Then I didn't knock, but softly called Colin, who was waiting in the road, and together we looked in.

At a table in the centre of a barely furnished, brightly-lit room, an old woman and a young man were kneeling in prayer.

Colin and I stood a moment looking at them, and then softly took the road again.
But the inn, or rather the "hotel," did come at last.

Alas! however, for dreams of ruddy welcome--rubicund host, and capon turning on the spit.

In spite of German accents, we were walking in America, after all.