A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns. But the world didn’t do that. There was a black fear in his heart. A slight cough uttered by Jonathan at the moment awakened the echoes of the place, and was returned in hollow reverberations. ” “Come, Molly,” said Mr.
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