Learmont leaned against the railings that divided the entrance from the open thoroughfare of the park and for a time his strength appeared quite prostrated.
Albert Seyton continued gazing at the house which had attracted so much attention from Learmont, and after a pause of some minutes’ duration, he said,—
“I think that house is known to me, although I never looked at it from here before.”
Learmont made him no answer, for although he heard him speak, he scarcely comprehended what he said, so busy was he with his own fears.
“If I mistake not,” said Albert, “it is the back of Sir Francis Hartleton’s house we see from here.”
The name of Hartleton struck upon Learmont’s ears like a trumpet, and starting from his reverie of disagreeable images, he cried hurriedly, and violently,—
“Who spoke of Hartleton? Who mentioned his name?”
“I, sir,” said Albert, amazed at Learmont’s wild vehemence of tone.
“You—you?”
“Yes, sir.”