I never slept sounder in my life, though I woke a little earlier than usual; and you may be sure my first thought was of the event of the day, for which I was fully prepared.  I had ink and pen in my room—­had I not been writing those verses to Nora but the day previous, like a poor fond fool as I was?  And now I sat down and wrote a couple of letters more:  they might be the last, thought I, that I ever should write in my life.  The first was to my mother:—­

’Honoured Madam’—­I wrote—­’This will not be given you unless I fall by the hand of Captain Quin, whom I meet this day in the field of honour, with sword and pistol.  If I die, it is as a good Christian and a gentleman,—­how should I be otherwise when educated by such a mother as you?  I forgive all my enemies—­I beg your blessing as a dutiful son.  I desire that my mare Nora, which my uncle gave me, and which I called after the most faithless of her sex, may be returned to Castle Brady, and beg you will give my silver-hiked hanger to Phil Purcell, the gamekeeper.  Present my duty to my uncle and Ulick, and all the girls of my party there.  And I remain your dutiful son,

‘Redmond Barry.’

To Nora I wrote:—­

’This letter will be found in my bosom along with the token you gave me.  It will be dyed in my blood (unless I have Captain Quin’s, whom I hate, but forgive), and will be a pretty ornament for you on your marriage-day.  Wear it, and think of the poor boy to whom you gave it, and who died (as he was always ready to do) for your sake.

‘Redmond.’

These letters being written, and sealed with my father’s great silver seal of the Barry arms, I went down to breakfast; where my mother was waiting for me, you may be sure.  We did not say a single word about what was taking place:  on the contrary, we talked of anything but that; about who was at church the day before, and about my wanting new clothes now I was grown so tall.  She said I must have a suit against winter, if—­if—­she could afford it.  She winced rather at the ‘if,’ Heaven bless her!  I knew what was in her mind.  And then she fell to telling me about the black pig that must be killed, and that she had found the speckled hen’s nest that morning, whose eggs I liked so, and other such trifling talk.  Some of these eggs were for breakfast, and I ate them with a good appetite; but in helping myself to salt I spilled it, on which she started up with a scream.  ‘Thank god,’ said she, ‘it’s fallen towards me.’  And then, her heart being too full, she left the room.  Ah! they have their faults, those mothers; but are there any other women like them?