If his hatred and dread of Hartleton would have induced Learmont to treat him in such a manner that he could not address him, his guilty fears urged him to prolong the conversation, in order to discover, if possible, the complexion of Hartleton’s thoughts with regard to him, that he might know if he had anything really to dread from that quarter. It was, therefore, with more courtesy that he said,—
“The coincidences are curious. I—I believe I speak to Sir Francis Hartleton now?”
“Yes,” replied Hartleton; “I was, you recollect, destined for the law, which my small patrimony just enabled me to enter with credit. I am now a justice, and a knight, as you say.”
“I give you joy, sir, of your advancement,” said Learmont.
“You are very kind,” replied Hartleton, fixing his eyes upon the countenance of Learmont in a manner that it required all the firmness of the latter not to quail under.
“Might I presume so far,” said Learmont, “as to ask, what were the thoughts concerning me that engaged Sir Francis Hartleton even now?”
“I was thinking of the mysterious man,” said Hartleton, “who rushed with such wild gestures and shrieks from the burning house.”
Learmont strove to command his features to indifference; but, the effort was almost beyond his power, and he spoke to endeavour to cover his agitation.
“It was very strange,” he said; “most singular!”
“And the little child, too, that he had in his arms,” continued Hartleton; “what can have become of that?”