" "It won't. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. “I hope that it has not done any harm. I just want him, and no one else will do. . Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed. 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. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful. Sheppard, passing her hands over his face, and gazing at him with a look that made him shudder. “You must tell me the truth, please. But I do not love you. .
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