“And in the meantime these shining pieces will make a gentleman of Britton, the smith,” said the ruffian, as he took from the table a number of gold pieces. “Fare you well, squire! You are liberal at last.” “Farewell,” said Learmont. “To-morrow evening I shall be in London.” “And I likewise. Whenever I seek your worship’s presence I will send a message to you in these words—‘A message from the Old Smithy.’” A dark scowl passed over the face of Learmont; but before he could object to the pass-words which the brutal smith had adopted, he had left the room, and the wealthy but ill-at-ease owner of Learmont and its huge possessions was left to the communion of his own brooding thoughts. For a time he sat in silence, with his head resting upon his hand. Then he rose and paced the apartment with unequal strides, muttering to himself in disjointed sentences. “Yes—yes,” he said, “this is politic—most politic. If Britton can be so far wrought upon by his love of gold as to destroy this Jacob Gray, and bring me his written confession, all will be well. Ha! Ha! Good Master Britton, I will be well prepared for thee on that auspicious and eventful day. You shall have your reward. You shall assure me, convince me, past a doubt, that I am rid of Gray, and then a dagger shall be found to reach your own heart. ’Tis well—exceedingly well. These knaves will destroy each other in this way—Britton destroys Gray—and I destroy Britton, so all will be well. That child will then be innoxious. No one can know who it is: it will be a child of mystery; and if I, in my abundant charity, support it, my praises will be in the mouths of all good men. By the fiends! it shall be my slave—shall tend me—wait upon my every nod and beck. What a glorious revenge! Let me consider—those papers which Britton says he has, and which he likewise asserts prove me—what?—Illegitimate? I know I am illegitimate, but is there proof, and has he such proof? Let me recollect what he said—that Gray had taught him more craft, and he took care of the papers he had. Yes, that was it. Shall I employ Gray to do by Britton even as I have urged Britton to do by Gray? I will—I will—it is a master-stroke. I cannot well deal with the two, but whichever succeeds in being the destroyer of the other will, at least, rid me of one-half my trouble. It shall be so—it shall be so.” So saying, with a smile of anticipated triumph in his face, Learmont left the room. CHAPTER IX. London in 1742.—Gray’s Home.—The Child.—The Voice of Conscience.—A Visit.