"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."