Mounting the door he had last opened, he placed his hands on the wall above, and quickly drew himself up. Water poured into her eyes, nose, and mouth in a torrent from which she had to turn and wheeze. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses. Firmly built, as it was, the bridge creaked in such a manner with their contending efforts, that Abraham durst not venture beyond the door, where he stood, holding the light, a horrified spectator of the scene.
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