the sun, and the lady proceeded to breakfast in her carriage. Wogan
had to snatch a meal as best he could while the horses were changed at