“You _will_, then, sir,” cried Brian, growing red with indignation; “for the law shall make you, so it shall; and you’d as good have been civil to my mother, whatever you did--for I’ll stand by her while I’ve life; and I know she has right, and shall have law. I saw the memorandum written before ever it went into your hands, sir, whatever became of it after; and will swear to it too.” “Swear away, my good friend; much your swearing will avail in your own case in a court of justice,” continued Old Nick. “And against a gentleman of my brother’s established character and property,” said St. Dennis. “What’s your mother’s character against a gentleman’s like his?” “Character! take care how you go to that, any way, sir,” cried Brian. Grace put her hand before his mouth, to stop him. “Grace, dear, I must speak, if I die for it; sure it’s for my mother,” said the young man, struggling forward, while his mother held him back; “I must speak.” “Oh, he’s ruined, I see it,” said Grace, putting her hand before her eyes, “and he won’t mind me.” “Go on, let him go on, pray, young woman,” said Mr. Garraghty, pale with anger and fear, his lips quivering; “I shall be happy to take down his words.” “Write them; and may all the world read it, and welcome!” His mother and wife stopped his mouth by force. “Write you, Dennis,” said Mr. Garraghty, giving the pen to his brother; for his hand shook so he could not form a letter. “Write the very words, and at the top” (pointing) “after warning, _with malice prepense_.” “Write, then--mother, Grace--let me,” cried Brian, speaking in a smothered voice, as their hands were over his mouth. “Write then, that, if you’d either of you a character like my mother, you might defy the world; and your word would be as good as your oath.” “_Oath!_ mind that, Dennis,” said Mr. Garraghty. “Oh, sir! sir! won’t you stop him?” cried Grace, turning suddenly to Lord Colambre. “Oh, dear, dear, if you haven’t lost your feeling for us,” cried the widow. “Let him speak,” said Lord Colambre, in a tone of authority; “let the voice of truth be heard.” “_Truth!_” cried St. Dennis, and dropped the pen. “And who the devil are you, sir?” said Old Nick. “Lord Colambre, I protest!” exclaimed a female voice; and Mrs. Raffarty at this instant appeared at the open door. “Lord Colambre!” repeated all present, in different tones. “My lord, I beg pardon,” continued Mrs. Raffarty, advancing as if her legs were tied; “had I known you was down here, I would not have presumed. I’d better retire; for I see you’re busy.” “You’d best; for you’re mad, sister,” said St. Dennis, pushing her back; “and we _are_ busy; go to your room, and keep quiet, if you can.” “First, madam,” said Lord Colambre, going between her and the door, “let me beg that you will consider yourself as at home in this house, whilst any circumstances make it desirable to you. The hospitality you showed me you cannot think I now forget.”