‘I suppose I need not ask to which other soldier you refer. ‘Until today. I had never dreamed of such a friend as you. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. 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. His title has descended to Rowland: his estates to Aliva. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. ToC The day appointed for the execution was now close at hand, and the prisoner, who seemed to have abandoned all hopes of escape, turned his thoughts entirely from worldly considerations.
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