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. ’ It had not before occurred to him, but this realisation fuelled the general’s growing conviction that he was being imposed upon in some way. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. Oh, Heavens; that I should have ever indulged a hope of happiness while that terrible man lives!" "Compose yourself, Joan," said Wood; "all will yet be well.
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