He stood by the table, and again perused the letter in an audible voice.
Noble and Honoured Sir—Agreeable to your most kind instructions I send an account of the disposal of all the moneys from time to time entrusted by your most noble worship, to the care of your most humble servant. Your honour will perceive by the annexed schedule, that like a river augmented by a thousand little streams, you honour’s real property has swollen to nearly one million sterling.
“A million,” cried Learmont, drawing himself up to his full height and casting a flashing glance around him. “A million pieces of those golden slaves that are ever ready to yield enjoyment. A million of those glittering sprites which are more powerful than the genii of old romance. Can I not now triumph? What refinement of life—what exquisite enjoyments can now be denied to me!”
The door now softly opened, and an old servant appeared.
“What now?” cried Learmont abruptly.
“Britton, the smith, comes for your worship’s orders,” said the servant.
A gloom spread itself over the countenance of Learmont.
“Show him this way,” he said, as he sank into a chair with his back to the light.
“He brings one with him, too, who craves to see your worship.”
“No! No!” cried Learmont, springing to his feet. “ ’Tis false—false as hell. Has he dared to—to—the villain!—His own destruction is as certain.”
The domestic looked amazed, but before he could make any remark, Britton the smith, accompanied by Jacob Gray, stood on the threshold of the door.
The hand of Learmont was plunged deep beneath the breast of his coat, as he said.
“Well? What—who is that?”
“A friend,” said Britton, in a low voice.
For a moment Learmont regarded the face of the smith with attentive earnestness, and then slowly withdrawing his hand, which had doubtless clasped some weapon of defence, he said to the servant, “Leave the room. Well, Britton; I—I am glad you have come about the—steel gauntlets. Leave the room, I say.”
The servant who had lingered from curiosity, reluctantly left and closed the door.
His curiosity, however, was far from satisfied, and after lingering a moment or two, he fairly knelt down outside the door and placed his ear as flat against the key-hole as it was possible so to do. A confused murmur of voices was all that by his utmost exertions he could hear.
“A plague on them,” he muttered. “If they would but get in a passion now and speak loud.”
His wish was gratified, for at the moment Learmont’s voice rose above its ordinary pitch, as he said, “A thousand pounds upon the assurance of the fact, beyond a doubt.”
The reply was too indistinct to hear, much to the torture of the servants and in another moment his curiosity received a disagreeable check by his master exclaiming, “I’ll get it, and return to you immediately,” and before Oliver, which was the old domestic’s name, could rise from his knees, the door opened, and his master nearly fell over him on the threshold.
“Ha!” cried Learmont, drawing back. “Fool, you have ensured your destruction.”
“Mercy, sir! Oh, mercy!” cried the old man.
Learmont took a sword from a corner of the room and unsheathed it.
“Hold, sir, a moment,” said Gray. “I do not think it possible he could hear much.”
“Dotard!” cried Learmont, to the trembling Oliver. “What could induce you to throw away the remnant of your worthless life by such folly?”
“Oh, sir, I heard nothing—I know nothing,” cried the old man, “I—I was only passing the door to—to go to the picture gallery, and stooped to pick up—a nail—that’s all, upon my word, sir.”
“Where is the nail?” said the smith.
“Here,” said Oliver, pointing to the oaken floor. “I thought it was loose, but found it fast.”
“It matters not,” said Learmont, suddenly casting the sword from him; “I don’t like even the most trifling affairs to be pryed into; but since you know all, Oliver, will you assist us?”
“Sir, I am at your service,” said Oliver; “but, on my soul, I heard nothing but your honour say you would get something.”
“Pooh—pooh!” cried Learmont. “I forgive thee listening. Would money tempt you, Oliver?”
“To what, sir?” said Oliver, with such a look of real innocence, that Learmont turned aside, saying—
“Enough—he knows nothing. Begone!”
With precipitation the old servant left the apartment, and when he was fairly gone, Learmont turned to his visitors and said—
“Rest quiet till to-night. I will then meet you at the smithy.”
“That may scarcely be,” said the smith, “for this gentleman—this considerate Master Gray, must get hence again with all expedition.”
“There will be time, then,” said Gray, “and a day to spare.”
“Be it so, then,” said the smith.
“To-night at the Smithy,” again said Learmont.
“At what hour?”
“After midnight. I will tap thrice at your door. Reflect upon my offer, Gray; ’tis a large sum.”
Gray turned his small cunning eyes upon Learmont as he replied—
“There is an old fable, of the Goose and the Golden Eggs. You cannot expect me to kill my goose so soon.”
“Nor can you expect me to comply constantly with extortionate demands,” replied Learmont, trembling with passion.
“We will settle all to-night,” said the smith. “Do not fail us, sir.”
“Be assured I will not. But recollect, I come to purchase the silence, not of a well kept secret, but of the grave.”
They parted, and once again the Squire of Learmont was alone with his own thoughts. He threw himself into a chair, with a deep groan, saying, “There must be more blood—more blood, ere I can dream of safety.”
CHAPTER VI.
Night Again.—The Ruins.—The Conference.—The Old Oaken Door.—The Resolve.
Great was the surprise in the village of Learmont at the non-appearance of the stranger who had arrived during the snow storm at the village. He had been seen with the smith proceeding to Learmont House, but that one should willingly take up even a day residence with Savage Britton, at the old Smithy, was quite beyond the comprehension of the simple villagers.
But such appeared,