“Ten thousand! You may safely make it twenty, squire, or thirty.”
“What do you mean?”
“You call me cautious—cunning—wily as a fox, and am I all that; and because I am, I will not sell my life for five minutes at the utmost possession of any sum.”
“Sell your life!”
“Yes, my life. How many paces from this room would suffice to carry Jacob Gray to his grave, provided he gave up his two most rare securities—the boy and the confession?”
“You wrong me by your suspicions,” said Learmont, with difficulty suppressing the rage that was swelling in his bosom.
“A hundred pounds!” said Gray.
“Jacob Gray, hear me—”
“Hear me first. A hundred pounds!”
Learmont went to a cabinet in the apartment, and without another word counted out the sum.