his leg until his knee almost touched his mouth; he got the heel of his
boot firmly fixed on the top edge of the door: and then with one forward
drive he tore the panel right away from its hinges. The other was of
course flung open at once. Then he grasped the brass rail outside,
steadied himself for a moment, and jumped clear from the cab, lighting
on the pavement. Strange to say, Ogilvie did not follow, though Macleod,
as he rushed along to try to get hold of the horse, momentarily expected
to see him jump out. His anxiety was of short duration. The axle-tree
caught on the curb; there was a sudden lurch; and then, with a crash of
glass, the cab went right over, throwing down the horse, and pitching
the driver into the street. It was all the work of a few seconds; and
another second seemed to suffice to collect a crowd, even in this quiet
part of Kensington Gore. But, after all, very little damage was done,
except to the horse, which had cut one of its hocks. When young Mr.
Ogilvie scrambled out and got on to the pavement, instead of being
grateful that his life had been spared, he was in a towering
passion--with whom or what he knew not.

"Why didn't you jump out?" said Macleod to him, after seeing that the
cabman was all right.

Ogilvie did not answer; he was looking at his besmeared hands and
dishevelled clothes.

"Confound it!" said he; "what's to be done now? The house is just round
the corner."

"Let us go in, and they will lend you a clothesbrush."

"As if I had been fighting a bargee? No, thank you. I will go along till