Gray drew a long breath as he thought, “So my worst fears are confirmed. She is with the magistrate.” He then said, with a more assumed and confident air than he had hitherto assumed:—
“These fancies would leave you were you more at ease—I grieve that you should as yet have missed the enjoyments which your wealth should have brought within your grasp.”
“Enjoyment!” said Learmont, with a deep groan—“you mock me, Jacob Gray—what enjoyments have you and Andrew Britton left me? Have you not between you surrounded me with danger and suspicion? I have been tempted, for the great favours I owe you both, to take some day a step that should rid me of you for ever.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes—but we will talk more another time—the hour waxes late—shall we meet in the morning?”
“The—the night would suit me better,” said Gray, who by no means relished in his present dangerous circumstances a morning visit.
Learmont, with a forced air of unconcern, cried,—
“Pho—pho—let it be the morning—say at half-past ten.”
“I will take money of you now,” said Gray, evading the point, “in earnest of the sum which shall separate us for ever.”
“There is my purse,” cried Learmont, giving it to him. “’Tis moderately full—take it, and let me see you to-morrow by the hour I have named.”