“Five hundred pounds each as a start,” said Jacob Gray, with the most unblushing effrontery. “Enormous!” cried Learmont. “As you please, sir. Our conference then is over.” “Britton, answer me one question,” said the squire. “A dozen, if you please,” replied the smith. “Have you been through that doorway, since—” “I have, Squire Learmont.” “And in what state—” “Can you venture to look for yourself?” said the smith, with a sneer. Learmont hesitated, and then said, “I can. Give me a light.” The smith lit a lamp and handed it to the squire, along with a key. “Can you give me any directions?” said Learmont. “Take the second passage to your right and look closely on the ground as you go on.” Learmont took the lamp and advanced to the old oaken door. His hand trembled as he turned the rusty lock, and in another moment he had passed through, and was lost to the sight of the confederates in the smithy. In less than two minutes, he returned and staggered to a seat. “You have seen it?” said Britton. “No,” answered Learmont. “I—I thought I had the nerve—but for my life I could not proceed three steps in that awful place.” “Do you consent now to our conditions?” asked Gray. “Who has the—the papers?” “I,” replied Britton. “And I a more dreaded secret,” still whispered Gray. “I—I consent,” said Learmont. “I consent.” CHAPTER VII. The Conference, Continued.—Mutual Security.—The Oaken Door and the Strange Appearance.—Mysteries Thicken. For several minutes neither of the three men whose crimes had brought them into such strange fellowship, spoke. They regarded each with the most strange and mixed emotions. Upon the face of the haughty Lord of Learmont were pride, hate, and fear, each struggling for mastery. The smith looked, as he always looked, brutally ferocious, but upon this occasion there was an air of exultant villany upon his swarthy visage, which made him like a fiend in human shape. Gray, the cautious and politic villain, with just sufficient relenting in his cold heart to make him stop short at the consummation of some dark deed, while he waded recklessly through all the preliminary proceedings to it; he, too, wore a triumphant look, but it was one strangely mingled with suspicion and doubt, whether or not some sudden occurrence would damp his joy, and turn his self-congratulations to laments. He was the first to break the silence. “Had we not now better separate?” he said. “We can see you on the morrow, squire.” “There is yet one thing which remains to be considered,” said Learmont, in a low voice. “What is that?” cried the smith. “When we are all gone, may not some one’s curiosity be prompted to visit this house?” “That is true,” said Gray, turning pale. “If they do,” cried Britton, “they shall find nothing; I will see to that.” “Let it be so, then,” said Learmont, rising.