“I—I merely asked the hour.”
“Whatever the appointed hour may be,” said Gray, “be assured I shall not meet him, let the consequences be what they may, until I am assured that you and this angry smith are not dogging my footsteps.”
“Let—us—go, Britton,” said Learmont.
“Jacob Gray,” said Britton, striding up to him, and grinding his words through his set teeth, “there will come a time for vengeance.”
“Exactly,” said Gray, calmly.
“An hour will come when I shall have the pleasure, and I would pay dearly for it, of cutting your throat.”
“You shall pay dearly for it when you do,” said Gray; “and, in the meantime cunning, clever, extremely artful Master Britton, I bid you good morning.”
“Wretch!” cried Britton.
“Oh very cunning Britton,” sneered Gray; “amazingly clever, artful, deep Master Britton—Ha! Ha! Ha!”
“Now, if I dared!” cried Britton, half drawing a knife from his breast.