“You’re Captain Keene, then, whose letters to the Admiralty Jane has so often read to me in the newspapers. Where have we met? I’ve heard that voice before.”
“Indeed sir,” replied I, rather confused.
“Yes, I have; I always know a voice again; let me see—why, captain, you were here with Cross, the first time I ever heard him—you were an agent, and now you’re a captain,” continued the old man, looking very grave.
“Hush, sir,” replied I: “pray don’t speak so loud. Do you recollect what I came about? Do you suppose that when I was a party to the escape of a prisoner I could let you know, being a perfect stranger, that I was an officer in his Majesty’s service?”
“Very true,” replied the old man, “I cannot blame you for that. But was Cross an officer in the service at that time?”
“No, sir, he was not,” replied I; “he was appointed boatswain to my ship by the admiral in the West Indies.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I thought Cross might have deceived me also; every one tries to cheat a blind man—and the blind are suspicious. I’m glad that Cross did not deceive me, or I would have seen my niece in her coffin before—but say no more about it, you could not do otherwise; all’s right, sir, and I’m very glad to see you, and to have the honour of your company. Sit down, sir, I beg. By the bye, Captain Keene, have you heard of the girl since?”
“My dear sir,” replied I, glad to give him my confidence, “there are no secrets between us now; it was no girl, but the son of the captain of the Dutch frigate, and an officer, whose escape you assisted in.”
“I don’t wonder, then, at your not making yourself known,” replied the old man. “Why, if I had known it had been an officer, I never would have had a hand in the job—but a poor girl, it was mere charity to assist her, and I thought I was acting the part of a Christian, poor blind sinner that I am.”
“You did a kind act, sir, and Heaven will reward you.”