She sat down, hesitating, on a little bridge that spanned a horrible rushing white stream.

Poets have sung the glories of that stream, but it sent a shiver through her.

On all sides she was caged in by a ring of splendid mountains, but she did not give them one admiring glance (there is a special spot where the guide-books advise you to stop for a moment to do it); her one passionate desire was to fling out her arms and knock them over.
She had often walked twenty miles in a day, in a hill country too, without feeling tired, and there seemed no reason why she should not set off now.

There were many inns on the way, she was told, where she could pass the night.

There she could get the diligence next day.