"At first the police got on to my track thinking something was wrong; but it took 'bout two words to set 'em right, as it did every other man that come near me; and soon I went and come and no questions asked. "One night I 'd been down to one of the North River piers. It was in December, and a howling northeaster had set in just before sundown. It was sleeting and snowing and blowing a little harder than even I could stand. I had just crossed the street from the pier and was thanking God, as I covered my head closer with my shawl, that, so far as I knew, no one of His children was tired of living, when something--I did n't see what for I was bending over against the wind--went by me with a rush, and I thought I heard a groan. I turned as quick as a flash, and see something dark running, swaying, stumbling across the street, headed for the pier. That was enough for me. "I caught up my skirt and give chase. How the woman, for it was one, could get over the ground so fast was a mystery, except that she was running with the wind. She was on to the pier in no time. I cried 'Stop!' and 'Watch!' I don't think she heard me. Once she nearly fell, and I thought I had her I was so close to her; but she was up and off again before I could lay hand on her. Then I shouted; and the Lord must have lent me Gabriel's trump, for the woman turned once, and when she see me she threw out her hands and fairly flew. "The Sound steamer had n't gone out, the night was so thick and bad, and the cabin lights alongside shone out bright enough for me to mark her as she dodged this way and that trying to get to the end of the pier. "She knew I was after her, and I was n't going to give up. But when I see the make-fast, and all around it the yeasting white on water as black as ink, and she standing there with her arms up ready to jump, my knees knocked together. Somehow I managed to get hold of her dress--but she did n't move; and all of a sudden, before I could get my arms around her, she dropped in a heap, groaning: 'My child--my child--' "I 've always thought 't was then her heart broke. "A deck-hand on the steamer heard me screech, and together we got her on the floor of the lower deck. We did what we could for her, and when she 'd come to, they got me a hack and I took her home, laid her on my bed, and sent the hackman for Doctor Rugvie. He 's been my right-hand man all these years. He stayed with her till daylight. He told me she 'd never come through alive; the heart action was all wrong.