I was taken aback, but thought it well to keep up my position, which appeared to be one of advantage. The young man (for it was a youngster's voice) was evidently no ship's officer. If he were a dockyard pilferer, it was a nuisance, and a complication in my affairs, but I might pull through the difficulty with presence of mind. "Speak low!" I whispered sharply. "What's your name, and where do you come from?" "Alister Auchterlay, they call me" (the whisper was a reluctant one, but I jogged his arm rather fiercely to shake the truth out of him). "I come from Aberdeenshire. But, man! if ye're for having me up in court, for GOD'S sake let me plead in another name, for my mother taks the papers." "What are you doing here?" I whispered in a not very steady whisper, as I think my prisoner detected. "I'm just stowing away," he said eagerly; "I'm no harming a thing. Eh, sir, if you're a ship's 'prentice, or whatever may be your duties on this vessel, let me bide! There's scores of stowaways taken every day, and I'll work as few could." "Do, _do_ try and speak low," I whispered; "or we shall both be found out _I'm stowing away myself_!" "Whew, laddie! How long will ye have been in Liverpool?" "Only to-day. How long have you been here?" "A week, and a sore week too." "You've no friends here, have you?" "Freens, did ye say? I've no freens nearer than Scotland." "You must have had a hard time of it," I whispered. "Ye may say so. I've slept four nights in the docks, and never managed to stow till to-night. There's a watchman about." "I know," said I. "I shouldn't have got in to-night, but the misconducted body's asleep, though I'll say it's the first time I saw him sleeping these four days. Eh, sirs! there's an awful indifference to responsibility, when a man does a thing like yon. But it'll be whisky, I'm thinking; for I heard him at clishmaclavers with one of these randy, drucken old Eirishers." My blood boiled. "She was _not_ drunk!" said I. "And she's--she's a great friend of mine." "Whisht! whisht, man! We'll be heard. I ask your pardon, I'm sure." I made no reply. The Scotchman's tone was unpleasantly dry. Besides it was very difficult to give vent to one's just indignation in whispers, and I still felt giddy, though I was resting my back against some of the lumber, rather comfortably. "You'll no be Eirish, yourself?" the Scotchman asked in his own accent, which was as strong in its way as Biddy's. "I'm English," I said. "Just so. And edyucated, I dare say?" "I suppose so." "Ye've not forgiven me that I wronged the old lady? Indeed, but I ask your pardon, and hers no less. It's not for the best of us to sit in judgment on the erring, as my mother has often said to me, unless it comes in the plain path of duty. But maybe your own temper would be a bit soored if your head was as light and your heart as sick as mine with starvation and hope deferred--" "Are you hungry?" I interrupted. "I'll not be sorry when we get a meal."