"Hush!" said Sylvia under her breath. "Don't spoil it!" She was on tenterhooks: it was all real to her. Any doubts as to Miss Matterson's ability to escape from her present predicament were at once set at rest. With a few convulsive wriggles she succeeded in getting her lips to the horse-whistle which hung round her neck. "Thank Heaven, we can't hear her!" said Mr. Mablethorpe to his wife, as the lady's cheeks distended themselves in a resounding blast. Next moment the door was kicked down, and Maimie's performing horse entered the room and pawed the floor politely. Sylvia clapped her hands. "I knew it!" remarked Mr. Mablethorpe resignedly. In obedience to a frenzied signal from his mistress the sagacious animal first proceeded to operate the lever in the middle of the floor, pulling it back (presumably) to safety. This feat accomplished, he set to work, amid thunders of applause, to unpick with his teeth the knots which kept Maimie Matterson bound to the table. He was rewarded for his gallantry by being promptly mounted and ridden at full gallop across a heartbreaking line of country, apparently for a distance of about twenty miles. Then for the last time the scene changed to the railway track. The train, which had covered quite two hundred yards in the last quarter of an hour, was now close to the post, and Mexican Steve and his friends were crouching by the line armed with six-shooters. Above their heads the signal-arm still stood at danger. Suddenly it dropped. _"Who did that?"_ inquired an indignant line of print. "That was the dear horse!" replied Sylvia triumphantly. The train, which had been exhibiting signs of indecision, suddenly quickened its pace and shot past, to the discomfiture of the desperadoes, who childishly fired a volley at the wheels. Next moment an armed band, headed by the Sheriff and Miss Maimie Matterson,--they must have covered forty miles in something like fifteen seconds,--dashed out of an adjacent wood. After a perfunctory struggle the incompetent criminals were duly taken into custody and marched off by their captors. The Sheriff, having got rid of his posse, seized the opportunity to indulge in an exchange of tender endearments with Miss Matterson. _"We will find the preacher-man, right now!"_ he declared. Miss Matterson's reply was not recorded in print, but to judge from the last few yards of the film, it was of an encouraging nature. As the Sheriff's arms closed round the unresisting form of his athletic bride, Philip was conscious of a gentle movement beside him. Then a small, warm, gloved hand was slipped into his own in the darkness. He made no sign: he merely allowed the hand to rest where it lay. Presently it was withdrawn as softly as it came. It was a brief, almost momentary episode, but it settled the course of Philip's life for him.