Sheppard. 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 not such a bad sort. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. ” She gasped. Tell her, that more than once, when about to commit some desperate offence, I have been restrained by her gentle image. I did not choose to mention my knowledge of this fact to your worthy father; but you may rely on its correctness. I had no curiosity of that kind. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape.
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