"Mr. Winnington!"
He looked up. An elderly woman, plain-featured, ill-dressed, stood beside him, her kind eyes blinking under the lamp overhead. He recognised Miss Dempsey, and grasped her by the hand.
"My dear lady, where have you sprung from?"
She hesitated, and then said, supporting herself on the parapet of the bridge, as though thankful for the momentary rest.
"I had to go in search of someone."
He knew very well what she meant.
"You've found her?"
"Yes."
"Can anyone help?"
"No. The poor thing's safe—with good people who understand."