"Poor wretch!" said Harry to himself, as he gazed down at the helpless man, and, loosening and taking off his woollen jersey, he wrung it tightly, getting out as much water as he could, and then drew it on the stony cold figure lying in the washed-up dry brown weed.  This, too, he dragged over him, piling it up in a heap, to try and give him some warmth, while the exertion sent a thrill of heat through his own half-naked frame.