“Such thoughts lured unpleasant images; but ’tis better to have such slender information of coming danger than to dream on of safety, but to be roughly awakened by it when it comes to your doors.”
“No—no. Apprehension is a fiend of far more awful aspect than danger. It only suggests the terrible, and leaves to the shrinking, trembling fancy to fill up the ghastly picture. Show me danger, and I have nerve to face it. Only tell me it is coming, and in some unknown shape, and I—I—do quail before it. Yes I—even I do quail before it.”
He sank into a chair as he spoke, and turned deathly white.
“Arm yourself with fortitude,” said Gray. “You may yet triumph.”
“There is but one course open,” said Learmont, in a low earnest tone. “Among us we must find a means to lay the troublesome spirit of this Hartleton, Jacob Gray, where is all the deep cunning that would enable you to circumvent hell itself? I say, where is it now, if you cannot summon it to your aid, to rid us all of this man, who will otherwise destroy us.”
“You may yet triumph,” muttered Gray, with a meaning look. “Hear me Squire Learmont: I am sick and weary of the life I lead, an’ would fain now lend an ear to some proposal from you, which would enable me to feel more peace here.”
He struck his breast as he spoke, and fixed his keen eye upon Learmont, who in his turn, from beneath his knitted brows, peered anxiously into the face of Gray.
“You understand me,” continued Gray; “I am willing, if I could do so with safety, to leave you at peace—to secure you from the worst evils that can befall you—to deliver you from your greatest feelings of apprehension.”
“Say on, Jacob Gray,” said Learmont, in a low indifferent tone.
“Nay, I would now hear from you,” remarked Gray, “what proposal you would make to me for surrendering to you your worst foe.”