“Yes, Jacob Gray, you shall be admitted as often as you call; but it will go hard with me if I do not take thy life soon. Assuming wretch!—Oh! Can there be a state of more abject slavery than his, who, after carving the way to his ambitious height, then finds himself at the mercy of the mean and despicable tools he has used, and would fain throw aside, and forget for ever! We shall see: we shall see. Surely I, who have already done so much when so little seemed possible, am not to be scared through life by such two ruffians as Britton and Gray. They must destroy each other! Yes; that is the true policy, and now to work on the fears and cupidity of this Jacob Gray!” He had scarcely whispered to himself these reflections, when the object of them was announced. “Bring him hither,” said Learmont, and in a few moments Jacob Gray was introduced. The moment the servant had left the room, and closed the door behind him, Gray seated himself with an air of insolent familiarity, which, under any other circumstances, would have produced a storm of passion in Learmont; but he felt the necessity of temporising; and, severe as was the struggle to him, he nevertheless succeeded in keeping down his passion sufficiently to address Gray calmly. “You reached London in safety, of course?” “Even so,” replied Gray. “Permit me to congratulate you upon your house. It really is—” “Yes, yes,” cried Learmont, impatiently. “Let us to business, Master Gray. You found the papers your extreme prudence had left in London, when you favoured me with a visit, quite safe, I trust?” “Perfectly safe, and untouched,“ said Gray; “and—and—permit me to add, that I have placed them again under such circumstances as must ensure their delivery to one who has power and will to use them, should anything sudden—you understand—happen to your humble servant, Jacob Gray.” “May I ask whose hands you consider so peculiarly adapted for those papers?” “Oh, certainly; a neighbour of yours, Sir Francis Hartleton.” “Sir Francis Hartleton?” exclaimed Learmont. “Yes,” replied Gray; “one of the most acute lawyers and active justices in London.” “As you please,” said Learmont. “Now, with regard to the—the—child?” “He is quite well, squire, and likely to continue so.” “Humph! Is he tall?” “Not over tall, but slim and active.” “Enough of him at present. I wish to speak to you of another matter. The sums demanded of me by Britton are large.” “Doubtless, squire; ’tis an extravagant knave.” “Now those sums, Gray, added to what you yourself receive, would make a goodly income.” “In faith you speak, truly, squire.” “Now, Gray, I will deal frankly with you,” continued Learmont. “This Britton is fond of wine, and in his cups some day he may hint or say enough to—to hang you, Master Gray.” “Eh?” cried Gray. “Hang me?” “Even so.” “Oh, I understand, along with your worship, of course.”