He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. "Strange!" he continued, as if talking to himself. She was by his side. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. Darting quickly to the chest that contained the priest’s vestments, she leapt onto it and reached her arm down to scrabble behind it on the floor.
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