In about a quarter of an hour he returned. "If you please, sir," said he, laughing, "I sent the boy down to the surgeon to be examined, and he refused to strip. The surgeon says that he thinks she is a woman I have had her up on the quarter-deck, and she refused to answer any questions, and requires to speak with you." "With me!" said O'Brien, with surprise. "Oh! one of the men's wives, I suppose, trying to steal a march upon us. Well, send her down here, Osbaldistone, and I'll prove to her the moral impossibility of her sailing in His Majesty's brig _Rattlesnake_." In a few minutes, the first lieutenant sent her down to the cabin door, and I was about to retire as she entered; but O'Brien stopped me. "Stay, Peter; my reputation will be at stake if I'm left all alone," said he, laughing. The sentry opened the door, and, whether boy or girl, a more interesting face I never beheld; but the hair was cut close like a boy's, and I could not tell whether the surgeon's suspicions were correct. "You wish to speak--holy Saint Patrick!" cried O'Brien, looking earnestly at her features; and O'Brien covered his face, and bent over the table, exclaiming, "My God, my God!" In the meantime, the colour of the young person fled from her countenance, and then rushed into it again, alternately leaving it pale and suffused with blushes. I perceived a trembling over the frame, the knees shook and knocked together, and had I not hastened, she--for a female it was--would have fallen on the deck. 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.