He was the first to break the silence.
“Had we not now better separate?” he said. “We can see you on the morrow, squire.”
“There is yet one thing which remains to be considered,” said Learmont, in a low voice.
“What is that?” cried the smith.
“When we are all gone, may not some one’s curiosity be prompted to visit this house?”
“That is true,” said Gray, turning pale.
“If they do,” cried Britton, “they shall find nothing; I will see to that.”
“Let it be so, then,” said Learmont, rising.
“Before we separate now,” interposed Gray, “there is one thing which we should all feel thoroughly assured, and that is, that our mutual safety depends upon our mutual preservation; that is, I mean, if one falls the others are in danger.”
“We understand that, most politic Master Gray,” sneered Learmont, as he clasped his cloak, preparatory to leaving the smithy.
“Perhaps, not fully,” said Gray.
“I am sure, not fully,” cried Britton, with a hoarse laugh. “I have a hold upon our good friend the squire, which I will not even trust to the good-keeping of Master Jacob Gray.”
“Ha!” cried Learmont, turning ghastly pale. “What—what mean you?”
“This way,” said the smith, beckoning the squire to the further end of the apartment. Learmont obeyed the invitation, and whatever was the communication he received, it was conveyed very briefly, for he suddenly exclaimed—
“Enough! enough!” and strode to the door.
“Your worshipful squireship,” said Gray, “will always please to recollect that my little packet, that is at home, would be an exceedingly awkward revelation, should anything happen to me.”
“Hear me, both of you!” cried Learmont, turning with flashing eyes upon the two men who so mocked him with their power. “I know;—I admit that you both possess secrets that would prove my destruction; aye, my death. We do understand one another, and we may as well speak openly. What you would say is this, Jacob Gray, that I dare not for my own safety take your vile life; and you the same, Britton; you have me in your toils, I grant it; there needs no insinuations. We have waded through too much blood to feel any delicacy of speech towards each other. You have power, but beware how you use it, or you will rouse a devil that you cannot quell again. Be moderate and faithful, and it will not be worth my while to seek for safe means for your destruction. Drive me too far, and you perish, though I call on hell to aid me!”
So saying, without waiting for an answer, he strode from the smithy with his face distorted by passion, leaving the two confederates, who had not expected such a burst of fury, abashed, even in spite of their deep villanies and abounding craft.
“Gray!” said the smith, after a few moments’ silence.
Jacob Gray started and cried, “What shall we do now? Squire Learmont is a man of wild passion.”
“What is his wild passion to us?” said Britton; “we have the means of stripping him of his wealth, and leading him to a scaffold.”
“But you forget, Master Britton, that upon that same scaffold you and I would be accommodated with prominent situations.”
“Pshaw!” cried the smith. “That is a thought that does not haunt me. We are as adventurous miners, Gray, who have suddenly hit upon a vein of wealth, which it requires but ordinary skill to work to our mutual profit.”
“True,” said Gray, “and we will work it, always my friend, Britton, remembering that we are so situated that we stand or fall together.”
“Agreed,” cried the smith. “If I fall I care not who stands; only thus much I will take pains to do—drag all I can within the sphere of my own ruin.”
“You are very considerate,” said Gray. “And now you must recollect that my absence from London must be limited. There is danger in a longer stay.”
“Away, then, with you at once.”
“What! leave Learmont with nothing but sounding promises, and an empty purse? No, Britton. I must again see Squire Learmont, before I take my leave of this place, which I hate.”
“True,” said the smith. “And before you go, there is another small matter in which I claim your assistance.”
“What is that?”
“Beyond that ancient door is a sight which must be placed beyond human recognition.”
Gray turned ghastly pale, as he said, “Britton, your nerves are strong. You will feel little in—in—disposing securely of whatever is there that would blast the gaze of another.”
“Jacob Gray,” said Britton in a determined tone, “you share the advantages. You have by your cunning so hedged yourself in with precautions, that I, even I, feel how impolitic it would be to scatter your brains with yon forge-hammer.”
Gray started to his feet, as he exclaimed:
“You surely did not mean to murder me?”
“I did!” roared the smith. “And now, Jacob Gray, we understand each other, and you know you are safe with me. But I will have no flinching, there is a work to be performed which you shall aid in, although you shrink from it as you would from the mouth of hell. If it turn your blood to liquid flame you shall do it. If your reason fail you at the ghastly sight, for ghastly it is, you shall do it; nay, should you die in gasping terror, and involve me and Learmont in one common destruction by the wily narrative you have left in London, you shall do it.”
“Spare me! spare me!” said Gray.
“Ha! Ha!” laughed the smith, with a discordant yell that echoed through the lofty hall. “Spare you? spare Jacob Gray?”
“I implore you,” cried Gray. “Spare me this task and I will pay you handsomely.”
“You forget,” said Britton “that I have a better-filled purse than yours to apply to. I love money, because it is enjoyment and power, but I have my fancies, and one of them is, that you shall do your full share of this necessary work. Your safety, as well as mine, demands that it should be done. Any prying rustic who could so far call upon his curiosity as to master his fears and penetrate from this hall through yon door, would find food for gossip and inquiry, that would raise a spirit, even all the wealth of Learmont could not quell. It must be done, I say, and by the infernal powers you shall do it.”
Gray shuddered, and he said in a low voice, “When shall we again see Learmont?”
“By the morning’s light,” answered the smith, “I will take you to the mansion by a secret means, known only to myself. You can then procure the means you immediately require. He dare not refuse you, and post-horses will carry you to London, in ample time to take possession of the little document you have so providentially left behind you.”
“Yes—yes,” said Gray. “Oh, yes, there will be time and—and Britton, I will hand to you one-half of the sum that I procure from Learmont’s fears, if—if you will do this work that must be done alone.”
“No!” cried Britton. “A hundred times, no! The world’s wealth, Jacob Gray, should not tempt me to let you off.”
He took a flambeau from a corner as he spoke, and lighting it by the forge fire, he held it high above his head, and while its flickering light cast many dancing shadows upon the time-blackened