"That's all the worst part of it. It appears that she hoped not to be found out till after we had sailed, and then to have--as she said, poor thing!--to have laid at my feet and watched over me in the storms; but I pointed out to her that it was not permitted, and could not be, and that I would not be allowed to marry her. Oh, Peter! this is a very sad business," continued O'Brien, passing his hand across his eyes. "Well, but, O'Brien, what is to become of the poor girl?" "She is going home to be with my father and mother, hoping one day that I shall come back and marry her. I have written to Father McGrath to see what he can do." "Have you then not undeceived her?" "Father McGrath must do that, I could not. It would have been the death of her. It would have stabbed her to the heart, and it's not for me to give that blow. I'd sooner have died--sooner have married her, than have done it, Peter. Perhaps when I'm far away she'll bear it better. Father McGrath will manage it." "O'Brien, I don't like that Father McGrath." "Well, Peter, you maybe right; I don't exactly like all he says myself; but what is a man to do?--either he is a Catholic, and believes as a Catholic, or he is not one. Will I abandon my religion, now that it is persecuted? Never, Peter; I hope not, without I find a much better, at all events. Still, I do not like to feel that this advice of my confessor is at variance with my own conscience. Father McGrath is a wordly man; but that only proves that he is wrong, not that our religion is--and I don't mind speaking to you on this subject. No one knows that I'm a Catholic except yourself: and at the Admiralty they never asked me to take that oath which I never would have taken, although Father McGrath says I may take any oath I please with what he calls heretics, and he will grant me absolution. Peter, my dear fellow, say no more about it."