And, indeed, Jeremy was in evil case; his senses were fast being crushed out of him in that fearful embrace, and he vas thinking with bitter sorrow that he must fail after all, for an Englishman does not like to be beaten even when he has fought his best. Just then it was, when things were beginning to swim around him, that a voice he loved, and which he had been listening for these many months, rang in his ears; whether it was fancy or whether he really heard it he knew not. “Remember ‘Marsh Joe,’ Jeremy, and _lift him._ Don’t be beat. For God’s sake, lift him!” said the voice. Now there was a trick, which I will not tell you, but which a famous Eastern Counties’ wrestler, known as Marsh Joe, had taught to Jeremy. So well had he taught him, indeed, that at the age of seventeen Jeremy had hoisted his teacher with his own trick. Just at the moment that Jeremy heard the voice, the giant shifted his hold a little, preparatory to making a fresh effort, and thus enabled his antagonist to fill his lungs with air. Ernest saw the broad white chest heave with relief, for by this time most of the upper clothing of the combatants had been wrenched away, and the darkening eye grow bright again, and he knew that Jeremy had heard him, and that he would conquer or die where he was. And then—lo, and behold! just as the Boer, feeling that at last he was master of the situation, leisurely enough prepared himself for the final struggle, suddenly the Englishman advanced his right leg a few inches, and with the rapidity of lightning entirely shifted his grip. Then he gathered himself for the effort. What secret reserve of strength he drew on, who can say? But Ernest’s voice had excited it, and it came at his call: and he did a thing that few living men could have done, and the fame of which will go down in South Africa from generation to generation. For the Englishman’s lithe arms had found their hold; they tightened and gripped till they sunk in almost level with the flesh of his mighty foe. Then slowly Jeremy began to gather purchase, swaying backwards and forwards, and the Dutchman swayed with him. “Make an end of him! make an end of him!” shouted the Boers. But behold! their champion’s eyes are starting from his blackened face; his head sinks lower and lower, his buttocks rise: he cannot stir. To and fro sways Jeremy, and now the giant’s feet are lifted from the ground. And then one slow and mighty effort—oh, gallant Jeremy!—up, still up above the gasping of the wonder-stricken crowd, up to his shoulders, Heaven, over it! Crash! Van Zyl fell, to be carried away by six strong men a cripple for life. CHAPTER IX. ERNEST’S LOVE-LETTER Cheer after cheer arose from the Englishmen around, and angry curses from the Dutchmen, as Jeremy turned to look at the senseless carcass of the giant. But, even as he turned, exhausted Nature gave out, and he fell fainting into Ernest’s arms.