'Well, I can't help it,' she said aloud, mentally tossing up the sponge. 'I've done what I thought right. It's difficult to see the way. He must be got out of this while there's time, and New Year's Eve so near, too! Oh that I had learnt this before!' Painful misgivings possessed her mind. 'Pray God and the Holy Mother that the poor boy may be spared!' she whispered. 'Knowing what I do, it's bitterly sorry I am for him. That proud mother of his will burn for what she's doing some time or other, though she's happy now.' Mrs. Gillin, argus-eyed as she thought herself, could not know that the chatelaine of Strogue had already passed through a part of the travail of her punishment. She had to judge by the face, which was a mask--the face which was stony and cold enough--as cold as a face of marble. Suddenly (as she meditated) the buxom lady saw something which caused her to crouch down and draw hastily back from the window. 'It's come!' she murmured; 'I felt it _here_ in my heart. What a mercy that he told me, or it would have come on us unawares! Norah!' she called with caution down the stairs, 'send Phil up here this minute.' Then she sped to the garret. 'My lad,' she said quickly, 'hurry now! Get through the trap on to the roof. Phil must do the same. I'll tidy the place in a jiffy! Ye can both lie cosy in the valley of the roof.' 'What's the matter?' asked Terence, without moving. 'Matter enough. There's a party coming down the road. I'll stake my head it's Sirr or some of them. They're coming to look for you!' 'Then give them some of your Lafitte, my second mother!' laughed Terence, carelessly, 'and pack them about their business.' 'No,' Mrs. Gillin said, 'I can't explain now. They must go over the house, and be convinced that ye're not in it; and to-night we'll pack ye somewhere else for safety.' There was no withstanding her energy. The two young men obeyed their peremptory hostess, marvelling much at her. It was Sirr, sure enough. His peculiar stoop could be recognised a mile off. Behind him were a dozen redcoats. Mrs. Gillin was snipping dead twigs with a large pair of scissors; she wore a loose green kerchief over her turban, so unbecomingly arranged that it was evident she expected no visitors. Norah was dutifully holding a basket. How idle of the gardener to have neglected to trim those hedges! Old Jug sat crooning in the wintry sun, her eyes twinkling like beads from under a tangle of sandy elf-locks and flopping cap, her favourite dudheen between her lips. 'Misthress dear!' she croaked between two puffs of smoke, 'it's the meejor.' But that lady was too much absorbed in gardening to hear. 'Good-day, madam,' quoth Sirr, wrinkling down his brow-tufts with a smirk, and saluting in military fashion.