“Indeed! Who has promised you the child?”
“He—the good—the brave.”
“Who?”
“Frank Hartleton. ‘Be patient,’ he said, ‘and you shall see that child again.’”
Gray trembled as he said,—
“You—you are sure, he said this—Sir Frederick Hartleton? Tell me what more he said, and, if you love gold, you shall have it. Tell me all that has passed in your interview with him, and then ask of me what you will, it is yours. You seem poor—nay, wretched; I will give you money if you will tell me all you know of this—this murder you mention.”
“Gold! Gold!” muttered Maud. “That is man’s enemy; for that he betrays trusts—robs—lies—murders!”
Jacob Gray groaned.
“Yes,” continued Maud, “the red gold is Heaven’s worst foe. It robs the realms of light and glory of many mortal souls. I will not have your gold. Tempter, away! Give me the child, the sweet, smiling babe that Heaven made the bad man save from the burning smithy. Give me that, and then tell me where Britton is, and I will do your bidding,—you shall know all!”
“I accept your terms;” said Gray; “you shall have the child. Tell me who did this murder at the smithy, and what Hartleton says about it.”