It was not a very dark night, the sky being cloudless and starlit. Away in front, at a point where the two lines of lamps curved sharply to the right and vanished amidst the trees, a row of little, red lights showed that the road was up. The leading hansom drove steadily on. There was nothing remarkable in this. When the driver reached the obstruction, he would turn out of the park by the nearer gate--that was all. But he did nothing of the kind. There was a sudden crash of wood, a woman's scream, and the horse was struggling wildly amidst a pile of loose, wooden blocks, while one wheel of the cab dropped heavily into a shallow trench. Simultaneously the brougham pulled up and its two occupants rushed to the scene of the accident. Philip's driver, of course, obeyed instructions, but he shouted to his fare as he jumped into the road: "That feller's either drunk or 'e did it a-puppuss." Philip was of the same opinion. He reached the overthrown barricade almost as soon as the two hurrying men in front, both of whom were in evening dress. One of them held the horse's head and steadied him; the other was just in time to help the young lady to leave her dangerous conveyance. "I hope you have received no injury, madam," he said, politely. "Oh, not at all. I was frightened for an instant. How could it have happened? I saw the lamps quite plainly. The man seemed to pull his horse deliberately into the barrier." The voice was singularly sweet and well modulated. A neighboring arc lamp illuminated the girl's face with its white, unpitying radiance. It revealed features beautifully modeled, and large, startled eyes that looked wonderingly from the man who came so promptly to her rescue to the driver who had caused the mishap. Philip, behind the hansom, was unseen. He remained a critical observer. "I fear he is intoxicated," was the reply. "Here, you! How came you to make such a blunder?" "Blind as an owl," came the gurgling answer. "I saw some red spots dancin' abaht, but I thort it must be that larst gill o' beer." Nevertheless the cabman extricated his horse and vehicle from their predicament with singular ease for a half-drunken man. "Goin' on, miss?" he grinned. "There's nothin' extry for the steeplechise." "No, no," cried the lady. "I will walk. I will pay you now." "Take my advice and pay him not a cent," protested the man by her side. "Leave him to me. My friend here will take his number. If you will accept a seat in my brougham----" The cabman began to swear and threaten them all with personal violence. The lady, clearly unwilling to avail herself of the accommodating offer made to her, tried to edge away. The driver of the hansom whipped his horse on to the pavement. By this time he had turned his back to the road-menders' barrier. The girl, angered and alarmed, shrank toward the gentleman, who seemed to give her some measure of protection from the infuriated cause of all the trouble.