“But suppose she hates me, I shall have done a deed and gained nothing. She may suspect that I did it. Why did I madly go and see her this evening? I had not intended to enter the cottage. Had the dame not gone away I should not have thought of it. Still, neither she nor any one else can swear that I am guilty. No eye will see me. The path is slippery: it will be supposed that he fell into the water.” Then at that moment a voice seemed to whisper to him the words Michael had uttered long before, “God sees and hears and knows everything we do or say or think.” It seemed to be that of Michael, “The darkness is no darkness to Him; the day and night to Him are both alike.”
“Oh, He sees me now; He knows what I am thinking of.”
The strong, daring smuggler trembled.
“I cannot do it; miserable I may be, but I should be more miserable still if I had it ever present to my mind that I had killed in cold blood another man who never wished to offend me.”
He rushed from his concealment and threw the weapon he had hitherto clutched in his hand far away into the water.
He was hurrying homewards, when he heard shouts coming up from the harbour’s mouth. He caught the sounds; they were cries, for hands to man a boat.
Constitutionally brave, he was ready at that moment for any desperate service. He wanted something to drive away the fearful thoughts which agitated his mind; he dreaded being left to himself; he must be actively engaged or he should go mad, if he was not mad already.
He hurried to the quay, alongside which a boat, kept ready for emergencies, was tossing up and down; she was not a life-boat, but still one well fitted to encounter heavy seas, and was used to go off to vessels which had got embayed or ran a risk of being driven on shore.
“I am ready to go off, if you want another hand,” he exclaimed.
“You will do, and welcome. Our number is now made up,” answered Uncle Reuben, who was seated in the stern of the boat.