There was a most remarkable difference in the expression of the smith’s countenance and that of Learmont’s, while Gray was speaking. The former became nearly purple with suppressed rage, while the squire turned of an ashy, ghastly paleness, and seemed scarcely equal to the exertion of standing erect.
“Gray—Jacob Gray,” he gasped. “You do not—you cannot mean that—that—”
“That what, squire?” said Gray. “Why do you hesitate? I will answer any question; candidly.”
“Have you,” continued Learmont, “indeed set all our lives in such a chance as your meeting a boy at an appointed hour in this great city?”
“I have,” answered Gray; “or rather I should say you have.”
“Yes, Squire Learmont, you thirst for my blood! You would hunt me to death could you do so with safety to yourself! Beware! I say, and give up the chance!“
Learmont attempted to sheath his sword, but his hand trembled so excessively, that it was several moments before he could accomplish it. When, however, he had succeeded, he turned to Gray, and said,—
“At what hour—are—you to meet the boy?”
Gray smiled, as he said,—
“Perhaps your next question, sir, may be where I am to meet him?”