Her steps slowed. Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. Wood cut him short by stating his intention of crossing the river as soon as possible in order to avoid the storm. At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. It made her laugh, which in turn made him laugh. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly.
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