door and had jumped out. Dorrimore, intent upon parleying with the
waggoner, had either not heard the smash or had attributed the cause to
anything but the real one.

The group were startled by the flying figure. In her haste and agitation
she had stumbled on alighting and would have fallen but for a man who
caught her.

"S'death madam, are you hurt?" she heard him say.

"No, no. For Heaven's sake don't stay me. I'm in great danger. I'm
running from an enemy. Oh, let me go--let me go!"

"But you're wounded. See."

Blood was on her arm. A drop or two had fallen on the man's ruffles. She
had cut herself in her wild thrust through the jagged hole in the door.

"It's nothing," she breathed. "Oh, if you've any pity don't keep me."

The man made no reply. He whipped out his handkerchief, tied it round
the cut and holding her arm tightly, forced a way through the crowd
towards the Southwark side of the bridge.

He might have got her away unobserved had it not been for Dorrimore's
coachman. The fellow uttered a yell and leaving his horses to take care
of themselves leaped from the box.

"A guinea to any one who stops that woman," he shouted.