“By the morning’s light,” answered the smith, “I will take you to the mansion by a secret means, known only to myself. You can then procure the means you immediately require. He dare not refuse you, and post-horses will carry you to London, in ample time to take possession of the little document you have so providentially left behind you.” “Yes—yes,” said Gray. “Oh, yes, there will be time and—and Britton, I will hand to you one-half of the sum that I procure from Learmont’s fears, if—if you will do this work that must be done alone.” “No!” cried Britton. “A hundred times, no! The world’s wealth, Jacob Gray, should not tempt me to let you off.” He took a flambeau from a corner as he spoke, and lighting it by the forge fire, he held it high above his head, and while its flickering light cast many dancing shadows upon the time-blackened walls of the Old Smithy, he pointed to the oaken door, and exclaimed to the trembling Gray:— “Come, now, at once. ’Tis a work should be done at such an hour as this.” “Mercy! mercy!” cried Gray, clasping his hands. “Rare sport! rare sport!” shouted the smith, in an ecstasy of mirth. “Come on.” “Britton, you do not mean it; I beseech, I implore.” “Come on!” roared the smith. “On my knees, I beg—” “Coward! Come on! I could revile thee, trembling wretch, but that it delights my very soul to see you suffer such mortal agony. Come on; you knew him once. Come on, I say, and see if you could recognise him now.” Holding the torch in one hand, so as to throw a red glare of light over the vast apartment, the smith clutched with the other the trembling companion of his guilt, and dragged him with irresistible force towards the oaken door. In vain did Gray beseech for mercy. In vain did he beg and implore, and pray to be released. And now they reached the door, and he clung to the damp wall and screamed, but the smith heeded him not; he answered him but with shouts and wild laughter, and lifting his foot he, with one heavy kick, dashed the door open. About two paces within the entrance stood a figure, tall and erect. The glare from the torch fell upon it for one moment; with a shriek of the most horrifying description, Gray fell insensible to the ground, and even the iron nerves of the smith were shaken: the flambeau dropped from his hand, and with a cry of surprise and horror he rushed from the spot, trampling in his way upon the prostrate form of Gray, nor stopping till he stood at the further end of the now gloomy hall, with the outer door in his hand. CHAPTER VIII. The Mansion.—Offers of Magnitude.—The Double Plot. Who or what the form was that so unexpectedly met the terrified gaze of the savage smith, and his more nervous and timid companion in the Old Smithy, we must leave to be discovered in the progress of our eventful and strange narrative.