"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." I shook O'Brien's hand, and made no answer--the boat was reported ready, and the girl followed me with a firm step. I pulled on shore, saw her safe in the coach, without asking her any question, and then returned on board. "Come on board, sir," said I, entering the cabin with my hat in my hand, and reporting myself according to the regulations of the service. "Thank you," replied O'Brien: "shut the door, Peter. Tell me, how did she behave?--what did she say?" "She never spoke, and I never asked her a question. She seemed to be willing to do as you had arranged." "Sit down, Peter. I never felt more unhappy, or more disgusted with myself in all my life. I feel as if I never could be happy again. A sailor's life mixes him up with the worst part of the female sex, and we do not know the real value of the better. I little thought when I was talking nonsense to that poor girl, that I was breaking one of the kindest hearts in the world, and sacrificing the happiness of one who would lay down her existence for me, Peter. Since you have been gone, it's twenty times that I've looked in the glass just to see whether I don't look like a villain. But by the blood of St. Patrick! I thought woman's love was just like our own, and that a three months' cruise would set all to rights again." "I thought she had gone over to France." "So did I; but now she has told me all about it. Father O'Toole and her mother brought her down to the coast near here, to embark in a smuggling boat for Dieppe. When the boat pulled in-shore in the night to take them in, the mother and the rascally priest got in, but she felt as if it were leaving the whole world to leave the country I was in, and she held back. The officers came down, one or two pistols were fired, the boat shoved off without her, and she, with their luggage, was left on the beach. She went back to the next town with the officers, where she told the truth of the story, and they let her go. In Father O'Toole's luggage she found letters, which she read, and found out that she and her mother were to have been placed in a convent at Dieppe; and, as the convent was named in the letters--which she says are important, but I have not had courage to read them yet--she went to the people from whose house they had embarked, requesting them to forward the luggage and a letter to her mother--sending everything but the letters, which she reserved for me. She has since received a letter from her mother, telling her that she is safe and well in the convent, and begging her to come over to her as soon as possible. The mother took the vows a week after she arrived there, so we know where to find her, Peter." "And where is the poor girl going to stay now, O'Brien?"