"Let me out, pray."
"Oh," moaned the girl, "what does it mean?"
"Ahoy there!" came more plainly now. "Whoever you are, get a boat, and
go off to the cutter _White Hawk_. Can you hear?"
"Yes, yes," said the girl huskily, as a horrible suspicion ran through
her mind.
"Tell Lieutenant Brough that Mr Raystoke is a prisoner, kept by the
smugglers, and then show his men the way here."
There was a pause, for Celia could make no reply; she knew who Mr
Raystoke was, and it seemed horrible to her that the frank, good-looking
young midshipman should be kept a prisoner in such a tomb-like place as
that.
"Don't, don't say you will not go!" came up in the smothered tones.
"You shall have a reward."
"As if I wanted a reward!" panted Celia. "What shall I do? What shall
I do?"
"Help--pray help!" came from below; and Grip joined in.
"Yes, I will help you," cried Celia, placing her face close down to the
stones.
"What!" came up. "I know you--the young--yes, Miss Graeme."
"Yes," she cried hastily.
"Pray help me."
"I want to," she said; "but--but you will go and--and tell--about what
you have seen."