The man looked in the countenance of Learmont, as well as the darkness would permit him, and answered, not without evident trepidation,— “Gray—yes—Gray—it—it was. I shouldn’t have known it—but, you see, the boy stopped at the window to cry—” “To cry?—well—and then?” “Then, he said, ‘Can this man, Gray, really be of my kindred? Do we think alike?’ says he, ‘do we’—now, hang me, if I recollect what he said.” “Ha, ha, ha!” suddenly laughed Learmont. “You are brave and acute. Ha, ha! You have found me out, I see. I am Gray. Ha, ha!” “I—I—beg—your pardon, Mister Gray,” hiccupped the man, “but was that y—y—you that laughed in that odd way? Eh?” “I laughed,” said Learmont. “Then—d—don’t do it again. It’s the most uncom—com—comfortable sort o’ laugh I ever heard; an ex—ex—extraordinary laugh.” “Good master a—a—” “Sheldon,” said the man. “Ay, Sheldon,” resumed Learmont. “I will have no secrets from you. You shall come home with me. You know the way?” “Of—of—course I do.” “Then, come on,” cried Learmont, with difficulty concealing his exultations at the chance that had thus thrown in his way a guide to Gray’s house. “Ay, you—you’re right,” said the waterman. “Come on—come on. We’ll have a cup together?” “Ha, ha!” cried Learmont, “we will.” “Now didn’t I tell you,” said Sheldon, with drunken gravity, marking off each word on his fingers, and making the most ludicrous efforts to speak very clear and distinct, “didn’t—I tell—you—to—keep—those laughs—to yourself?” “You did,” said Learmont; “but I forget. Come on, we will have brimming cups.” “Hurrah for everybody!” cried Sheldon. “We—we are jolly—fellows. Hurrah!” “Hurrah! Hurrah for the vine, When its sparkling bubbles rise, Call it divine—divine, For God’s a dainty prize. “Hurrah!” “By, heavens, a brave ditty,” said Learmont, “and well sung. You are an Apollo, Sheldon, with a little mixture of Bacchus.” “D—d—don’t insult me,” cried Sheldon. “I—I won’t bear it, Master G—Gray.” “Not for worlds,” muttered Learmont. “Eh?” cried Sheldon, “was that you?” “What do you mean?” “Mean? Why—I—I—heard an uncommon odd voice say, ‘N—n—not for worlds.’” “’Twas some echo, my good friend. Is this the turning?” “Oh! Ah!” laughed the waterman. “Now that is good. Is—is—is this the turning—and—you going—have—Ho! Ho! You know it’s the turning—perhaps you want to in—in—sinuate that I’m drunk?” “Certainly not,” replied Learmont. “I was only surprised at your amazing knowledge of the road. I only meant to try you, good Master Sheldon.” “Try me? Try me? I—I know every inch of the road—I—follow me, and I’ll take you to your own door.” “Is it possible?” “Come on and see. Follow, I—say—follow.” “I will,” cried Learmont, his dark eyes flashing with unholy fire, as he thought how gigantic a step towards the accomplishment of Gray’s destruction would be the knowledge, unknown to him, of his secret abode.