The letter was speedily sealed and directed, and sent off the next morning to the post by one of his companions, who, by that time, was sufficiently sober to undertake the errand.
Gaffin’s lugger, the Lively, lay at anchor off the mill. She had no contraband goods on board, so that a visit from the revenue officers need not be feared. He had previously intended going away in her, but he now was anxious to see his son before he sailed. His difficulty, in the meantime, was to dispose of his guests. They, however, as long as his supply of liquor and provisions lasted, would be content to remain where they were. He had no wish to bring his son among them, for bad as he himself was, he had, since the loss of his youngest boy, kept his other two children ignorant of his mode of life, though it was possible that the eldest might have suspected it from circumstances which he must have remembered in his younger days.
Gaffin waited with more patience than he generally exercised, till he calculated that a sufficient time had elapsed to allow of his son’s arrival. He then walked down to the little inn in the village.
Just as he readied it, a post-chaise drove up to the door, out of which stepped a young man, whom he recognised as Miles, though he had not seen him for the last three or four years.
“You are my son, Miles, I conclude,” said Gaffin.
“You are my father, I suppose,” answered the young man in the same tone.
“You are right,” said Gaffin. “Pay the post-boy, and let him bring your portmanteau into the house. I will order a room, and we will talk over the matter in hand.”
The landlady having shown Gaffin into a room, young Miles did as he was directed, and followed him.
“Well, I want to know more about this business you sent for me about,” said the young man, throwing himself into a chair. “I have done as you told me, and I hope you think I have got a good chance.”
Gaffin surveyed his son for a moment.