“And what benefit would the death of Britton have been to me, then?”
Gray smiled hideously as he replied,—
“It is always better to consolidate debts, Squire Learmont; you would have had one creditor then, instead of two. Then, likewise, I would have sold you the boy and left England forever.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes; with the papers.”
“And yet,” said Learmont, after a pause, “with all these advantages to you resulting from the deed, you refuse to prosecute the enterprise of removing Britton safely, which I am quite sure that you can do.”
“Hem!” said Gray, and his small eyes twinkled as he fixed them upon the countenance of the squire. “There is an old fable of two dogs fighting for a bone, while a third walks off unscathed with the object of contention. Squire Learmont, you are scarcely yet a match for Jacob Gray!”
Learmont was silent, and Gray laughed, and then started in alarm at the unwonted sound of his own mirth.
“You spoke of two reasons for the death of Britton,” said Learmont, after a pause of several minutes’ duration.
“Ay,” said Gray, “I did, and there I was indiscreet. My second reason was, revenge. I hated Britton. I still hate him. I—I loathe him; and my deep hatred, the direful spirit of my revenge, urged me to run some little risk to gratify it. I knew your policy—I saw it as clearly as the sun at noon-day. But I was a little blinded by my revenge, and I did make an attempt to get the savage smith in my toils.”