Britton sprang to his feet—
“I will tear his heart out,” he cried. “Kill him? I will torture him.”
“To call you a muddle-headed beast,” said Learmont; “a thick-skulled sot! A brute! A savage! A drivelling drunkard!”
“Enough! Enough!” cried Britton; “he dies—had he a hundred lives I’d take them all.”
“Now that’s brave,” cried Learmont; “that’s gallant, and like you, Britton. He shall die.”
“Die! Of course he shall,” roared Britton. “When shall I seek him? Tell me when?”
“To-night.”
“To-night? Shall it be to-night?”
“Ay, shall it. Meet me on the bridge at midnight, and I will take you to the bedside of Jacob Gray; you shall have your revenge.”
“On the bridge, hard by?”