was no time for deliberation, and they followed me with a hearty cheer
that convinced me I was unknown. The next instant we were on the mountain
top, and beheld the carriage half way down beneath us, still galloping at
full stretch.

"We have them now," said a voice behind me; "they'll never turn Lurra
Bridge, if we only press on."

The speaker was right; the road at the mountain foot turned at a perfect
right angle, and then crossed a lofty one-arched bridge over a mountain
torrent that ran deep and boisterously beneath. On we went, gaining at
every stride; for the fellows who rode postilion well knew what was before
them, and slackened their pace to secure a safe turning. A yell of victory
arose from the pursuers, but was answered by the others with a cheer of
defiance. The space was now scarcely two hundred yards between us, when the
head of the britska was flung down, and a figure that I at once recognized
as the redoubted Tim Finucane, one of the boldest and most reckless fellows
in the county, was seen standing on the seat, holding,--gracious Heavens!
it was true,--holding in his arms the apparently lifeless figure of Miss
Dashwood.

"Hold in!" shouted the ruffian, with a voice that rose high above all the
other sounds. "Hold in! or by the Eternal, I'll throw her, body and bones,
into the Lurra Gash!" for such was the torrent called that boiled and
foamed a few yards before us.

[Illustration: THE RESCUE.]

He had by this time got firmly planted on the hind seat, and held the
drooping form on one arm with all the ease of a giant's grasp.

"For the love of God!" said I, "pull up. I know him well; he'll do it to a
certainty if you press on."

"And we know you, too," said a ruffianly fellow, with a dark whisker
meeting beneath his chin, "and have some scores to settle ere we part--"

But I heard no more. With one tremendous effort I dashed my horse forward.
The carriage turned an angle of the road, for an instant was out of sight,
another moment I was behind it.

"Stop!" I shouted, with a last effort, but in vain. The horses, maddened
and infuriated, sprang forward, and heedless of all efforts to turn them
the leaders sprang over the low parapet of the bridge, and hanging for a
second by the traces, fell with a crash into the swollen torrent beneath.
By this time I was beside the carriage. Finucane had now clambered to the
box, and regardless of the death and ruin around, bent upon his murderous
object, he