“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.”