Half-way betwixt Strogue and Dublin the road leaves the shore, and winds inland with an intricate series of doubles--arranged so for the benefit of certain small villa-holders, round whose tiny properties the way meanders. Terence forgot this fact, so absorbed was he in the fate of his attached servant, otherwise he would have seen his danger, and, throwing off his disguise, would have trusted to a hare's tactics in the open. But, clad in woman's attire, he was weeping like a woman, and bemoaning his fate, when the carriage came to a standstill with a shock. A detachment of soldiers, taking a short cut, had come upon the carriage, and, springing on the bits, had thrust back the horses on their haunches. Deception was futile now. Dragging off the ignoble bonnet and wrapper, Terence sprang lightly out, and drawing a pistol, prepared to barter his life against as many of the foe as possible. One man shot poor Larry on his box, lest he should take part in the scuffle; another hamstrung the off-horse, which whinnied, and leaped up with pain. The shot was answered by a hulloo and rush of feet. Through the hedge-gap appeared Sirr, breathless but foaming, urging on his men, two of whom dragged Phil, an inert mass, between them. 'Murther!' groaned Phil. 'That the masther should be tuk, and through me!' 'Yes,' jeered Sirr; 'we have him now. Having detected you, I knew at once that he could not be far off!' Terence discharged his pistols with good effect. A man fell to each of them. Then, drawing a dagger, he leaned his back against a tree. Sirr, as his way was on these occasions, withdrew to the rear, content with egging on his hounds from a safe distance. The men waited for a second, watching the eye of the man who stood at bay. Phil saw his opportunity, and took it. With a jerk he freed himself, stabbed one fellow, and, lunging at another, slipped, and tumbled on the moist earth. But he was not to be thus foiled. Wriggling along the ground, he reached Major Sirr, and slashed him across both legs, who, springing into the air with a howl, tossed away the sword-cane that he had unsheathed and fell disabled. Phil caught it, and stabbed the shrieking major again and again till it broke. 'Right she was!' he said; 'the dastard does wear mail!' The diversion seemed likely to save Terence, who, turning, sped swiftly along the furrows, favoured by sinking twilight. 'Run, masther, run!' Phil screamed. 'Please the Lord, he'll be safe yet.' 'Dead or alive!' howled Sirr, who clawed the ground with his fingers in his pain.