“I repeat the boy is not here.”
“One moment more I give you,” added Learmont, “to declare to me where the boy is, or you die, as sure as—as that I hate you from my soul!”
“Pause yet a moment, Squire Learmont,” sneered Gray. “If my life has hitherto been valuable, and my safety precious to you, they are doubly so now.”
“No, Jacob Gray,” cried Learmont, “that tale will do no more. We have hunted you down. It is not probable that the cautious Jacob Gray has trusted the boy we seek with the secret of his birth.”
“You are right,” said Gray, “I have not.”
“And you are candid,” sneered Learmont.
“Ho! Ho!” laughed Britton. “Poor Jacob Gray has forgotten even to lie—”
“Exactly,” snarled Gray, “because the truth will do as well. That is a piece of philosophy which the muddled brains of savage Britton would never have conceived.”
Britton made a furious rush at Gray, but the latter stepped behind Learmont, saying,—“It is still the interest of Squire Learmont to protect Jacob Gray.”
“Hold, Britton,” cried Learmont. “Stay your arm yet a moment. We—we will hear him.”