Jack.

"Not at all. Don't you see, at night there would be nobody on their
silly old Pass that they make such a fuss about. Even in daylight
diligences don't go over the St. Gothard in our times, and at night
there'd be _nothing_, so we couldn't expose man or beast to danger.
We'd rush the _douanes_, or whatever they call them on passes, and if
we _were_ caught, what are five thousand francs?"

"I wouldn't dream of letting you do such a thing for me," I broke in
hurriedly. "If Airolo or the neighbourhood turns out to be the happy
hunting ground of the sedate mule or pensive _âne_, I will simply take
train----"

"You will take the train, if you take it, over Jack's and my dead
bodies," remarked Molly coldly.

"It would be rather sport to rush the Pass at night," said Jack.

"Oh, you darling!" cried Molly, "I've never loved you so much."

This naturally settled it.

We walked down to the town by an exquisite path leading through dark,
mysterious pine forests; where the slim, straight trunks of the tall
trees seemed tightly stretched, like the strings of a great harp, and
where melancholy, elusive music was played always by the wind spirits.
In Lucerne we did not, as Molly had suggested, ask everybody to stand
and deliver information, but we compromised by visiting tourists'
bureaux. At these places the verdict was an echo of our landlord's,