ther side of the St. Gothard, and automobiles aren't
allowed on the Swiss passes," remarked Jack.

This, to me, sounded final, so far as Airolo was concerned, but not so
with the Honourable Mrs. Winston!

"What do they do to you if you _do_ go?" she asked, turning slightly
pale.

"They fined an American gentleman who crossed the Simplon in his
automobile last year, five thousand francs," answered Herr Widmer.

"Oh!" said she. "So an American did go over one of the passes? Well,
thank you _so_ much; we must decide what to do, and talk it over with
you again later. Meanwhile, we're very happy, for it's lovely here."

Hardly had the door of the sitting-room closed on our host, when
Molly, with the air of having a gun-powder plot to unfold, beckoned us
both to come near. "I'll tell you what we'll do," said she, in a
half-whisper, when surrounded by her body-guard of two. "First, we'll
ask _everybody_ in Lucerne whether there are any mules or donkeys on
the spot, just in case Herr Widmer might be mistaken; if there aren't
any, let's go over the St. Gothard _in the middle of the night_."

"Good heavens, what a desperate character I've married!" exclaimed
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 _ane_, 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 visiti