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. That is why I am glad that she has gone to London. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. She was only a few yards from the door, but lacked the courage to rise and fly. Adieu!" And, snatching a hasty kiss, he darted after Jack. Before midnight, I'll answer for it, it shall be done. "Don't speak ill of him behind his back, father," interposed Thames. .
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