“Another stowaway!” she exclaimed, but in a lower tone. “Why father found one just before we left port.”
“I know it,” returned Brandon. “He was with me. What did they do with him?”
“Father gave him into the hands of the police,” replied the girl gravely. “He’s very hard on stowaways. Why did you get into the hold?”
“Because I had to; yes, I did—actually had to,” declared Brandon, in a whisper. “I can’t tell you the whole story now; but I will some time. I haven’t done anything wrong—excepting taking a few provisions from the ship’s stores. Those I will pay you for now,” and he took his purse from the pocket of his stained and ragged coat.
“No, no!” cried the girl, drawing back, “I do not want your money.”
“Then I shall leave it, as I first intended, on the cabin table when we get to Savannah.”
“But the men will find you when we get in, even if I don’t tell father.”
“I hope not,” Brandon replied, so earnestly that the captain’s daughter looked at him curiously.
“Is there anybody aboard whom you fear?” she asked shrewdly.
“Yes, there is. It is that evil looking man—the one who has chartered the brig—Jim Leroyd.”