'Why, neighbor, is this you? how are you? come in. Well, you are the last man I should have thought of seeing here this dark night--take a chair, neighbor--what's the news?' And as Squire Foster (for he was the gentleman whom Mr. Cross had honored with a visit) said this, he threw away the smile, or rather grin, that had played over his sallow and flabby face, and assumed his naturally sly and mouserly look. 'Any thing good abroad?' Cross was in no talking humor: so let the gentleman run on, and in the mean time helping himself to a chair, sat down, and leaning back against the wall, fixed his eye, dark and lowry, full upon the little light that stood flaring and smoking on the middle of the table. 'Well, there's the devil to pay now!' 'Where? what, what, neighbor--any news?' 'None that you will want to hear. Ned Saunders is dead.' 'One rogue less, then, neighbor, ha, ha! he won't tell any tales then about here.' 'But suppose he has told the tale already?' 'That would be bad, neighbor; but you don't mean to say that he has?' 'Yes, I do mean to say so; and the question is, what you mean to do about it?' 'What _I_ mean to do about it?' and he looked at Cross with a vacant stare. 'Why you know we are both implicated.' 'Why, neighbor, that is all between you and me. You know I have been but a mere counsellor.' 'Yes, and a pretty scrape your counsel has got me into. Here is one man dead, the two others gone out of reach, and the thing itself nowhere to be found. Like as not Rutherford has got it back again, and we have had our labor for our pains, and may be something beside not so agreeable.' 'Well, now suppose, neighbor, I should tell you that Rutherford has not got it?' 'Do you know that? and how?' 'What would you give if I should tell you that I have got it, safe and snug in my own hands?' 'Give! I have given enough already; but where is it? let's see it.' And Cross arose from his leaning posture, sat his chair square on the floor, and himself very erect in it, and looked fixedly at the Squire. Foster noticed the movement and the look of Cross, and without speaking, arose and stepped into a small adjoining room, took something from a case that stood upon an old dressing-table, and thrusting it hastily into his bosom, came back and resumed his 'Have you got it?' 'Got what, neighbor?' 'You know what, well enough--why, the deed. The trunk you may keep, but the deed can do you no good.' 'Nor you, either, neighbor; it is safe--safe enough. I have got it, and I mean to keep it.' And as he said this, he very deliberately drew a pistol from his breast, and laying his hand on the table, leaned back in his chair and looked at the pretty plaything. Cross eyed him keenly, glancing from the pistol, which he saw was cocked, to the calm and almost unmeaning countenance of Foster. 'What do you mean to do about this?'