and officers of the transport looking grinning on) when a boat came from the shore bringing our captain to the ship; and though I started and blushed red as he recognised me—­a descendant of the Barrys—­in this degrading posture, I promise you that the sight of Fagan’s face was most welcome to me, for it assured me that a friend was near me.  Before that I was so melancholy that I would certainly have deserted had I found the means, and had not the inevitable marines kept a watch to prevent any such escapes.  Fagan gave me a wink of recognition, but offered no public token of acquaintance; it was not until two days afterwards, and when we had bidden adieu to old Ireland and were standing out to sea, that he called me into his cabin, and then, shaking hands with me cordially, gave me news, which I much wanted, of my family.  ‘I had news of you in Dublin,’ he said. ’’Faith you’ve begun early, like your father’s son; and I think you could not do better than as you have done.  But why did you not write home to your poor mother?  She has sent a half-dozen letters to you at Dublin.’

I said I had asked for letters at the post-office, but there were none for Mr. Redmond.  I did not like to add that I had been ashamed, after the first week, to write to my mother.

‘We must write to her by the pilot,’ said he, ’who will leave us in two hours; and you can tell her that you are safe, and married to Brown Bess.’  I sighed when he talked about being married; on which he said with a laugh, ’I see you are thinking of a certain young lady at Brady’s Town.’

‘Is Miss Brady well?’ said I; and indeed, could hardly utter it, for I certainly was thinking about her:  for, though I had forgotten her in the gaieties of Dublin, I have always found adversity makes man very affectionate.

‘There’s only seven Miss Bradys now,’ answered Fagan, in a solemn voice.  ’Poor Nora’—­

‘Good heavens! what of her?’ I thought grief had killed her.

’She took on so at your going away that she was obliged to console herself with a husband.  She’s now Mrs. John Quin.’

‘Mrs. John Quin!  Was there another Mr. John Quin?’ asked I, quite wonder-stricken.

’No; the very same one, my boy.  He recovered from his wound.  The ball you hit him with was not likely to hurt him.  It was only made of tow.  Do you think the Bradys would let you kill fifteen hundred a year out of the family?’ And then Fagan further told me that, in order to get me out of the way—­for the cowardly Englishman could never be brought to marry from fear of me—­the plan of the duel had been arranged.  ’But hit him you certainly did, Redmond, and with a fine thick plugget of tow; and the fellow was so frightened, that he was an hour in coming to.  We told your mother the story afterwards, and a pretty scene she made; she despatched a half-score of letters to Dublin after you, but I suppose addressed them to you in your real name, by which you never thought to ask for them.’