She turned to the low open fence of the little cemetery.
"Come, we can pretend to be tombs," she cried, and whirled Blue over the fence.

They climbed and ran like a streak of light, and before the drunkards were passing the place, the girls were well back among marble gravestones.
Some artistic instinct warned them that two such queer monuments ought to be widely apart to escape notice.

So, in the gathering dimness, each knelt stock still, without even the comfort of the other's proximity to help her through the long, long, awful minutes while the roisterous company were passing by.

The men proceeded slowly; happily they had no interest in inspecting the gravestones of the little cemetery; but had they been gazing over the fence with eager eyes, and had their designs been nothing short of murderous upon any monument they chanced to find alive, the hearts of the two erring maidens could not have beat with more intense alarm.

Fear wrought in them that sort of repentance which fear is capable of working.