" "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. " "Bah!" returned the woollen-draper. 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. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. Fruit trees had been brought all the way from India so their product could be laden on the wedding table, fruits with exotic shapes and haunting flavors ended the meal, cleansing the palate.
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