The hermit paid no attention to anything that was said. His recent conversation had given vent to a flood of memories and feelings that had been pent up for many years.
After supper Nigel resolved to make a confidant of Moses. The negro's fidelity to and love for his master would ensure his sympathy at least, if not wise counsel.
"Moses," he said, when the professor had raised himself to the seventh heaven by means of tobacco fumes, "come with me. I want to have a talk."
"Das what I's allers wantin', Massa Nadgel; talkin's my strong point if I hab a strong point at all."
They went together to the edge of a cliff on the hill-top, whence they could see an almost illimitable stretch of tropical wilderness bathed in a glorious flood of moonlight, and sat down.
On a neighbouring cliff, which was crowned with a mass of grasses and shrubs, a small monkey also sat down, on a fallen branch, and watched them with pathetic interest, tempered, it would seem, by cutaneous irritation.
"Moses, I am sorely in need of advice," said Nigel, turning suddenly to his companion with ill-suppressed excitement.
"Well, Massa Nadgel, you does look like it, but I'm sorry I ain't a doctor. Pra'ps de purfesser would help you better nor me."
"You misunderstand me. Can you keep a secret, Moses?"
"I kin try—if—if he's not too diffikilt to keep."