At all events, here they were together now. That was
quite enough.
The two ladies had gone in, and closed their window.
The sophisticated birds, with a few ungrateful croaks
of remonstrance, had drifted away again to the water.
His niece had disappeared from his elbow. Still Thorpe
remained with his arms folded on the railing, his eyes fixed
on the vacant balcony, below to the left.
When at last he went inside, the young people were waiting
for him with the project of a stroll before dinner.
The light was failing, but there was plenty of time.
They had ascertained the direction in which Chillon lay;
a servant had assured them that it was only a few minutes'
walk, and Alfred was almost certain that he had seen it from
the window.
Thorpe assented with a certain listlessness, which they
had never noted in his manner before, but when Julia begged
him not to stir if he were in the slightest degree tired,
he replied honestly enough that he would do anything
rather than be left alone. Then, of course, they said,
there should be no walk, but to this he would not listen.
The party trooped downstairs, accordingly, and out into
the street. The walking was vile, but, as Julia had long
ago said, if they were to be deterred by slush they would
never get anywhere or see anything.
It proved to be too late and too dark to either enter
the castle or get much of an idea of its exterior.
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