nine o'clock
`` Do you know what that is ? That 's the dome of St. Peter 's ! Rome , my child , Rome ! '' It was nine o'clock when we arrived at our destination , and in the midst of a great confusion I walked by Father Dan 's side and held on to his vertical pocket , while he carried his own bag , and a basket of mine , down the crowded platform to an open cab outside the station . Then Father Dan wiped his forehead with his print handkerchief and I sat close up to him , and the driver cracked his long whip and shouted at the pedestrians while we rattled on and on over stony streets , which seemed to be full of statues and fountains that were lit up by a great white light that was not moonlight and yet looked like it . But at last we stopped at a little door of a big house which seemed to stand , with a church beside it , on a high shelf overlooking the city , for I could see many domes like that of St. Peter lying below us . A grill in the little door was first opened and then a lady in a black habit , with a black band round her forehead and white bands down each side of her face , opened the door itself , and asked us to step in , and when we had done so , she took us down a long passage into a warm room , where another lady , dressed in the same way , only a little grander , sat in a big red arm-chair .