"Something tells me you won't. You have a good heart, and you have kept
Narciso from starving, for the sake of your own boy."
"Well?"
"Will you help us?"
"I? In Heaven's name, how?"
"By taking us away in your charcoal-schooner."
"You're mad!" Morin cast another apprehensive look over his shoulder. "I'm a poor man. All I have is my two boats, the vivero, which brings fish, and the volandra, which sails with charcoal. Do you think I'd forfeit them and my life for strangers?"
"There wouldn't be much risk."
"Indeed? Perhaps I know something about that."
O'Reilly leaned closer. "You say you're a poor man, I will pay you well."
Morin eyed the ragged speaker scornfully; it was plain that he put no faith in such a promise, and so O'Reilly took a piece of gold from his pocket, at sight of which the fisherman started.