He was seated there one morning when, in the midst of the reverie in which he was indulging, he was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and, looking up, he saw old Prawle approaching and beckoning to him in a mysterious fashion.
“What’s the matter?” said Geoffrey, starting up.
“I want you,” whispered the old man, though probably there was not a soul within half a mile.
“Well, what do you want?”
“Business—particular business. Come down to my place and talk.”
“Why, can’t you talk here?” said Geoffrey, gruffly.
“No, no. Come to my place.”
Soured, disappointed, and out of humour, Geoffrey was on the point of declining; but the old man had manifested so kindly a disposition towards him of late that he followed him without another word along the cliff to the Cove, where they descended the rough stairs to the bit of a cave; where the old man, instead of producing brandy and tobacco as Geoffrey expected, took down an old ship’s lantern, saw that it was well trimmed, placed some matches inside, and then placed it inside his rough jacket.
“Wait a bit,” he said, “and I’ll show you;” and he laughed audibly. “Look here. You carry this compass,” he continued, taking one from a shelf.
“But what do you want? What are you going to do?” said Geoffrey.