gate was closed and the bars fixed between us; then Mrs Jelf
swung the wooden door shut, put her hand to its bolt and moved on, to the next
cell.
After a moment of staring at the wood, the bolt, the iron studs, I joined her,
and walked with her along the rest of E ward, and then along ward F—she all
the time calling in to
the women, and they making her their quaint responses: ''Good-night,
mum!'', ''God" bless you, ma''am!'', ''Here''s another day, matron, nearer my
time!''
Roused and nervous as I was, I took a kind of comfort from the rhythm of
her tour—from the cries, the steady slamming of the doors. At last, at the furthest
end of the second ward, she turned the tap that closed the gas-pipes that fed the
mantles in the cells; and the jets all down the corridor seemed to jump, then flared a
little brighter. She said quietly, ''Here is Miss Cadman, the night-matron, come
to take my place. How do you do, Miss Cadman? This is Miss Prior, our Lady
Visitor.'' Miss Cadman wished me good-night, then drew off her gloves and gave a
yawn. She was dressed in a matron''s bear-skin cloak, but had the hood set low
about her shoulders. ''Have we any trouble-makers to-day, Mrs Jelf?'' she asked,
yawning again. When she left us, heading for the matron''s chamber, I saw
that her boots were soled with rubber and struck the sanded flags quite