'Keep the priests out of it,' he had constantly written to Miss Wolfe (Terence remembered it now). 'They will mean well, but are outrageously illiterate and given to fable, which might have a pernicious effect, their influence being enormous.' A certain Father Roche and a Father Murphy were never weary of writing letters, suggesting changes, offering wild advice. It would be well for the Church militant to be nipped in the bud. The leaders now in Kilmainham should be warned to see to this. Councillor Crosbie would have liked more muskets and a supply of gunpowder. What a pity it was that the French attempts had failed! After all, it was perhaps better as it was. The pike was the weapon for Pat; and though many had been captured, the land was bristling with them. Cars, too, would be useful for barricades. The small farmers must be told to keep their market-cars in constant readiness. Terence's eye scanned the details. They were not to be improved. All was ready. Nothing remained but to fix a day. New Year's Eve was suggested, in order that the year 1798 might be well begun. It was amazing and disheartening to find how impossible it was for Pat to keep a secret. A week before the old year expired, proclamations appeared on all the walls, which showed that Government was aware of what was doing. Each householder was commanded, under pain of flogging, to chalk a list on the outer door of the persons who dwelt upon his premises; with the exception (so ran the quaint document) of those who might be suffering from pecuniary embarrassment, whose names were to be transmitted privately to the Lord Mayor. He was likewise bidden to see that no one under his roof went forth into the street between nine at night and five in the morning. Could the conspirators doubt that somehow their every movement was reported? Madam Gillin, who, strive to control herself as she would, was feverishly excited about the future, discussed the plot in all its bearings with her guest when shutters were shut and curtains drawn. It was a marvel, she declared, that his retreat had remained so long undiscovered. It was a narrow escape though, when the yeomanry arrived; but that was evidently due to accident. There was no cause to suspect treachery there. It spoke well for the country chiefs--at least the few who had been let into the secret; for a thousand pounds is a tidy nest-egg--a by no means despicable windfall. She liked those leaders whom she had seen when pretending to visit her doctor in Dublin. The best of them was a certain Mr. Bagenal Harvey--a nice gintleman--one of the few who has much personal property at stake. 'He's prudent too, for an Irishman. And so are you, my child!' she remarked, laying a plump hand affectionately on his arm. 'You've never even told your mother where you're hid. I verily believe she hates me so that, if she knew, she'd write and tell the chancellor!' 'I fear she doesn't care,' returned Terence, sadly. 'Nor does Doreen.'