She lowered her eyes to the shining intricacies of the waterways, the wide dock basins, the locks, the river and its arms, all spanned by bridges. She saw the masts of sailing ships rising from the midst of houses, like slender chimneys for these roofs of many colours and varying heights. There was dirty smoke issuing from tugs to throw a mourning veil over the water, there were shouts and whistlings and hootings, low-voiced warnings from the steamers, shrill shrieks of joy. "We're going! Look out!" they grunted, and then, on a cry, "We're free! We're free!" She could stay indoors no longer, and she pulled on her clothes. When she reached the docks a sailing ship was in the river, following a little tug with a reproving grace, under which she hid her limitations from herself. There were men looking over her side and waving farewell with such attractive foreign gestures that Theresa stood close to the water's edge and gazed, with her hands tightly clasped behind her. The wind acted like a great fan on her hair, stirring it at its roots and flinging its long red fingers all about her head, thrumming, too, on her short skirts, lifting them with a twist, and whipping her tight-stockinged legs. She blinked the hair from her eyes or tossed it back with a movement of the head, and sometimes she held down her dress with strangely modest little hands, but she did all impatiently, worried by the necessity of remembering such things among the sights of these ocean-going ships, foreigners, and authoritative dockmen issuing orders. The swing-bridge had swung back to allow some workmen to cross the water, and another yoked pair waited until it should open again to let them out. At a whistled signal the way was cleared, the tug snorted forward and passed close under Theresa's eyes. In one deep draught of sight she saw it all--the flat broad deck, the dirty men who had so little likeness to her idea of sailors, the friendly grin one man sent up to her, the marvellous rope of steel binding the little steamer to the towering ship which was too wonderful and bewildering in form to be remembered rightly after her quick passage. But Theresa looked greedily, and for days there stayed in her memory the vision of the long grey ship, her great masts growing upwards, swaying a little, too, the multitude of ropes and other things of which she did not know the names, of which it was astonishing that anyone could remember the names, and the whole thing following so meekly, with such submission, in the wake of the grimy tug. It went to Theresa's heart that anything so lovely should be dependent, and with sad eyes she watched the passage of that procession. She peered up at the ship as it passed; the last detaining rope was flung from it and fell heavily into the water, to be drawn up, dripping, by a jerseyed dockman, who looked at Theresa quizzically.