Count Ferralti promised to join them later and rode on to the town to find a surgeon to look after his injured hand, while the others slowly mounted the long inclines leading in a zigzag fashion up to the old monastery, which was founded in the year 1212.
From the arbored veranda of this charming retreat is obtained one of the finest views in Europe, and while the girls sat enjoying it Uncle John arranged with a pleasant faced woman (who had once lived in America) for their luncheon.
An hour later, and just as they were sitting down to the meal, Count Ferralti rejoined them.

His hand was bandaged and supported by a sling, and in answer to Louise's gentle inquiries he said, simply: "It was as I had feared: a small bone snapped.

But my surgeon is skillful, and says time will mend the wrist as good as new." In spite of his courage he could eat no luncheon, but merely sipped a glass of wine; so Uncle John, alarmed at his pallor, insisted that he take a seat in the carriage on the return journey.

Beth wanted to ride the Count's horse home, but there was no side saddle to be had, so they led the animal by a halter fastened behind the ricketty carriage, and Beth mounted the box and rode beside her friend the driver.
The pleasant weather lasted until they neared Sorrento, when another shower of rain came up.

They reached their hotel damp and bedraggled, but enthusiastic over their wonderful trip and the interesting adventure it had incidentally developed..