“Yes; the night there was a storm—”
The stranger rose, saying—
“Indeed! You talk of a storm as if there never had been but one.”
So saying he threw down a shilling to Tom, and hastily left the room.
The occupants of the parlour looked at each other in silence, and those who had pipes smoked away at such speed that in a few moments the room was full of dense blue vapour.
CHAPTER IV.
The Old Smithy.—A Lone Man.—The Alarm.—The Mysterious Conference.—Guilt and Misery.
It was the hammer of the smith which had sounded on the night air, and the clangour of which had reached the ears of the frequenters of the snug oaken parlour of the Rose Inn.
The Smithy was of great extent, for it occupied nearly the whole ground floor of the wing of the dilapidated mansion in which Britton resided.
There were about the stained windows and carved oaken chimney-piece ample evidences of ancient grandeur in the place, and it was not a little singular to notice the strange effect produced by the mixture of the rude implements of the smith with the remains of the former magnificence of the ancient hall.