Half an hour later a carriage drew up at the lodge gate. A cold supper, of which Mrs. Brevoort and Ned Strong had partaken with forced gayety, had vindicated Prince Carlo’s assertion that the danger of immediate starvation had never been imminent. But the sound of carriage-wheels came as a great relief to them all, for the gloomy features of their environment had been emphasized as time passed by. Ned Strong had held a whispered consultation in the corridor with Posadowski, who had come down from the manor-house for instructions, and the train of thought suggested by his visit had not tended to decrease the melancholy nature of their surroundings.
As the carriage rolled away from the lodge entrance, with Mrs. Brevoort and Ned Strong facing Kate and Prince Carlo, who occupied the back seat, a simultaneous sigh of relief broke from the quartette.
“This is a new sensation,” whispered Mrs. Brevoort to Ned Strong. “Breaking jail with a captive prince! Is it not delightful?”
“Which is the captive prince?” returned Ned, bending down to get a better view of her face.
“Never mind,” she answered. “I was about to say that nobody fully appreciates freedom until he has spent a certain amount of time in captivity.”
Her remark silenced the youth for a moment. The longer he weighed it, the more discouraging did it seem to him.
“Perhaps,” he suggested, “there may be a vast difference in jailers.”
“Ah, but you beg the question,” exclaimed Mrs. Brevoort argumentatively.
“I fear,” he put in, hastily, “that that is all I have the courage to do with it. There is always safety in begging a question. Such a course at least defers the day of doom.”