" "It matters not what I think," replied Wild. 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. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. "You have killed him," cried Winifred in alarm. " "You never told me what he is like," said Spurlock. . ’ He sat up. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. Somehow logic could not explain her. “You ought at once—you ought at once to have told her that. . "'Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. "Jack Sheppard's mother," answered the little girl, dejectedly; "she has brought a basket of eggs from Willesden, and some flowers for you. Activity in the hall intensified. .
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