I perceived that she had
fainted; I therefore laid her down on the deck, and hastened to obtain
some water. O'Brien ran up and went to her.
"My poor, poor girl!" said he, sorrowfully. "Oh! Peter, this is all your
fault."
"All my fault! how could she have come here?"
"By all the saints who pray for us--dearly as I prize them, I would give
up my ship and my commission, that this could be undone."
As O'Brien hung over her, the tears from his eyes fell upon her face,
while I bathed it with the water I had brought from the dressing-room. I
knew who it must be, although I had never seen her. It was the girl to
whom O'Brien had professed love, to worm out the secret of the exchange
of my uncle's child; and as I beheld the scene I could not help saying
to myself, "Who now will assert that evil may be done that good may
come?" The poor girl showed symptoms of recovering, and O'Brien waved
his hand to me, saying, "Leave us, Peter, and see that no one comes in."
I remained nearly an hour at the cabin-door, by the sentry, and
prevented many from entering, when O'Brien opened the door, and
requested me to order his gig to be manned and then to come in. The poor
girl had evidently been weeping bitterly, and O'Brien was much affected.
"All is arranged, Peter; you must go on shore with her, and not leave
her till you see her safe off by the night coach. Do me that favour,
Peter--you ought indeed," continued he, in a low voice, "for you have
been partly the occasion of this.
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