They were waiting just inside the door, anxious and trembling. But I was amazed to find them so little panic-stricken. The little girl had her doll in her arms. [Illustration with caption: The cathedral spire... was swaying and rocking in the air like the mast of a ship at sea.] “What is it?” asked my wife. “What must we do?” “Come,” I cried. “Something frightful has happened here. I can't explain now. We must get away at once. Come, quickly.” Then I took a hand of each and we hastened through the streets, vaguely steering away from the centre of the city. Presently we came into that wide new street of mean houses, of which I have already spoken. There were a few people in it, but they moved heavily and feebly, as if some mortal illness lay upon them. Their faces were pale and haggard with a helpless anxiety to escape more quickly. The houses seemed half deserted. The shades were drawn, the doors closed. But since it was all so quiet, I thought that we might find some temporary shelter there. So I knocked at the door of a house where there was a dim light behind the drawn shade in one of the windows. After a while the door was opened by a woman who held the end of her shawl across her mouth. All that I could see was the black sorrow of her eyes. “Go away,” she said slowly; “the plague is here. My children are dying of it. You must not come in! Go away.” So we hurried on through that plague-smitten street, burdened with a new fear. Soon we saw a house on the riverside which looked absolutely empty. The shades were up, the windows open, the door stood ajar. I hesitated; plucked up courage; resolved that we must get to the waterside in some way in order to escape from the net of death which encircled us. “Come,” I said, “let us try to go down through this house. But cover your mouths.” We groped through the empty passageway, and down the basement-stair. The thick cobwebs swept my face. I noted them with joy, for I thought they proved that the house had been deserted for some time, and so perhaps it might not be infected. We descended into a room which seemed to have been the kitchen. There was a stove dimly visible at one side, and an old broken kettle on the floor, over which we stumbled. The back door was locked. But it swung outward as I broke it open. We stood upon a narrow, dingy beach, where the small waves were lapping. By this time the “little day” had begun to whiten the eastern sky; a pallid light was diffused; I could see westward down to the main harbor, beside the heart of the city. The sails and smoke-stacks of great ships were visible, all passing out to sea. I wished that we were there. Here in front of us the water seemed shallower. It was probably only a tributary or backwater of the main stream. But it was sprinkled with smaller vessels--sloops, and yawls, and luggers--all filled with people and slowly creeping seaward.