“It was very strange,” he said; “most singular!” “And the little child, too, that he had in his arms,” continued Hartleton; “what can have become of that?” “Ay—what?” said Learmont. “Did you never get any clue, Squire Learmont, to these mysterious circumstances, which must have greatly interested you?” “Interested me? How?” “Inasmuch as they occurred upon your estate, and among your own tenants.” “True—most true, sir. I—I was—and am much interested; but I know nothing—have heard nothing, and have no clue to unravel the mystery.” “We must only hope,” said Hartleton, “that some of these days, accident as it generally does, will throw a light upon the subject, and give it to us in all its details.” An awful expression came across the face of Learmont as he replied. “Yes—yes. As you say, it will be an accident. May I ask what your impression is?” “I have scarcely an impression upon the subject,” replied Hartleton; “we lawyers, you know, are particularly cautious how we take up impressions upon subjects unfounded upon evidence.” “Exceedingly proper is such caution,” said Learmont; “otherwise the innocent might be the victims of endless mistakes.” “Exactly,” replied Hartleton; “but I have no particular objection to tell you my dream without founding any impression upon it.” “I am all attention,” said Learmont. “I dreamt first that that smith, of the name of Britton, was a desperate villain, and for gold would—” “Would what?” gasped Learmont. “Do anything” said Hartleton. “Well, sir, is that all?” “Oh, no; my vision changed, and I thought I saw a gloomy passage, mouldy with the damps of time, and dripping with unwholesome moisture—creeping slimy things were all around, and in the midst I saw—” “Yes—yes,” gasped Learmont. “W—what saw you?” “A mouldering skeleton.” “Indeed!” “Yes, and the most curious circumstance of all was that in the midst of it I constantly heard the clank of the smith’s hammer. I knew the sound in a moment.” “’Tis very strange!” muttered Learmont. “Most strange!” said Hartleton; “but again my vision changed.” “What saw you then?” “A hall of judgment.” “Yes—yes.” “It was densely crowded, and some important and interesting proceeding was evidently pending; then suddenly I heard a voice cry your name.” “My name?” “Yes, and you were asked to plead to a charge of murder!” A cold sweat broke out upon the forehead of Learmont, and he could not answer, when Hartleton added,— “It was but a dream, though. I wish you a good morning, and a pleasant walk, Squire Learmont.” CHAPTER XIV. The Dark Threat.—The Biter Bit.—Another Murder Projected.—Learmont’s Reasoning. Learmont stood for a few moments gazing after the retreating figure of Sir Francis Hartleton; then, shaking his clenched hand in the direction he was proceeding, he muttered between his teeth,—