moaning cry.

"Oh, poor lady!" whispered Pollie to her friend.

"She ain't no lady, though she be so smart in a silk gown and rings on
her fingers," replied her companion in the same low tone.

"What is she then?" asked the child.

Poor Sally Grimes! her education had hitherto been confined to the
London streets, and that training had made her but too well acquainted
with life in its worst phases; so she replied--

"She's only some poor creature---- I say!" was her exclamation, as
suddenly she started up, "what be yer going to do?"

The latter part of this sentence was addressed to the stranger, who had
sprung upon the stone parapet, and was about to throw herself into the
deep waters beneath.

"Let me die! let me die!" she cried, wildly struggling to free herself
from sturdy Sally's strong grasp.

"No, I won't!" was the reply. "Here, Pollie, you hold hard too."

"Oh, in mercy, in pity, let me die!" sobbed the unhappy creature in her
agony. "Oh, if you only knew how I want to be at rest for ever!" and
again she struggled franticly to escape from the saving hands that held
her.

"Now, if yer don't get down and sit quiet on this seat, I'll call that
there peeler, and then he'll take yer to Bow Street," exclaimed the
undaunted Sally. "Ain't yer 'shamed to talk like that? Now, come, I'll
call him if yer don't do what I say."

Frightened by this threat, or perhaps seeing how fruitless were her
feeble struggles against the strong grasp of her preserver, the unhappy
girl--she was but a girl--shrank down submissively on to the seat, still
trembling and moaning, whilst brave-hearted Sally stood over her to
prevent any further attempt at self-destruction. Pollie looked on in
bewildered surprise at this sad scene, not knowing what to make of it;
but she still kept her hold on the woman's dress, as if her small
strength could be of any service; but Sally had told her to "hold on,"
and so she obeyed.

The woman was now sobbing bitterly. It was more than the child could
bear to see any one in tears, so laying her little hand tenderly upon
the sorrow-bowed head, she said very gently--

"Please don't cry, ma'am; it makes Sally and me so sad."

At that soft touch and soothing voice the woman looked up, and then the
two children saw that she was very beautiful even now,--mere wreck as
she seemed to be of all that is pure and lovely.

"Child!" she cried, "do you know what you touch?--a wretch not fit to
crawl the earth