"Hush, woman!" he gasped, "not a word. No one must know you have seen me." "Lor', and I forgot all about that," she said in a whisper. "More I mustn't. There's the police and Master Leslie and everybody been out in boats trying to find you washed up, you know." "And now you've found me, and will go and get the reward," he said bitterly. "I don't know nothing about no reward," said the woman, staring hard at him. "Why, where's your jacket and weskut? Aren't you cold?" "Cold? I'm starving," he cried. "You look it. Here, what shall I do? Go and get you something to eat?" "Yes--no!" he cried bitterly. "You'll go and tell the police." "Well, I am ashamed o' you, Master Harry, that I am." "But it was all a misfortune, Poll Perrow, an accident. I am not guilty. I'm not indeed." "I warn't talking about that," said the woman surlily, "but 'bout you saying I should tell the police. It's likely, arn't it?" "Then you will not tell--you will not betray me?" "Yah! are it likely, Master Harry? Did I tell the pleece 'bout Mark Nackley when he was in trouble over the smuggling and hid away?" "But I am innocent; I am indeed." "All right, my lad, all right, Master Harry. If you says so, that's 'nough for me. Here, I'll go and tell Master Vine I've found you." "No, no; he thinks I'm dead." "Well, everybody does; and I said it was a pity such a nice, handsome young lad should be drowned like that. I told my Liza so." "My father must not know." "Miss Louie, then?" "No, no. You must keep it a secret from everybody, unless you want to see me put in prison." "Now is that likely, my lad? Here, I've got it. I'll go and tell Master Luke Vine." "Worst of all. No; not a word to a soul." "All right, Master Harry; I can keep my mouth shut when I try. But what are you going to do?" "I don't know yet. I'm hiding yonder." "What! in the little seal zorn?" "Yes. Don't betray me, woman, pray!" "Betray you, Master Harry? You know I won't." "You will not tell a soul?" "You tell me not to tell nobody, and I won't say a word even to my Liza. But they're seeking for you everywhere--dead. Oh! my dear lad, shake hands. I am glad you warn't drowned." The warm grasp of the rough woman's coarse hand and the genuine sympathy in her eyes were too much for Harry Vine. Weak from mental trouble-- more weak from hunger--manhood, self-respect, everything passed from him as he sank upon one of the hard pieces of weedy rock; and as the woman bent over him and laid her hands upon his shoulder, he flung his arms about her, let his head sink upon her breast, and cried like a child.