“Jacob Gray,” said Learmont, gravely. “You have great talent. Think over my offers. If you can, procure me Britton’s papers. Give me up the boy, and spend your life in any other land you choose. I will charge my lands with an annuity of five thousand pounds per annum.”
“But the smith?”
“I will, you having rendered him innoxious by depriving him of the papers, undertake to destroy him. He shall not live four-and-twenty hours after that event.”
“I—will—think,” said Gray, rising.
“You had better,” cried Learmont. “Here is more money now; but you had better take my offer. It is a large one.”
“Hem!” said Gray.
“And before you go, now,” added Learmont in a tone of excitement, “since you have been so candid with me, know that I am not altogether so much in your power as you, in your great cunning and admirable wisdom, may imagine.”
“I am all attention,” answered Gray.
“Then I tell you there is a point of endurance beyond which even I may be goaded: pass that by your demands, and I collect all my portable wealth and leave England forever, first handing you over to the tender mercy of the laws.”
“Indeed!” said Gray; “I have too much faith.”