“Know you?” cried Britton, with a voice of rage almost goaded to fury. “Yes, I do know you—robber—thief—paltry wretch that had not courage—” “Hush, Andrew Britton,” said the stranger. “I have travelled many weary miles to visit thee. From the moment that a stranger told me that the clank of your hammer still sounded through the village of Learmont, I guessed how you had been requited. I resolved to seek you, and tell you how to better your condition. I am here with such a purpose. Am I welcome? Or shall I turn from your door in anger, Andrew Britton? Speak at once.” Owing to the position in which the man stood, the red glare of the smith’s fire fell full upon his working features, and after regarding them attentively for some moments, Britton spoke in a calmer tone than he had used before. “I think I understand you now,” he said. “Come in—come in.” “One word before I accept your hospitality,” said the stranger. “Such conversation as ours,” remarked the smith, “is safest carried on within.” “But what I have to say is safest said now, and more to the purpose, as I stand here upon your threshold.” “Say on,” cried Britton, impatiently. “’Tis three days’ journey by the quickest conveyances and the nearest road to where I have hidden my head for ten years—ten weary years. In my chamber lies a sealed packet, on which is written the date of my departure, and accompanying it are these words: ‘If I return not, or send no message with assurance of my safety by the time eight days have expired, take this packet to the nearest justice and bid him open and read its contents.’” The dark countenance of the smith turned to a pallid hue as the stranger spoke, and his gigantic frame perceptibly trembled as he said in a low husky whisper, “And that packet contains—.” “A confession.” “You are cautious; but, you were safe without so deeply laid a plan.” “I may have been; nay, I think I should have been safe when I explained to you, Britton, the motive of my journey hither; but the mind is never so free to act as when safety is doubly assured.” “Come in—come in,” said Britton, “the night air is chilling, and the snow flakes dash upon the floor. Come in at once.” “Freely,” said the stranger, stepping into the smith’s strange abode. Britton carefully barred the door, and without speaking for a few moments, he threw coals upon his forge fire and stirred up the glowing embers until a cheerful blaze of light illuminated the whole interior of the smithy. The stranger, from the moment of his entrance, had fixed his eyes upon a large oaken door at the further end of the ancient hall, and he continued to gaze at it, as if under the influence of some fascination which he could not resist. “Britton“ he said at length, while a shudder for one instant convulsed his frame, “have you ever passed through that door since—since—” “Since the night of the storm?” said Britton. “Yes, I have passed through it.” “You are bold.”