An humble man was he, forced by necessity into
his position, and rarely thought of and little regarded by the many.
There was nothing brilliant about him to attract the eye and extort
admiration. The man and his calling were commonplace. He passed on;
and, as his form left my eye, the thought of him passed from my
mind. Not long after, unheralded by the sound of footsteps, came one
with a stealthy, crouching air; pausing now, and listening; and now
looking warily from side to side. It was plain that he was on no
errand of good to his fellowmen. He, too, passed on, and was lost to
my vision.
Many minutes went by, and I still remained at the window, musing
upon the subject of my dream, when I was startled by a cry of terror
issuing from a house not far away. It was the cry of a woman.
Obeying the instinct of my feelings, I ran into the street and made
my way hurriedly towards the spot from which the cry came.
"Help! help! murder!" shrieked a woman from the open window.
I tried the street door of the house, but it was fastened. I threw
myself against it with all my strength, and it yielded to the
concussion. As I entered the dark passage, I found myself suddenly
grappled by a strong man, who threw me down and held me by the
throat.
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