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It was a blowing； moon…lit night。 The gaslights flickered and
wavered in the gusts of wind。 It was cold； very cold for the
season。 Even Falconer buttoned his coat over his chest。 He got a
few paces in advance of me sometimes； when I saw him towering black
and tall and somewhat gaunt； like a walking shadow。 The wind
increased in violence。 It was a north…easter； laden with dust； and
a sense of frozen Siberian steppes。 We had to stoop and head it at
the corners of streets。 Not many people were out； and those who
were； seemed to be hurrying home。 A few little provision…shops； and
a few inferior butchers' stalls were still open。 Their great jets
of gas； which looked as if they must poison the meat； were flaming
fierce and horizontal； roaring like fiery flags； and anon dying into
a blue hiss。 Discordant singing； more like the howling of wild
beasts； came from the corner houses； which blazed like the gates of
hell。 Their doors were ever on the swing； and the hot odours of
death rushed out； and the cold blast of life rushed in。 We paused a
little before one of themover the door； upon the sign； was in very
deed the name Death。 There were ragged women within who took their
half…dead babies from their bare； cold； cheerless bosoms； and gave
them of the poison of which they themselves drank renewed despair in
the name of comfort。 They say that most of the gin consumed in
London is drunk by women。 And the little clay…coloured baby…faces
made a grimace or two； and sank to sleep on the thin tawny breasts
of the mothers； who having gathered courage from the essence of
despair； faced the scowling night once more； and with bare necks and
hopeless hearts wentwhither？ Where do they all go when the
gin…hells close their yawning jaws？ Where do they lie down at
night？ They vanish like unlawfully risen corpses in the graves of
cellars and garrets； in the charnel…vaults of pestiferously…crowded
lodging…houses； in the prisons of police…stations； under dry arches；
within hoardings； or they make vain attempts to rest the night out
upon door…steps or curbstones。 All their life long man denies them
the one right in the soil which yet is so much theirs； that once
that life is over； he can no longer deny itthe right of room to
lie down。 Space itself is not allowed to be theirs by any right of
existence： the voice of the night…guardian commanding them to move
on； is as the howling of a death…hound hunting them out of the air
into their graves。
In St。 James's we came upon a group around the gates of a great
house。 Visitors were coming and going； and it was a show to be had
for nothing by those who had nothing to pay。 Oh！ the children with
clothes too ragged to hold pockets for their chilled hands； that
stared at the childless duchess descending from her lordly carriage！
Oh！ the wan faces； once lovely as theirs； it may be； that gazed
meagre and pinched and hungry on the young maidens in rose…colour
and blue； tripping lightly through the avenue of their eager
eyesnot yet too envious of unattainable felicity to gaze with
admiring sympathy on those who seemed to them the angels； the
goddesses of their kind。 'O God！' I thought； but dared not speak；
'and thou couldst make all these girls so lovely！ Thou couldst give
them all the gracious garments of rose and blue and white if thou
wouldst！ Why should these not be like those？ They are hungry even；
and wan and torn。 These too are thy children。 There is wealth
enough in thy mines and in thy green fields； room enough in thy
starry spaces； O God！' But a voicethe echo of Falconer's
teaching； awoke in my heart'Because I would have these more
blessed than those； and those more blessed with them； for they are
all my children。'
By the Mall we came into Whitehall； and so to Westminster Bridge。
Falconer had changed his mind； and would cross at once。 The
present bridge was not then finished； and the old bridge alongside
of it was still in use for pedestrians。 We went upon it to reach
the other side。 Its centre rose high above the other； for the line
of the new bridge ran like a chord across the arc of the old。
Through chance gaps in the boarding between； we looked down on the
new portion which was as yet used by carriages alone。 The moon had；
throughout the evening； alternately shone in brilliance from amidst
a lake of blue sky； and been overwhelmed in billowy heaps of
wind…tormented clouds。 As we stood on the apex of the bridge；
looking at the night； the dark river； and the mass of human effort
about us； the clouds gathered and closed and tumbled upon her in
crowded layers。 The wind howled through the arches beneath； swept
along the boarded fences； and whistled in their holes。 The
gas…lights blew hither and thither； and were perplexed to live at
all。
We were standing at a spot where some shorter pieces had been used
in the hoarding； and； although I could not see over them； Falconer；
whose head rose more than half a foot above mine； was looking on the
other bridge below。 Suddenly he grasped the top with his great
hands； and his huge frame was over it in an instant。 I was on the
top of the hoarding the same moment； and saw him prostrate some
twelve feet below。 He was up the next instant； and running with
huge paces diagonally towards the Surrey side。 He had seen the
figure of a woman come flying along from the Westminster side；
without bonnet or shawl。 When she came under the spot where we
stood； she had turned across at an obtuse angle towards the other
side of the bridge； and Falconer； convinced that she meant to throw
herself into the river； went over as I have related。 She had all
but scrambled over the fencefor there was no parapet yetby the
help of the great beam that ran along to support it； when he caught
her by her garments。 So poor and thin were those garments； that if
she had not been poor and thin too； she would have dropped from them
into the darkness below。 He took her in his arms； lifted her down
upon the bridge； and stood as if protecting her from a pursuing
death。 I had managed to find an easier mode of descent； and now
stood a little way from them。
'Poor girl！ poor girl！' he said； as if to himself： 'was this the
only way left？'
Then he spoke tenderly to her。 What he said I could not hearI
only heard the tone。
'O sir！' she cried； in piteous entreaty； 'do let me go。 Why should
a wretched creature like me be forced to live？ It's no good to you；
sir。 Do let me go。'
'Come here；' he said； drawing her close to the fence。 'Stand up
again on the beam。 Look down。'
She obeyed； in a mechanical kind of way。 But as he talked； and she
kept looking down on the dark mystery beneath； flowing past with
every now and then a dull vengeful glittercontinuous； forceful；
slow； he felt her shudder in his still clasping arm。
'Look；' he said； 'how it crawls alongblack and slimy！ how silent
and yet how fierce！ Is that a nice place to go to down there？
Would there be any rest there； do you think； tumbled about among
filth and creeping things； and slugs that feed on the dead； among
drowned women like yourself drifting by； and murdered men； and
strangled babies？ Is that the door by which you would like to go
out of the world？'
'It's no worse；' she faltered； 'not so bad as what I should leave
behind。'
'If this were the only way out of it； I would not keep you from it。
I would say； 〃Poor thing！ there is no help： she must go。〃 But
there is another way。'
'There is no other way； sirif you knew all；' she said。
'Tell me； then。'
'I cannot。 I dare not。 PleaseI would rather go。'
She looked； from the mere glimpses I could get of her； somewhere
about five…and…twenty； making due allowance for the wear of
suffering so evident even in those glimpses。 I think she might have
been beautiful if the waste of her history could have been restored。
That she had had at least some advantages of education； was evident
from both her tone and her speech。 But oh； the wild eyes； and the
tortured lips； drawn back from the teeth with an agony of
hopelessness； as she struggled anew； perhaps mistrusting them； to
escape from the great arms that held her！
'But the river cannot drown you；' Falconer said。 'It can only stop
your breath。 It cannot stop your thinking。 You will go on
thinking； thinking； all the same。 Drowning people remember in a
moment all their past lives。 All their evil deeds come up before
them； as if they were doing them all over again。 So they plunge
back into the past and all its misery。 While their bodies are
drowning； their souls are coming more and more awake。'
'That is dreadful；' she murmured； with her great eyes fixed on his；
and growing steadier in their regard。 She had ceased to struggle；
so he had slackened his hold of her； and she was leaning back
against the fence。
'And then；' he went on； 'what if；