Learmont attempted to sheath his sword, but his hand trembled so excessively, that it was several moments before he could accomplish it. When, however, he had succeeded, he turned to Gray, and said,— “At what hour—are—you to meet the boy?” Gray smiled, as he said,— “Perhaps your next question, sir, may be where I am to meet him?” “I—I merely asked the hour.” “Whatever the appointed hour may be,” said Gray, “be assured I shall not meet him, let the consequences be what they may, until I am assured that you and this angry smith are not dogging my footsteps.” “Let—us—go, Britton,” said Learmont. “Jacob Gray,” said Britton, striding up to him, and grinding his words through his set teeth, “there will come a time for vengeance.” “Exactly,” said Gray, calmly. “An hour will come when I shall have the pleasure, and I would pay dearly for it, of cutting your throat.” “You shall pay dearly for it when you do,” said Gray; “and, in the meantime cunning, clever, extremely artful Master Britton, I bid you good morning.” “Wretch!” cried Britton. “Oh very cunning Britton,” sneered Gray; “amazingly clever, artful, deep Master Britton—Ha! Ha! Ha!” “Now, if I dared!” cried Britton, half drawing a knife from his breast. “But you dare not,” cried Gray. “You are too cunning, far too cunning, clever Britton—Ha! Ha!” “Away! Away!” said Learmont. “Come, Britton, we waste time.” “Ay, and precious time, too,” added Gray, “only Master Britton is so very—so extremely cunning and clever.” “Come, come,” cried Learmont, seizing Britton by the arm. “Nay, do not hurry away,” sneered Gray. “Shall I offer you refreshments? ’Tis some distance to Westminster. Will you go by water, cunning Britton?” Britton’s passion was too great for utterance, and he walked to the door, which he kicked open with a violence that split it from top to bottom. “You will like to hear, Squire Learmont,” said Gray, “that all is right. I will do myself the honour of paying you a visit to-morrow.” Learmont turned at the door, and cast a glance at Gray, that even he quailed under, and then, followed Britton down the staircase. CHAPTER XXVI. The Morning.—The Body of the Murdered Man.—The Old Inn.—Jacob’s Reflections. When Learmont and the smith had left the house, and Jacob Gray felt that his great and inevitable danger was over, he sunk into a chair, and a fit of trembling came over him that he was many minutes in recovering from. “They are foiled this once,” he muttered; “but they may not be again—’twas a rare chance, a most rare chance, I—I must leave her now. I am hunted—hunted like a wild animal, from den to den. Oh! How they would have rejoiced in my destruction. This is a sad life to lead—and—and if, before they came, I had taken her life, I should even now be lying a stiffened corpse on these boards—yet, what can I do? She is my torment; she will be my destruction!”