Kneeling, I listened breathlessly, and with an eagerness as though my very life depended on the act, and yet, for all I knew, it might have been but poachers setting out their snares; therefore ’twould seem indeed as though black fate and dread presentiment went hand in hand that night. As near as I could tell, the voices came from a spot not far away, and straight ahead of me, but so low and muffled were they that ’twas no easy matter to judge rightly on this point. For a time I knelt there listening with all my might, first cocking this ear and then that, but all in vain--not one word reached me: the buzzing hum continued in a maddening fashion; indeed, it might have been a hive of droning bees for all that I could make of it. Down on all-fours I went again, and, with the sound to guide me, crawled towards it. Some twelve yards farther on I once more stopped to listen, and thus discovered that the talkers were on the far side of a ridge or hillock up which I had commenced to climb; and what was more, I made out that which stiffened me with dread, and set my heart off thumping like a hammer. For now I was near enough to separate the voices, low though they were, and one of them spoke in broadest Scotch--’twas Ferguson’s; while the other there was no mistaking either--Tubal Ammon’s! Digging my fingers deep into the turf, for very fear lest overmastering astonishment should cause me to exclaim and so betray myself, I paused a moment, then, with cat-like stealth, crept up the bank. ’Twas a risky, daring business sure enough; the snapping of a twig, the rattle of a stone, and I had brought on me two desperate fellows, who would as soon take life as toss a penny. Still, as it seemed to me, ’twas worth a world of danger--nay, ’twas a stroke of glorious luck--to come thus on those two arch-plotters in their midnight tryst, catch them red-handed, as it were, and, perchance, confound them. And had I needed any goad to urge me forward (which I did not), there was the thought of him whom I had wronged, and who doubtless even then sat lonely and distracted in his study, brooding helplessly upon the dangers which beset him. Thus I crept up, foot by foot--nay, inch by inch were nearer to the mark, my going was so slow--until at last I was near enough to make out wellnigh every word as it was spoken. Then, stretched full length upon the cool, soft turf, I lay there with a thumping heart and listened, drinking in all I heard as greedily as ever thirst-parched man drank water. "’Tis so, then," Ferguson was saying; "you come here to drive a hard and grievous bargain, eh?" "Aye, truly," answered Ammon; "no words could put it better: a bargain--a hard and grievous bargain if you will." "And not to serve the godly cause?" whined Ferguson. "Pish to your godly cause!" sneered Ammon. "I trow its value is the same to both of us--and that is money." "What’s that?" returned the chaplain fiercely.