The fair equestrian was now joined by two more, whose pace had not been so rapid; and the boatswain, who had been contemplating her with astonishment, as she was addressing the Irish, now that she was about to turn towards him, recollected that some of his men were not exactly in a costume to meet a lady's eye. He raised his call to his mouth, and, with a sonorous whistle, cried out, "All you without trousers behind shealing, hoy!" an order immediately obeyed by the men who had been deprived of their habiliments. Conolly, who had understood the conversation which had taken place, called out in Irish, at the same time as he walked round behind the walls, "I think ye'll be after giving us our duds now, ye dirty spalpeens, so bring 'um wid you quick;" a request which was immediately complied with, the clothes being collected by two of the Irish, and taken to the men who had retired behind the walls of the shealing. Mr Hardsett was not long in replying to her interrogations, and in giving her an outline of the tragical events which had occurred, while the ladies, trembling with pity and emotion, listened to the painful narrative. "Are you the only officer then of the frigate that is left?" "No, madam," replied the boatswain, "the third-lieutenant is here; but there he lies, poor fellow, desperately wounded by these men, from whom we expected to have had relief." "What was the name of your frigate?" "The _Aspasia_, Captain M---." "O heaven!" cried the girl, catching at the collar of the boatswain's coat in her trepidation. "And the wounded officer's name?" "Seymour." A cry of anguish and horror escaped from all the party as the beautiful interrogatress tottered in her seat, and then fell off into the arms of the boatswain. In a few seconds, recovering herself, she regained her feet. "Quick, quick--lead me to him." Supported by Hardsett, she tottered to the spot where Seymour lay, with his eyes closed, faint and exhausted with loss of blood, attended by Robinson and Debriseau. She knelt down by his side, and taking his hand, which she pressed between her own, called him by his name. Seymour started at the sound of the voice, opened his eyes, and in the beauteous form which was reclining over him, beheld his dear, dear Emily. CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN. Ah me! what perils do environ The man that meddles with cold iron; What plaguey mischiefs and mishaps To dog him still with after-claps. HUDIBRAS.