How soft the ground is!" breathed Angel.

"Ay, and the Pool has no bottom," said the lamplighter.

"I can't think she'd have the heart to do it," said Martindale.

The Seraph screamed.

"There she is! I see her! Standing in the Pool!"

We ran to the brink. A cold air struck our faces. Our feet sank ankle-deep
in the mud. The cobbler did not stop, but ran on into the Pool, where the
shawled figure of a woman stood, covered to the waist by the sullen, black
water.

"Ada! Ada!" cried the cobbler, throwing his arms about her.

"Leave me go!" shrieked the woman. "I'm a-goin' to drownd myself!"

The struggle in the water, shattered the reflection of the moon like pale
amber glass. Once they both sank into the water; the lamplighter waving his
wand, and shouting. Then, at last, the four of us bent over them as they
lay, huddled, on the grass at the brink.

"You'd ought to be ashamed of yourself to worrit your 'usband so," said the
lamplighter, sternly.

"'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?"

"She came right down the road ahead of me," she answered, in a weak voice,
"and ran straight into the pool. When she was in, she grabbed the floating
image of the moon, and she said: 'I've got you, at last, you comical
villain!' And she laughed, and seemed to struggle with it, and she went
down."

"That'd be her, all right," said the lamplighter.

"Ada mine, Ada mine," mourned Martindale.

Angel and The Seraph and I clutched hands, and looked shudderingly into
Wumble Pool.

"That seemed to scare me like," went on the girl, "and I couldn't jump
right in, but I just crept, a step at a time, fearing I'd step on the
body."

"No danger," said The Seraph complacently, "there's no bot