‘He wrote to tell me I was privileged to pay him a farewell visit,’ I said. He bade me wait a minute, and walked to the governor’s quarters. He returned soon, and said: ‘Thomas Butler is one of a batch of convicts who are to be sent across the seas on the 12th of this month.’ ‘I know that,’ said I. ‘You will have to bid him farewell on board the ship he embarks in.’ ‘I shan’t be able to see him, then?’ I cried, putting on an air of consternation and grief, that I might obtain some particular information from him. ‘I am sorry you will have no other opportunity of bidding him farewell.’ ‘But tell me, sir,’ cried I, ‘shall I be certain of seeing him if I go on board his ship?’ ‘Undoubtedly. You will be allowed the customary quarter of an hour.’ ‘How am I to know he will be one of the convicts on board?’ ‘Oh,’ said he, very good-naturedly (and I will say here that a kinder and better-tempered man than the deputy-governor of H.M.S. _Warrior_ was not to be found among the prison officials of his time)--‘oh,’ said he, smiling, ‘there is no fear of his not being on board. The surgeon has passed him. He is one of the batch.’ My heart beat quickly on hearing this. He may have wondered at the effect of his words. He darted a keen look, with an expression of mouth that was like saying he was not used to the friends of convicts exhibiting delight on hearing that they were to be shipped off. ‘Can you tell me how he is?’ said I. He gave me a sort of mocking bow as though he would intimate that he had told me enough. I took the hint and left the hulk, wondering that under the circumstances the warder or sentry should have passed me on board, but greatly rejoicing over the information I had received that Tom would undoubtedly be one of the convicts of the _Childe Harold_. On reaching my lodgings, I wrote the following letter to my sweetheart. I dated it, but omitted the address: ‘Dearest,--I visited the _Warrior_ to-day, but was informed that the regulations oblige friends to bid farewell on board the convict ship when the people are in her. If I do not visit you to say good-bye, you will not wonder; you will understand there is a reason; you know my heart as I know yours, and will not mistake. We shall meet sooner than we think. Many swift ships are weekly sailing to the colonies. I kiss you and pray that God may watch over you. ‘Your own ‘MARIAN.’ I addressed this letter and went out to post it. It was then shortly after two o’clock in the afternoon. Having posted the letter, I walked a little distance until I came to a hairdresser’s shop. I entered and said to a woman who sat behind the counter that I wanted my hair cut. She took me upstairs, and in a few moments a man stepped in. ‘I wish you to cut my hair,’ said I. ‘The hends of it, miss?’ said he, bowing and smirking and rubbing his hands.