“As if I wanted a reward!” panted Celia. “What shall I do? What shall I do?”
“Help—pray help!” came from below; and Grip joined in.
“Yes, I will help you,” cried Celia, placing her face close down to the stones.
“What!” came up. “I know you—the young—yes, Miss Graeme.”
“Yes,” she cried hastily.
“Pray help me.”
“I want to,” she said; “but—but you will go and—and tell—about what you have seen.”
There was a pause, and then came faintly the words,—
“I—don’t—want to; but—I must.”
“But I cannot—I cannot help you if you are going to fetch the sailors here, perhaps to seize—Oh, what shall I do?”