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.”