"Except one," said Tim. "Father might have escaped too, but he was so ashamed to have run the ship on the rock that nothing would drag him from her. I held on to a spar for a whole day, and drifted to within a swim of Tory Island, where for a whole month I waited to get across. I heard you had been drowned in the Swilly, and Knockowen was empty, so I made my way to Sligo, and Keogh, an old mate of father's, gave me a berth on this crock of a boat. As I could talk French and knew something of the business, he called me lieutenant--me that hates the sea like the very mischief, and French lace worse than that! I tell you, Barry, even if I hadn't found you, this would have been my last voyage. There's other work for you and me." "What work is that?" "The work of Ireland! There's a new age dawning there, and you and I will be in it. The chains are dropping right and left, and the poor prisoner is struggling from his knees to his feet. We shall live in a free country of our own before long, Barry, my boy--free because she has learned to help herself, and will remain the plaything or the slave of others no longer. France is free; she has learned to help herself. We in Ireland have our Bastille to storm and our feudalism to destroy." He spoke with a glow on his cheeks and a fire in his eyes that quite took me aback, and made it hard to recognise the Tim of old days. "I could tell you something about this glorious freedom in France," said I, with a jerk of my head in the direction of that accursed land. "You shall; and mark me, Ireland will not be a pace behind her." "God forbid!" said I. "But you haven't told me your story yet," said he, carrying the lamp back to its place, as if he were the seaman and I at the helm the officer. Then I told him all, not omitting my love for Miss Kit, or my disgust for the Republic One and Indivisible. He heard me with evident disquiet. "I am sorry about the girl," said he bluntly. "She may be all you say, but Ireland wants you heart and soul just now. It is no time for dancing attendance on ladies." "For all I know she lies buried under the guillotine," said I. "Oh no, she does not," said Tim. "She and her mother are back at Knockowen, so I was told a month ago, before we sailed on this voyage." I seized his hand so eagerly at this news as almost to startle him.