"I think we had better get under the veranda of the old chalet.

It is not half a minute's walk from here." "But we have no right--" Here the sky darkened threateningly.

Miss Wilson checked herself and said, "I suppose it is still empty." "Of course," replied Agatha, impatient to be moving.

"It is almost a ruin." "Then let us go there, by all means," said Miss Wilson, not disposed to stand on trifles at the risk of a bad cold.
They hurried on, and came presently to a green hill by the wayside.

On the slope was a dilapidated Swiss cottage, surrounded by a veranda on slender wooden pillars, about which clung a few tendrils of withered creeper, their stray ends still swinging from the recent wind, now momentarily hushed as if listening for the coming of the rain.