My uncle was at table, devouring his breakfast.

I stared at him with horror and disgust.

But dear Graeuben was there; so I said nothing, and could eat nothing.
At half-past five there was a rattle of wheels outside.

A large carriage was there to take us to the Altona railway station.

It was soon piled up with my uncle's multifarious preparations.
"Where's your box ?" he cried.
"It is ready," I replied, with faltering voice.
"Then make haste down, or we shall lose the train." It was now manifestly impossible to maintain the struggle against destiny.