He took a firmer hold, Barnabas was almost dragging him along, the silence was unbroken. Of the road they were following all that K. knew was that to judge from its surface they had not yet turned aside into a by-street. He vowed to himself that however difficult the way and however doubtful even the prospect of his being able to get back, he would not cease from going on. He would surely have strength enough to let himself be dragged. And the road must come to an end some time. By day the Castle had looked within easy reach, and, of course, the messenger would take the shortest cut.
At that moment Barnabas stopped. Where were they? Was this the end? Would Barnabas try to leave him? He wouldn’t succeed. K. clutched his arm so firmly that it almost made his hand ache. Or had the incredible happened, and were they already in the Castle or at its gates? But they had not done any climbing so far as K. could tell. Or had Barnabas taken him up by an imperceptibly mounting road? “Where are we?” said K. in a low voice, more to himself than to Barnabas. “At home,” said Barnabas in the same tone. “At home?” “Be careful now, sir, or you’ll slip. We go down here.” “Down?” “Only a step or two,” added Barnabas, and was already knocking at a door.
A girl opened it, and they were on the threshold of a large room almost in darkness, for there was no light save for a tiny oil lamp hanging over a table in the background. “Who is with you, Barnabas?” asked the girl. “The Land Surveyor,” said he. “The Land Surveyor,” repeated the girl in a louder voice, turning towards the table. Two old people there rose to their feet, a man and a woman, as well as another girl. They greeted K. Barnabas introduced the whole family, his parents and his sisters Olga and Amalia. K. scarcely glanced at them and let them take his wet coat off to dry at the stove.