“There is danger!”
“Danger?” cried or rather shrieked Learmont, springing from his seat. “Danger? No, no; you don’t mean—”
“I mean what I say. There’s danger; and giving you credit for a cooler head than mine, though I’m not quite sure of it, I came to tell you.”
Learmont leaned heavily upon the arm of the smith, as he said,—
“Good Britton, we will stand or fall together; we will not forsake each other, I will help you, Britton. We have known each other long, and been mutually faithful, I’m sure we have. You have still the sense to—to take a life—for our own safety, Britton—always for our safety.”
“If I have, it’s more than you have,” said Britton. “Why, you are turning silly. What’s the matter with the man? Have you seen a ghost?”
“Ah!” cried Learmont, “don’t speak of that; for, by the—the powers of hell, I think I really have.”
“Oh! You think you have?”
“I do.”
“Where?”