“Speak to me! And what might it be upon? Well, I am all attention, proceed.”
“I wish to speak to you alone.”
The old man extended his thin, horny hand towards the barren, dusty plain, then towards the silent river.
“You may speak here safely,” said he, with a grim smile. “We are quite alone, and I do not expect we shall be interrupted by visitors.”
“Ah, sir,” she cried, in a tone of anguish, “they say you know more than other men, and if this be so, which I do not for a moment doubt, you may be able to render me a service.”
“I do not at present see in what way. What is it you desire?”
“To find my son, whom I have been searching in vain for.”
The ferryman regarded her for a moment, and then shook his head.
“Do not refuse me the assistance I require. If I do not find my poor boy, I shall die. My feet are blistered with walking, my eyes are sore with weeping, and my heart is pining for him I cannot find. Oh, sir, if you have the power to assist me, you will not—you cannot refuse.”
She fell upon the damp ground, and prayed with clasped hands to him who looked at her through her gate.