"Ada! Ada!" cried the cobbler, throwing his arms about her.
"Leave me go!" shrieked the woman. "I'm a-goin' to drownd myself!"
The struggle in the water, shattered the reflection of the moon like pale amber glass. Once they both sank into the water; the lamplighter waving his wand, and shouting. Then, at last, the four of us bent over them as they lay, huddled, on the grass at the brink.
"You'd ought to be ashamed of yourself to worrit your 'usband so," said the lamplighter, sternly.
"'Usband!" cried the woman, shrilly. "I've got no 'usband!"
The cobbler gave a cry of fear. He pulled the shawl from her head and felt the face and hair.
"God's truth!" he muttered, "I've saved the wrong woman."
"Better fwow her back again," suggested The Seraph.
"Nay, nay, little man," said the lamplighter, holding his light close to her face. "That would never do. Besides, her be young and winsome."
"I'd keep her," said Angel.
"Whoever are you, lass?" asked Martindale, in a trembling voice, "and why did you plan to make way with yourself?"
[271]
