"'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?"
The moon shone wanly on the girl's face and wet hair.
"I'm nobody," she wailed, "and I be tired of life."
"Did you see aught of a strange woman?" asked Martindale. "One who was talking about the moon, and her head a-whirling?"