’ ‘I am not the imbecile you take me for,’ Gerald said with dangerous calm. 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. You'll do. "He is dying?" whispered Ruth. "Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. ‘Wait a minute, though. . "For the sake of the girl. But here I am to draw upon. ’ He looked the girl up and down. Gerald’s gaze bored into hers.
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