It was a bitterly cold night in the month of November, 1330.

The rain was pouring heavily, when a woman, with child in her arms, entered the little village of Southwark.

She had evidently come from a distance, for her dress was travel-stained and muddy.

She tottered rather than walked, and when, upon her arrival at the gateway on the southern side of London Bridge, she found that the hour was past and the gates closed for the night, she leant against the wall with a faint groan of exhaustion and disappointment.
After remaining, as if in doubt, for some time, she feebly made her way into the village.

Here were many houses of entertainment, for travelers like herself often arrived too late to enter the gates, and had to abide outside for the night.