" "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. 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. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. “Oh, please. "Something's wrong. I should as soon think of trusting a woman.
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