at all that Pa was anywhere near me; but this, in itself,
seemed a kind of blessing. I had gone to say good-bye to him. I think I will find
him again, in Italy.
I went from the cemetery to the centre of the city, and then I walked from
street to street, looking at all the things I shall not see again, perhaps for many
years. I walked from two o''clock until half-past six.
Then I went to Millbank, for my last visit there. I reached the gaol long after
the suppers had been served and eaten and cleared away—a much later time
than I have ever visited before. I found the women of Mrs Jelf ''s wards at the last
part of their labour. This is the kindest time of the day for them. When the
evening bell is rung at seven, they put their work aside; the matron takes a
woman from her cell and walks with her along the passages, collecting and
counting all the pins and needles and blunt-edged scissors that have been
used by the prisoners throughout the day. I stood and watched Mrs Jelf do this.
She wore an apron of felt, to which she fixed the pins and needles; the scissors
she put on a wire, like fish. At a quarter-to-eight the hammocks must be unfolded
and tied up, and at eight o''clock the doors are fastened, and the gas shut
off—until that time, however, the women may do just as they please. It
was curious to see them—some reading letters, some learning their Bibles;