The servant who had lingered from curiosity, reluctantly left and closed the door.
His curiosity, however, was far from satisfied, and after lingering a moment or two, he fairly knelt down outside the door and placed his ear as flat against the key-hole as it was possible so to do. A confused murmur of voices was all that by his utmost exertions he could hear.
“A plague on them,” he muttered. “If they would but get in a passion now and speak loud.”
His wish was gratified, for at the moment Learmont’s voice rose above its ordinary pitch, as he said, “A thousand pounds upon the assurance of the fact, beyond a doubt.”
The reply was too indistinct to hear, much to the torture of the servants and in another moment his curiosity received a disagreeable check by his master exclaiming, “I’ll get it, and return to you immediately,” and before Oliver, which was the old domestic’s name, could rise from his knees, the door opened, and his master nearly fell over him on the threshold.
“Ha!” cried Learmont, drawing back. “Fool, you have ensured your destruction.”
“Mercy, sir! Oh, mercy!” cried the old man.
Learmont took a sword from a corner of the room and unsheathed it.
“Hold, sir, a moment,” said Gray. “I do not think it possible he could hear much.”
“Dotard!” cried Learmont, to the trembling Oliver. “What could induce you to throw away the remnant of your worthless life by such folly?”