"Look here," he said; "I don't want to tell about your father being
mixed up with the smugglers."

"You must not--you dare not!" cried Celia.

There was another pause, and then the prisoner's voice came again
reproachfully.

"You ought to know it's my duty, and that I was sent ashore to find this
out.--I say."

"Yes."

"Did you know I was shut up like this by those beasts?"

"Oh, no, no, no!"

"Your father did. He had me sent here, so that he should not get into
trouble."

"Indeed no! He would not do so wicked a thing."

"But he is a smuggler."

"It is not true!" cried Celia passionately; "and if you dare to say such
things of my dear, good, suffering father, I'll go away and never help
you."

"I can't help saying it," said Archy sturdily. "I'd give anything to
get out of this dreadful dark place; but I must speak."

"Not of him."

"I don't want to speak of him," said Archy, "but what can I do? I must
tell about all those smuggled things there in the cellar that night when
you found me in that room--out of uniform."

"Ah!" ejaculated Celia.

"I know it's hard on you, but I've been here a prisoner ever since, and
it's enough to break one's heart."

The poor fellow's voice changed a little as he spoke, and he would have
given way if he had seen Celia's head bowed down, and that she was
crying bitterly.

"You will send for help?"

"I cannot," sobbed the girl, "unless you will promise not to tell."

There was a pause again.

"I can't promise," came up huskily, in faint smothered tones. "I say,
is the door locked as well as bolted?"

"I cannot tell; it is covered with stones. Pray, pray promise me that
you will not tell. I do want to help you to get away."

"I can't promise," said Archy at last, after a bitter struggle with
self. "I must go straight to my officer and tell him as soon as I get
out."

At that moment there was a sharp barking from the dog, who rushed up the
steps to stand at the top for a few moments before coming down again.

"Won't you help me?"

"To send my poor innocent father to prison," said Celia in a low voice.

"I can't hear you," came from below.

"And I can't tell you," said Celia to herself. "What shall I do--what
shall I do?"

She stole softly up the rugged steps, with her fingers in her ears, in
dread lest she should be called upon to listen to the prisoner's piteous
appeals for help; and, as soon as she reached the top, she set off
running as h