“The coincidences are curious. I—I believe I speak to Sir Francis Hartleton now?”
“Yes,” replied Hartleton; “I was, you recollect, destined for the law, which my small patrimony just enabled me to enter with credit. I am now a justice, and a knight, as you say.”
“I give you joy, sir, of your advancement,” said Learmont.
“You are very kind,” replied Hartleton, fixing his eyes upon the countenance of Learmont in a manner that it required all the firmness of the latter not to quail under.
“Might I presume so far,” said Learmont, “as to ask, what were the thoughts concerning me that engaged Sir Francis Hartleton even now?”
“I was thinking of the mysterious man,” said Hartleton, “who rushed with such wild gestures and shrieks from the burning house.”
Learmont strove to command his features to indifference; but, the effort was almost beyond his power, and he spoke to endeavour to cover his agitation.
“It was very strange,” he said; “most singular!”
“And the little child, too, that he had in his arms,” continued Hartleton; “what can have become of that?”
“Ay—what?” said Learmont.
“Did you never get any clue, Squire Learmont, to these mysterious circumstances, which must have greatly interested you?”
“Interested me? How?”
“Inasmuch as they occurred upon your estate, and among your own tenants.”
“True—most true, sir. I—I was—and am much interested; but I know nothing—have heard nothing, and have no clue to unravel the mystery.”
“We must only hope,” said Hartleton, “that some of these days, accident as it generally does, will throw a light upon the subject, and give it to us in all its details.”
An awful expression came across the face of Learmont as he replied.
“Yes—yes. As you say, it will be an accident. May I ask what your impression is?”
“I have scarcely an impression upon the subject,” replied Hartleton; “we lawyers, you know, are particularly cautious how we take up impressions upon subjects unfounded upon evidence.”
“Exceedingly proper is such caution,” said Learmont; “otherwise the innocent might be the victims of endless mistakes.”
“Exactly,” replied Hartleton; “but I have no particular objection to tell you my dream without founding any impression upon it.”
“I am all attention,” said Learmont.
“I dreamt first that that smith, of the name of Britton, was a desperate villain, and for gold would—”
“Would what?” gasped Learmont.
“Do anything” said Hartleton.
“Well, sir, is that all?”
“Oh, no; my vision changed, and I thought I saw a gloomy passage, mouldy with the damps of time, and dripping with unwholesome moisture—creeping slimy things were all around, and in the midst I saw—”
“Yes—yes,” gasped Learmont. “W—what saw you?”
“A mouldering skeleton.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, and the most curious circumstance of all was that in the midst of it I constantly heard the clank of the smith’s hammer. I knew the sound in a moment.”
“ ’Tis very strange!” muttered Learmont.
“Most strange!” said Hartleton; “but again my vision changed.”
“What saw you then?”
“A hall of judgment.”
“Yes—yes.”
“It was densely crowded, and some important and interesting proceeding was evidently pending; then suddenly I heard a voice cry your name.”
“My name?”
“Yes, and you were asked to plead to a charge of murder!”
A cold sweat broke out upon the forehead of Learmont, and he could not answer, when Hartleton added—
“It was but a dream, though. I wish you a good morning, and a pleasant walk, Squire Learmont.”
CHAPTER XIV.
The Dark Threat.—The Biter Bit.—Another Murder Projected.—Learmont’s Reasoning.
Learmont stood for a few moments gazing after the retreating figure of Sir Francis Hartleton; then, shaking his clenched hand in the direction he was proceeding, he muttered between his teeth—
“Beware—beware, Sir Magistrate!—beware! You may rouse a spirit you cannot quell again. I am not the man to allow such as thou to be a stumbling-block in my path.”
So saying, with a dark scowl upon his brow, the squire retraced his steps towards his own house. The morning sun was now gilding with beauty the housetops, and the icicles, which, pendant from every tree, shone like gems of the purest water and brilliancy. Unheedful, however, of the beauties of nature around, the wealthy Learmont passed onwards, his thoughts, dark and gainful as they were, fully absorbing all his attention. He passed up the little lane which was the nearest route to his own house; and, as he was about to emerge from it, he was startled (for the guilty are ever timid) by some one touching his shoulder. Turning quickly round, he saw Jacob Gray, with a sickly, disagreeable smile upon his face, standing close to him.
“Your worship rises early,” said Gray.
“Yes; you—you have been seeking me?”
“I have, squire. Your servants sought you, it appears, and found you were not within; and, as I knew it was much the custom of the great gentry, such as your worship, to gather an appetite for breakfast by a stroll in the park, I made bold to seek you.”
“I am now proceeding homeward,” said Learmont. “In half an hour from now I shall be at leisure.”
“As your worship pleases,” said Gray; “but methought there was an inclination on the part of your lackeys to deny me speech of you. Now, squire, if you would have the goodness to leave a message in your hall to the effect that your old and trusty friend Jacob Gray was always to be admitted, it would save us both trouble.”
Learmont was exceedingly impatient during this speech, and, at its conclusion, he said, in a vexed tone—
“Well—well—I will leave proper orders. In half an hour I shall expect you.”
“Your worship shall not be disappointed,” said Gray, with a bow which had more of burlesque mockery in it than respect.
Learmont turned haughtily from him, and in a few moments he entered the gardens of his mansion, by the same private door through which he had proceeded to the park. He ordered a sumptuous breakfast to be immediately prepared for him, and took an opportunity to say, in a careless manner, to the servant, whose special province it was to answer the silver bell which always was at Learmont’s elbow—
“Tell them in the hall that I expect one Jacob Gray. Let him be admitted.”
The servant respectfully retired to communicate the message, and Learmont, after a pause of thought, said, in a low voice—
“Yes, Jacob Gray, you shall be admitted as often as you