'Ah, thin, an' it's that same Sligo, the weary be on it, that I'd be afther goin' to myself,' answered the driver. 'But your honour looks tired--manin' no offince--an' perhaps you'd take a lift in the gig?' 'Thank you; I will take a lift,' I replied, as I stepped forward and sprang quickly to the seat. 'The truth is, I feel rather tired, as you say.' 'An' has your honour walked far?' asked the driver, as the gig rolled on towards the town. 'I've walked from Ballina since morning,' I replied quietly. 'From Ballina! There, now, the Lord save us!' cried the man, as he half turned in his seat and gazed at me in astonishment. 'Why, that's a day's work for the best horse in the masther's stables.' 'Your master must keep good horses, if I may judge by the one before us,' I answered. 'The best in all the county, your honour, though I say it. There isn't a gossoon in the three baronies but knows that.' 'Your master's a bit of a sportsman, then?' 'Yes, your honour; an' if he'd stick to that, it's himself'd be the best liked man from Ballina to Ballyshannon. You wouldn't find a better rider or a warmer heart in a day's march. But thim politics has been his ruin with the people.' 'Oh, ah; I have heard that Sligo is rather a hot place during elections,' I replied. 'But surely the people don't turn upon their friends at such a time?' 'They'd turn upon their own father, if he wint agin them,' replied the driver solemnly. 'See now, here I am, drivin' the masther's own gig to town just be way of a blin', ye see, while he's got to slip down the strame in Jimmy Sheridan's bit of a boat. Ah, thim politics, thim politics!' 'Oh, then, there's an election about to take place, I presume?' 'Thrue for ye, your honour, thrue for ye,' replied the man dolefully. 'There nivir was such a ruction in Sligo before, in the mimiry of man. Two lawyers a-fightin' like divils to see who's to be mimbir.' 'Then I'm just in time to see the fun.' 'Fun, your honour?' echoed the man. 'It's not meself that'id object to a bit of a scrimmage now an' agin. But it's murther your honour'll see before it's all over, or my name isn't Michael O'Connor. Whist now! Did ye hear nothin' behin' that hedge there?' At this moment we were about the middle of a rather lonesome stretch of the road, one side of which was bounded by a high thin hedge. The dusk of the evening was fast giving way to the gloom of night. 'I--ah--yes, surely there is something moving there,' I replied. 'It's some animal, most likely.' 'Down in the sate! down, for your life!' cried the driver, as in his terror he brought the horse to a halt. 'I'---- His speech was cut short by a couple of loud reports. A lance-like line of fire gushed from the hedge, and one if not two bullets whizzed close past my ear. As I sprang to my feet in the gig, the driver slid down to the mat, and lay there in a heap, moaning. 'Are you hurt?' I asked, as I strove to get the reins out of his palsied hands.