t last, at its most
ravishing point, the lake ceased, and the lonely little pile of dingy
white masonry, which is Chillon, appeared. Few works of man have a
more romantic interest than this castle; but, seen from the lake, its
environment was too much for it. Had it plunged downward into the smooth
waters and vanished, its absence would not have been marked in that
stupendous landscape. But it improved greatly upon closer acquaintance;
and when we stood in its vaults, and saw the pillar to which the
prisoner was chained, and the hole in the floor, with its three steps of
stone, and the fourth of death, we felt that Chillon was not unequal to
its reputation.

After leaving Chillon and Geneva our faces were turned homeward, and we
hastened our steps. My father wrote to England to engage our passage for
the first of August. We were now at midsummer. We returned to Paris, and
after a few days there proceeded to Havre, in order to see Ada Shepard
safe on board her steamer for home; her Wanderjahre was over, and
she was now to be married to Henry Clay Badger. We were sorry to say
good-bye to her; she had been a faithful and valuable element in our
household, and she had become a dear friend and comrade. She stood
waving her handkerchief to us as her steamer slipped away down the
harbor. She, too, was sorry for the parting. She once had said to me: "I
think your father is the wisest man I ever knew; he does not seem ever
to say much, but what he does say is always the truest and best thing
that could be said."

From Havre we crossed the Channel to Southampton, and were soon in
London. Boston and Concord were only six weeks distant. Such, at any
rate, had been the original design. But after we reached London
the subject of the English copyright of The Marble Faun came up for
discussion. Henry Bright introduced Mr. Smith, of the firm of Smith,
Elder & Company, who made such proposals for the English publication
of the book as were not to be disregarded; but, in order to make them
available, it was necessary that the manuscript should be completed in
England. Nothing but the short sketch of it was as yet in existence; it
could not be written in much less than a year; either the English
offer must be rejected, or we must stay out that year in her Majesty's
dominions. My father decided, not altogether unwillingly, perhaps, to
stay. He had written in his journal a few weeks before: "Bennoch and
Henry Bright are the only two men in