Her hand found the latch, the door opened, and swiftly they were inside.

The lamp in the window was close to them, but for a space he could not see because of the water in his eyes.

He blinked it out, drew a hand across his face, and looked at Marette.

She stood three or four paces from him.
Her face was very white, and she was panting as if hard-run for breath, but her eyes were shining, and she was smiling at him.

The water was running from her in streams.
"You are wet," she said.