John, driven hither and thither by the currents of passengers, happily was as unaware as a woman of the darker and more horrible dangers of the streets. No squalid siren smiled for him; he did not understand these profounder depths. But the confusion and the noise, and the strange contrast of pleasure and wretchedness, the carriages passing, with pretty glimpses of white figures bound for the theatres, the groups of the ragged and miserable on the pavement, the whole resounding, conflicting, moving world gave him a sort of intoxication, so that he scarcely knew what he was about, or where he was. He had got in front of one of the theatres in the midst of a crowd more noisy than usual, the pavement encumbered with poor and squalid spectators, with men shrieking their wares to sell, and pushing books of words into the carriage windows, the confusion of cabs and carriages greater than ever, when John was suddenly roused out of all this phantasmagoria to something real. As he stood gazing, his eyes suddenly fell upon a group at the entrance of the theatre, a man with a tall, shiny hat, and coat buttoned up to his throat, with a woman somewhat fantastically but poorly dressed, on his arm. They were standing to see the people get out of their carriages, with looks somewhat wistful, as if envious of the pleasure the others were about to enjoy. The man, who was tall, inspected the ladies with a smile half patronising, half satirical. But the wife looked pathetically, wistfully, with an envy which was not bitter, nor bore any trace of unkindness. They were standing close together, rapt in that sight. At the woman’s feet was a child, holding fast by her skirts. While the parents gazed, something caught the eye of the little girl, a flower which somebody had dropped out of the window of a carriage. The little thing made one spring, while the absorbed attention of her parents was fixed upon the play-goers, and secured the prize out of the mud of the street, but not before the prancing horse of a hansom, drawn back suddenly upon its haunches, was dashing its hoofs into the air over her head. There was a universal shriek and commotion, in the midst of which the mother put down her hand instinctively but tranquilly to grasp the child. Then, finding it absent, she gave a wild cry, and turned round with arms wildly waving, facing the crowd. John took no time to think. He was the nearest, or thought himself so, and he was pushed forward by the shrieking crowd. He flung himself on the child, caught it, tossed it back to some one, he could not tell whom--but fell forward with the impetus. He felt a sharp touch on his head like a knife, and then no more--till he came to himself with the sensation of a crowd round him, and of cool applications applied to his head, which seemed to burn under the hands of some one who was leaning over him.