Lord Clare was more troubled, when he learned these things, than his enemies would have deemed possible. He wrote to his dear old friend at Glas-aitch-é, bidding her not grieve too much. It was done in his absence. He dared not openly interfere in favour of her misguided son, but would make a personal request to Mr. Pitt to urge his Majesty to clemency. He had done much work for Mr. Pitt (forgetting to state how dirty that work was); and no doubt his boon would be granted. If not, still must his loving mother not despair. Prison bars might be sawn; turnkeys were very shortsighted. There were boats about, and men to man them. He never doubted for a moment that the reward would be claimed. How blind both Curran and his _protégé_ had been not to guess his transparent riddle! My lady wrote back in course of time, deploring, in bitter terms, the blow which had befallen the family; the dart which had transfixed her heart. And my Lord Clare was no little amazed to perceive, or to seem to perceive, that my lady took her anguish calmly. Either she was a Stoic, or more unfeeling as to her offspring than he liked to consider a lady to be who was also his old friend. Thus did events unroll themselves, till one fine day a party of yeomanry, more intoxicated even than they usually were, took it into their wise heads to investigate the Little House. Happily the chatelaine was at home to defend her penates, whilst old Jug shrieked maledictions on the party like a frantic Chorus. Madam Gillin stoutly (in both senses of the word) spread her redundant charms across her entrance-stone, daring them one and all to come forward and strike a woman. She threatened them--Catholic though she was--with the vengeance of the Bar. Was she not the chosen ally of my Lords Clonmell and Carleton--those gay and festive judges--who held her company and her wine in such deservedly high esteem? Did not even the gradually saddening attorney-general--Mr. Arthur Wolfe--count her among his friends? Woe be to the military gentlemen who should outrage her sacred hearth. They might come in and do their worst, for she had naught to hide. What could she have to hide? But she warned them, in very positive language indeed, that they would rue the day they did it. They were abashed, but loath to retire, after drunken blustering, before a mere woman's tongue. Such a woman and such a tongue! Would she give the boys some drink? the captain coaxingly suggested. She pertinently retorted that if they or some of their kidney had not already destroyed the shebeen, which she had set up for the benefit of arid throats, drink might be got in plenty without stealing it from a lone woman. Yet would she even give them drink if they'd promise to be off. Not special drink, such as the judges drank, but some other, by no means despicable.