“He ain’t far off, I’ll be bound,” cried the butcher, “I dare say he’s waiting outside.”
Britton upon this suggestion rushed from the room, and was at the street-door in a moment. There was a man shrinking just within the doorway, and without further examination, Britton seized him with both hands, and found himself face to face with Jacob Gray.
CHAPTER LXXVI.
The Old Associates.—Gray’s Fears.—The Old Attic at the Chequers.
There was a light in the passage, which shed a strong full glare upon the pallid care worn features of Gray; and Andrew Britton, as he held him at arm’s length turned nearly as pale as he was with the intense surprise of the meeting. He was sobered by the shock, and in a husky whisper he muttered the name of Jacob Gray.
Such awful and abject fear seemed to take possession of Gray that had not Britton held him, he must have fallen at his feet. All his presence of mind and cunning appeared to have deserted him, and it was not until Britton had again pronounced his name that he gasped,—
“Is—is it you, Andrew Britton? I—I am glad to see you look so well.”
“Yes by God,” said Britton, “it is me. What wind from hell blew you here?”
“I—I, you are looking very well,” said Gray, with a sickly smile.
“Curses on my looks, and yours too, I say again what brought you here?”