Two or three old people knelt in prayer, their heads bowed against column or wall; remarking the strangers, they came 'up to them and begged.
"My spirits are disagreeably on the ebb," said Elgar.

"If it's to be a Scotch day, let us do some mountaineering." They struck up the gorge, intending to pursue the little river, but were soon lost among ascents and descents, narrow stairs, precipitous gardens, and noisy paper-mills.

Probably no unassisted stranger ever made his way out of Amalfi on to the mountain slopes.

They had scorned to take a guide, but did so at length in self-defence, so pestered were they by all but every person they passed; man, woman, and child beset them for soldi, either frankly begging or offering a direction and then extending their hands.

The paper-mills were not romantic; the old women who came along bending under huge bales of rags were anything but picturesque.