The officials of the Sunday League, with many persons in the audience, now made great and partially successful efforts to prevent a general rush. Shouts of “Sit down! sit down!” came from all parts of the building. The bandsmen were the first to resume their seats, and while the outgoing crowd was checked and marshalled into some sort of order, others set a good example, and, realising that there was absolutely no reason for panic, settled down as if intending to remain throughout the programme. But by a wise discretion on the part of the conductor, the concert was abandoned. At a signal, the familiar first bar of the National Anthem brought all to their feet again; then, turning to the audience, the wielder of the bâton invited them to join; and, with extraordinary volume and fervour, “God Save the King” brought the concert to a close. A terrible catastrophe had been averted; for, by marvellous good fortune, no life was lost in the frantic effort of a section of the audience to escape. Those who were injured were being hurried, half-fainting, into cabs, and those who were merely suffering from shattered nerves sat on chairs in the corridors, while anxious friends tried to restore them to some degree of self-control. The swift reaction, born of unexpected safety, may perhaps account in some measure for what followed. The woman whose scream had given the first impulse to disturbance--afterwards recognised as a Spanish dancer at the Empire music-hall--was suddenly seen to be moving down the corridor in a wild, fantastic dance. Bursts of laughter greeted the extraordinary and unlooked-for display. An avenue was made for her, and on she danced. Her hat was gone; her long black hair had fallen to her waist, and her eyes were blazing with the look of a demoniac. The crowd closed after her, with fresh laughter, which presently gave place to excited and wondering exclamations. Now she was in the entrance hall, and one of the officials laid his hand upon her shoulder. She shook herself free with a scream of foreign words. Another moment, and those peering eagerly from the entrance steps and pavement, saw the Bacchantic figure whirling in the street. The cries and tumultuous shouts which arose among the crowd around the dancer, and the warning shouts of the drivers of approaching vehicles, brought hosts of visitors to the open windows of the Langham and the neighbouring houses. Presently, those who could look down from these vantage points, and others who now packed the steps of All Souls’ Church, saw with bewilderment that the magnetism of example had drawn some six or seven young girls and women into a kind of dance which imitated the movements of the Spaniard.