ons to gentlemanly address, came from beneath
the archway and begged of me, assuring me most solemnly that, as far as
he was concerned, the game was played out, and if I did not comply with
his request, he would forthwith end his troubles in the river. I gave
him something--I can not now remember what--and then, crossing the road,
made my way along the Embankment toward Cleopatra's Needle. The rain had
ceased for the moment, and in the north a few stars were shining. The
myriad lights of the Embankment were reflected in the river like lines
of dancing fire, and I remember that behind me a train was rolling
across the bridge from Charing Cross with a noise like distant thunder.
I suppose I must have been thinking of my picture, and of the land and
period which had given me the idea. At any rate, I know that on this
occasion the ancient monument in front of which I soon found myself
affected me as it had never done before. I thought of the centuries that
had passed since those hieroglyphics were carved upon the stone, of the
changes the world had seen since that giant monolith first saw the light
of day. Leaning my elbows on the parapet, I was so absorbed in my own
thoughts that when a sudden cry of "Help, help!" rang out from the river
it was with a sensible shock that I returned to the commonplace and
found myself standing where I was. A moment later I was all action. The
cry had come from the other side of the Needle. I accordingly hastened
to the steps farthest from me, shouting, as I went, in my excitement,
that a man was drowning. It might have all been part of some evil
dream--the long line of silent Embankment on either side, the
swiftly-flowing river, and that despairing appeal for help coming so
suddenly out of the black darkness. Then I became aware that I was not
alone on the steps. There was another man there, and he stood
motionless, peering out into the dark stream, scarcely a dozen paces
from me.

I had reached the top of the steps and was about to descend them in
order to accost him, when something occurred which stopped me and held
me spell-bound. The moon had emerged from its pall of cloud and was now
shining clear and bright across the river. Thirty seconds must have
elapsed since we had heard the cry for assistance, and now, as I looked,
the drowning man was washed in at the foot of the steps upon which we
stood. It would have needed but the least movement on the part of the
man below me to have caugh