"Good," he said with satisfaction. "It shall be recovered."
"But, Master Juggins——"
"Tush, sir," he brushed my objection aside. "'Tis naught. Some day you shall refund the money, if you wish. But I would not have you lose the miniature. I loved your lady mother, if I may say so."
I pressed his hand, and struggled for words to answer. But he would have none, and insisted that I continue my story.
"So you secured funds?" he said. "And next?"
"I bought passage from a smuggler of Dieppe, who landed me three weeks since in Sussex. I made my way to Dorset, hoping to find old friends who would help me to gain a pardon; but in Dorchester High Street I was recognized by one of my cousins who now hold Foxcroft House, and he raised a hue and cry after me, fearing no doubt that I sought to regain the estate.
"Since then I have been hunted like a beast. My last shilling was spent this morning. Tomorrow, had I escaped so long, I planned to sell my sword, and if all else failed to seek a press-gang."
"Let us thank God you heard my cries," said Juggins earnestly.
He rose from his chair, a stout, square-built man with a shrewd, weather-beaten face and a manner of authority, despite the simplicity of his demeanor and attire.
"I do," I said, "and with no lack of reverence, my friend, I also thank you."