"You might go around by carriage. There is a winding road, as I remember, but it takes much longer."
When they arrived at Orvieto, Marion, however, entered the strange little train that was to be pulled up the steep ascent by underneath cable.
"Look back at the view," urged Aunt Caroline, when they were almost at the top. Turning her head Irma beheld a beautiful sight, the broad valley lying far beneath and the distant hills. Then glancing toward Marion she saw that he was leaning upon the seat in front and steadying himself as if to brace himself against disaster.
"Sit up straight," called Uncle Jim, mischievously. "You cannot possibly fall out, and if the car slips we shall all perish together."
Then Irma noticed that Marion bit his lip, as if angry, and made no effort to look at the view.
A short drive from the end of the funicular brought them to an old-fashioned hotel.
"A little rest, a little déjeuner, and then the cathedral!" exclaimed Aunt Caroline. "I can hardly wait to see it. That is the only thing that brings people to this queer little town."
"It is surely a queer little hotel, and we are the only Americans here," thought Irma, observing the guests at the other tables, a stout, long-frocked priest, a uniformed officer, and two or three swarthy Italians, apparently prosperous business men.
Soon after déjeuner they set out, and a turn or two brought them to the piazza of the Duomo, or cathedral.