“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, aren’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.”