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. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. "Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage. “I do hope that I shall be able to make it up to you.
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