Now was her chance if she was ever to have one.
She stole from the doorway; the stairs leading to the river were close at hand and down these she sped.
The tide was at low ebb.

She was standing on the shingle.

But she looked in vain for a waterman.

There were plenty of boats on the river, most of them loaded with merry parties returning from Spring Gardens, Vauxhall, and no boats were plying for hire.

She dared not ascend to the Borough.
Bullies and thieves abounded in the southern approaches to the bridge.
She crept down to one of the abutments of the bridge and tremulously listened to the turmoil going on above.
Meanwhile the man who had come to her rescue was being hardly pressed.
He was surrounded by a mob led by Dorrimore's coachman.