“Who’s there?” cried he, as we lifted the latch of the gate.
“Friends, sir,” replied Cross; “two persons who come to talk on business.”
“Business! I’ve no business—I’ve done with business long ago: I think of nothing but my perishing soul—poor blind worm that I am.”
He was a very fine-looking old man, although weather-beaten, and his silver locks hung down on his collar; his beard was not shaved, but clipped with scissors: his want of sight gave him a mournful look.
“Nevertheless, sir, I must introduce myself and my friend, the captain,” replied I, “for we want your assistance.”
“My assistance! poor blind beetle—how can I assist you?”
“The fact is, sir, that a young woman is very anxious to return to her friends, on the other side of the water; and knowing that you have acquaintance with those who run to and fro, we thought you might help the poor young woman to a passage.”
“That’s to say, you’ve heard that I was a smuggler. People do say so; but, gentlemen, I now pay customs and excise—my tea has paid duty, and so has my tobacco; so does everything—the king has his own. The Bible says, ‘Render under Caesar the things which are Caesar’s.’ Gentlemen, I stand by the Bible. I am a poor, sinful old wretch—God forgive me.”
“We ask nothing against the Bible, Mr Waghorn; it’s our duty to assist those who are in distress; it’s only a poor young woman.”
“A poor young woman. If she’s poor, people don’t do such work for nothing; besides, it’s wrong, gentlemen—I’ve given up all that,—I’ve a precious soul to look after, and I can’t divert my attention from it. I wish you good-bye, gentlemen.”