“Iss, my son,” said the old man, with a laugh. “I don’t believe there’s a soul ever been in this zorn besides me.”
“But you don’t smuggle now?” said Geoffrey.
“No, not unless I want a drop of brandy or Hollands gin.”
“Then why have you come here?”
“Ha, ha, ha! I’ll show you,” said the old man, laughing. “I haven’t lived here for nothing. Wait till I’ve lit the lantern, and we’ll see.”
He took the matches, and as he struck one the roof and sides of the cave seemed to flash with metallic green, but Geoffrey saw that it was only the bright, wet moss that he had found in the adit of the old mine, and he sat there watching the old man, as he lit and closed the lantern, set it down on the thwart, and then proceeded to guide the boat forward along the narrow channel of water, over which the granite roof spread in a low arch, sometimes rising ten or twenty feet, but more often coming down as if to crush them.
They must have gone several hundred yards, and still they went on, though it grew much more narrow, till there was little more than room enough for the boat to go along, but the water seemed deep beneath her keel, and the cavern or rift still wound on.
“What have you got in here, Father Prawle?” said Geoffrey, at length, after sitting for some time watching the strange effects of light and shadow, as the old man forced the boat along by thrusting the boat-hook against the roof or sides.
“Nothing,” said the old man, laconically.
“Then why have we come?”