Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. She was, she guessed, close to the library. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. She rose from her chair, and began walking up and down the room restlessly. 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. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money.
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