" "To-morrow will be too late," said Sheppard, moodily. Lightheaded, she threw up in the courtyard of the Palazzo as servants crowded her in alarm. ’ But she reckoned without the fellow Trodger. The weather harmonized with their feelings. 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. Maggot. Coffee à la Turque wasn't so bad; but a guy couldn't soak his breakfast toast in it. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Unmindful of the terrors of the night, unscared by the danger that threatened him, Rowland consigned his sister's husband and his sister's child to the waves. He had no ideas about daughters. " "Yon ask impossibilities," replied Jonathan, sullenly.
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