“I know it.” “You are wrong, Jacob Gray. There was a time, I admit, when I panted for your destruction—I longed to be revenged upon you for your hints and instructions to Britton, but that time is past—personal safety is now all I care for.” “Humph!” said Gray, “revenge is such a long-lived passion, ’tis sometimes like a blazing fire craving fiercely for its prey, and then it moves to something desperate and dangerous; but at others ’tis like a smouldering combustion, scarcely telling of its existence, but still slowly and surely burning on till the end of time, as if it were by some mysterious means fed by its own ashes. Squire Learmont, I do not say absolutely nay to your offer. There may come a day when I shall wish for freedom of action in another land; then I will bring the boy perchance to you, reserving the confession until my foot is on the shore, or some other safe method which I have not yet matured: at present, however, we will wait; yes, we will have a little patience, Squire Learmont.” Learmont bit his lips, and bent a scowl of such fierce hatred at Gray, that if he had for a moment doubted the flame of resentment still lived in Learmont’s breast or not, such doubt would have been at once dissipated, and he would have felt convinced that their relative positions had not altered one iota. “Well, well,” said Gray, after a moment’s pause, “we will talk of other things. The boy improves exceedingly.” Learmont bent on him a glance of peculiar meaning as he said— “Gray, that boy would be to me a dainty sight in his coffin.” “No doubt—no doubt,” said Gray. “The time may come when you may enjoy such a sight; but not yet—not yet.” “I must needs wait your pleasure in this matter, Master Gray; but you are not serious in refusing to exert your skill in the destruction of the besotted knave, Britton? Ah! Jacob Gray, you stand in your own light most grievously.” “Do I?” said Gray. “Hem! Squire Learmont, some time since I listened to your proposals for the death of Britton, the savage smith, I agreed with you that his love of drink should be the means used to lure him to destruction. The plan was thus to stultify his judgment and never very active caution by the strong stimulants he so dotes on, till I wound from him the secret of where he kept the papers, you know, and the confession, if indeed he had written one—a fact I always doubted; and then a subtle poison in his cup would remove him for ever. Two things prompted me to the deed, Squire Learmont.” “What were they?” “The one was my love of gold. Look ye, sir; had I obtained the papers which prove, as I well know, your illegitimacy, and bar you for ever from possessing the estates of Learmont, be assured I should have kept them.” “Kept them, Gray?” “Ay, kept them.” “But you had—you have—sufficient hold on me already, in the person of that boy.”