“You need not be alarmed, squire,” said Gray. “Our relative positions are still the same.”
“How mean you? Your retreat is discovered.”
“True, but—”
“And the confession which has hitherto ensured your safety, must be here, and easily found, else it were valueless, and would defeat its object.”
“Indeed!” said Gray. “Now, hear me. The boy is not here! The confession is in his hands.”
Learmont trembled as he slowly dropped the point of his sword, and fixed his eyes upon Jacob Gray’s countenance, as if he would read his very soul.
“Go on, go on,” he said.
“I repeat, the boy has the confession. He knows not what it is. It is sealed.”
“Well. Go—go—on.”
“But he has express instructions, which, be assured, he will fulfil to the letter; that if he and I do not meet at an appointed spot, by an appointed hour, he is to hasten to Sir Francis Hartleton, and deliver the packet. You understand my position, Squire Learmont? And even your dull-pated Britton may now see the expediency of being careful of your dear friend, Jacob Gray. Fancy any delay being thrown in my way now, which should prevent me from meeting the boy. How disagreeable it would be to me to see hung, kind Britton, while I had my free pardon in my pocket for being evidence against you. Do you understand?”