"The clouds and rain had so overcast the night, that, although it was not perfectly dark, it was sufficiently obscure to screen our countenances. Just as Tyrrell approached, Thornton dashed forward, and cried, in a feigned voice--'Stand, on your peril!' I followed, and we were now both by Sir John's side. "He attempted to push by us--but Thornton seized him by the arm--there was a stout struggle, in which, as yet, I had no share--at last, Tyrrell got loose from Thornton, and I seized him--he set spurs to his horse, which was a very spirited and strong animal--it reared upwards, and very nearly brought me and my horse to the ground--at that instant, Thornton struck the unfortunate man a violent blow across the head with the butt end of his heavy whip--Sir John's hat had fallen before in the struggle, and the blow was so stunning that it felled him upon the spot. Thornton dismounted, and made me do the same--'There is no time to lose,' said he; 'let us drag him from the roadside and rifle him.' We accordingly carried him (he was still senseless) to the side of the pond before mentioned-- while we were searching for the money Thornton spoke of, the storm ceased, and the moon broke out--we were detained some moments by the accident of Tyrrell's having transferred his pocket-book from the pocket Thornton had seen him put it in on the race ground to an inner one. "We had just discovered, and seized the pocket-book, when Sir John awoke from his swoon, and his eyes opened upon Thornton, who was still bending over him, and looking at the contents of the book to see that all was right; the moonlight left Tyrrell in no doubt as to our persons; and struggling hard to get up, he cried, 'I know you! I know you! you shall hang for this.' No sooner had he uttered this imprudence, than it was all over with him. 'We will see that, Sir John,' said Thornton, setting his knee upon Tyrrell's chest, and nailing him down. While thus employed, he told me to feel in his coat-pocket for a case-knife. "'For God's sake!' cried Tyrrell, with a tone of agonizing terror which haunts me still, 'spare my life!' "'It is too late,' said Thornton, deliberately, and taking the knife from my hands, he plunged it into Sir John's side, and as the blade was too short to reach the vitals, Thornton drew it backwards and forwards to widen the wound. Tyrrell was a strong man, and still continued to struggle and call out for mercy--Thornton drew out the knife--Tyrrell seized it by the blade, and his fingers were cut through before Thornton could snatch it from his grasp; the wretched gentleman then saw all hope was over; he uttered one loud, sharp, cry of despair. Thornton put one hand to his mouth, and with the other gashed his throat from ear to ear.