," replied the captain, turning round to sleep;
"let me know if you lose any more."

Some time elapsed, and the first lieutenant reported that "they were all
out of sight."

"Very well, then," said the captain; "call me when you see them again."
This was not very likely to take place, as we were going twelve knots an
hour, and running away from them as fast as we could, so the captain
remained undisturbed until he thought proper to get up to breakfast.
Indeed, we never saw any more of our convoy, but taking the gale with
us, in fifteen days anchored in Plymouth Sound. The orders came down
for the frigate to be paid off, all standing, and re-commissioned. I
received letters from my father, in which he congratulated me at my name
being mentioned in Captain Kearney's despatches, and requested me to
come home as soon as I could. The admiral allowed my name to be put
down on the books of the guard-ship, that I might not lose my time, and
then gave me two month's leave of absence. I bade farewell to my
shipmates, shook hands with O'Brien, who proposed to go over to Ireland
previous to his applying for another ship, and, with my pay in my
pocket, set off in the Plymouth mail, and in three days was once more in
the arms of my affectionate mother, and warmly greeted by my father, and
the remainder of my family.

Once more with my family, I must acquaint the reader with what had
occurred since my departure. My eldest sister, Lucy, had married an
officer in the army, a Captain Fielding, and his regiment having been
ordered out to India, had accompanied her husband, and letters had been
received just before my return, announcing their safe arrival at Ceylon.
My second sister, Mary, had also been engaged to be married, and from
her infancy was of extremely delicate health. She was very handsome,
and much admired. Her intended husband was a baronet of good family;
but unfortunately she caught a cold at the assize ball, and went off in
a decline. She died about two months before my arrival, and the family
were in deep mourning. My third sister, Ellen, was still unmarried;
she, also, was a very beautiful girl, and now seventeen. My mother's
constitution was much shaken by the loss of my sister Mary, and the
separation from her eldest child. As for my father, even the loss of
his daughter appeared to be wholly forgotten in the unwelcome
intelligence which he had received, that my uncle's wife had been
delivered of a _son_,