The square was indeed cleared; save the groups beside the fire-engines, and here and there a knot gathered around some wounded man, the space was empty, the troops having drawn off to the sides, around which they stood in double file. A dark cloud rested over the jail itself, but no longer did any smoke issue from the windows; and already the fire, its rage in part expended, in part subdued, showed signs of decline. “If the wind was from the west,” said the landlord, “there 's no saying where that might have stopped this night!” “It is a strange occurrence altogether,” said the Knight, musingly. “Not a bit strange, sir,” replied the other, whose neighborhood made him acquainted with classes and varieties of men of whom Darcy knew nothing; “it was an attempt by the prisoners.” “Do you think so?” asked Darcy. “Ay, to be sure, sir; there's scarcely a year goes over without one contrivance or another for escape. Last autumn two fellows got away by following the course of the sewers and gaining the Liffey; they must have passed two days underground, and up to their necks in water a great part of the time.” “Ay, and besides that,” observed another,-for already some ten or twelve persons were assembled on the roof as well as Darcy and the landlord,--“they had to wade the river at the ebb-tide, when the mud is at least eight or ten feet deep.” “How that was done, I cannot guess,” said Darcy. “A man will do many a thing for liberty, sir,” remarked another, who was buttoned up in a frieze coat, although the night was hot and sultry; “these poor devils there were willing to risk being roasted alive for the chance of it.” “Quite true,” said Darcy; “fellows that have a taste for breaking the law need not be supposed desirous of observing it as to their mode of death; and yet they must have been daring rascals to have made such an attempt as this.” “Maybe you know the old song, sir,” said the other, laughing,-- “There s many a man no bolts can keep, No chains be made to bind them, And tho' the fetters be heavy, and cells be deep, He 'll fling them far behind them.” “I have heard the ditty,” answered the Knight; “and if my memory serves me, the last lines run thus,-- “Though iron bolts may rust and rot, And stone and mortar crumble, Freney, beware! for well I wot Your pride may have a tumble.” “Devil a lie in that, anyhow, sir,” said the other, laughing heartily; “and an uglier tumble a man needn't have than to slip through Tom Galvin's fingers. But I see the fire is out now; so I 'll be jogging homeward. Good-night, sir.” “Good-night,” said Darcy; and then, as the other moved away, turning to the landlord, he asked if he knew the stranger. “No, sir,” was the reply; “he came up with some others to have a look at the fire.” “Well, I 'll to my bed,” said Darcy; “let me be awakened at four o'clock. I see I shall have but a short sleep; the day is breaking already.”