in it and stray children play in it and a kind of
a gritty calm and bake settles on it and a peal
of church-bells is practising in the neighbourhood
it is a trifle dull, and never have I seen it
since at such a time and never shall I see
it evermore at such a time without seeing
the dull June evening when that forlorn young
creature sat at her open corner window on the
second and me at my open corner window
(the other corner) on the third. Something
merciful, something wiser and better far than
my own self, had moved me while it was yet
light to sit in my bonnet and shawl, and as
the shadows fell and the tide rose I could
sometimes—when I put out my head and looked
at her window below—see that she leaned
out a little looking down the street. It
was just settling dark when I saw her in the
street.

So fearful of losing sight of her that it almost
stops my breath while I tell it, I went down
stairs faster than I ever moved in all my life
and only tapped with my hand at the Major's
door in passing it and slipping out. She was gone
already. I made the same speed down the street
and when I came to the corner of Howard
Street I saw that she had turned it and was
there plain before me going towards the west.
O with what a thankful heart I saw her going
along!

She was quite unacquainted with London and
had very seldom been out for more than an
airing in our own street where she knew two or
three little children belonging to neighbours
and had sometimes stood among them at the
end of the street looking at the water. She
must be going at hazard I knew, still she kept
the by-streets quite correctly as long as they
would serve her, and then turned up into the
Strand. But at every corner I could see her head
turned one way, and that way was always the
river way.

It may have been only the darkness and quiet
of the Adelphi that caused her to strike into it
but she struck into it much as readily as if
she had set out to go there, which perhaps
was the case. She went straight down to the
Terrace and along it and looked over the iron
rail, and I often woke afterwards in my own
bed with the horror of seeing her doing it.
The desertion of the wharf below and the
flowing of the high water there seemed to
settle her purpose. She looked about as if to
make out the way down, and she struck out
the right way or the wrong way—I don't
know which, for I don't know the place
before or since—and I followed her the way she
went.

It was noticeable that all this time she never
once looked back. But there was now a great
change in the manner of her going, and instead
of going at a steady quick walk with her arms
folded before her,—among the dark dismal
arches she went in a wild way with her arms
opened wide, as if they were wings and she was
flying to her death.

We were on the wharf and she stopped. I
stopped. I saw her hands at her bonnet-strings,
and I rushed between her and the brink and
took her round the waist with both my arms.
She might have drowned me, I felt then, but
she could never have got quit of me.

Down to that moment my mind had been all
in a maze and not half an idea had I had in it
what I should say to her, but the instant I
touched her it came to me like magic and I had
my natural voice and my senses and even almost
my breath.

"Mrs. Edson!" I says " My dear! Take care.
How ever did you lose your way and stumble
on a dangerous place like this? Why you
must have come here by the most perplexing
streets in all London. No wonder you are lost,
I am sure. And this place too! Why I thought
nobody ever got here, except me to order my
coals and the Major in the parlours to smoke his
cigar!"—for I saw that blessed man close by,
pretending to it.

"Hah—Hah—Hum!" coughs the Major.

"And good gracious me" I says, " why here
he is!"

"Halloa! who goes there!" says the Major
in a military manner.

"Well!" I says, "if this don't beat everything!
Don't yon know us Major Jackman?"

"Halloa!" says the Major. "Who calls on
Jemmy Jackman?" (and more out of breath he
was, and did it less like life, than I should have
expected).

"Why here's Mrs. Edson Major" I says,
"strolling out to cool her poor head which has
been very bad, has missed her way and got lost,
and Goodness knows where she might have got
to but for me coming here to drop an order
into my coal merchant's letter-box and you
coming here to smoke your cigar!—And you
really are not well enough my dear" I says to
her " to be half so far from home without me.
—And your arm will be very acceptable I am
sure Major" I says to him "and I know she
may lean upon it as heavy as she likes." And
now we had both got her—thanks be Above!—
one on each side.

She was all in a cold shiver and she so
continued till I laid her on her own bed, and up to
the early morning she held me by the hand and
moaned and moaned "O wicked, wicked, wicked!"
But when at last I made believe to droop my
head and be overpowered with a dead sleep, I
heard that poor young creature give such
touching and such humble thanks for being
preserved from taking her own life in her
madness that I thought I should have cried
my eyes out on the counterpane and I knew
she was safe.

Being well enough to do and able to afford
it, me and the Major laid our little plans
next day while she was asleep worn out,
and so I says to her as soon as I could do it
nicely:

"Mrs. Edson my dear, when Mr. Edson paid
me the rent for these further six months—"

She gave a start and I felt her large eyes look