er husband was a prisoner for debt "within
the Rules" of the King's Bench.

Even Lady Jean's enemies could not resist a tribute of admiration for
the courage with which, during this time, she fought her uphill fight
against poverty and opposition. Her affection for her children and her
loyalty to her good-for-nothing husband were touching in the extreme;
and, if not quite sincere, were most cleverly simulated.

To all her appeals the Duke still remained obdurate, vowing he would
have nothing to do either with his sister or the two "nunnery children"
which she wanted to impose on him. In spite of her Royal pension Lady
Jean only succeeded in getting deeper and deeper involved in debt,
until it became clear that some decisive step must be taken to repair
her fortunes. Then it was that, at last, she screwed up her courage to
pay the dreaded visit to her brother, in the hope that the sight of her
children and the pathos of her personal pleading might soften his heart.

One January day in 1753, one of the Duke's servants says,

"she looked in at the little gate as I was passing
through the court. She called and I went to her, when she
told me she was come to wait on the Duke with her
children. I proposed to open the gate and carry in her
Ladyship; but she said she would not go in till I
acquainted his Grace."

The Duke, however, after consulting with his minion Stockbrigg, who
still ruled the castle and its lord alike, sent word that he refused to
see his sister; and the broken-hearted woman walked sadly away. To a
letter in which she begged "to speak but a few moments to your Grace,
and if I don't, to your own conviction, clear up my injured innocence,
inflict what punishment you please upon me," he returned no answer.

Trouble now began to fall thickly on Lady Jean. Her delicate child,
Sholto, died after a brief illness. She was distracted with grief, and
cried out in her deep distress: "O Sholto! Sholto! my son Sholto! if I
could but have died for you!" This last blow of fate seems to have
completely crushed her. A few months later, she gave up her gallant and
hopeless struggle, but only with her life. Calling her remaining son to
her bedside she said, with streaming eyes: "May God bless you, my dear
son; and, above all, make you a worthy and honest man; for riches, I
despise them. Take a sword, and you may one day become as great a hero
as some of your ancestors." Then, but a few momen