He peeped in.
Bertram stood with his back towards the door trimming a lamp.
Bolton creeped up behind him.
In a moment the heavy bludgeon was raised, and descended with frightful force on the old man’s head!
A fearful crash it was.
In a second afterwards Farmer Bertram lay groaning on the floor.
“Murderer! my footsteps shall follow you wherever you go. When least you expect me I will appear to you! on land or sea; in your gay moments, in your sad moments; when alone, or when surrounded by friends; sleeping or waking, I, Bertram, your murdered victim, will stand by your side in the most horrid form, and follow you wherever you go!”
While thus cursing, Bertram rose, and, in his death grasp, took hold of Bolton’s throat, but Bolton, with a loud shriek, dashed the murdered man from him, and hurried into the next chamber to search for his gold.
He found several bags of money in an old oak chest.
The sight of the glittering coin ravished his eyes, dancing as they were with fiendish triumph.