“Yes, Britton. Of course when I thought any danger threatened, I said to myself, shall I not warn good, kind, peaceable, inoffensive Britton.”
“You infernal liar!” cried Britton.
“So having,” resumed Gray, not heeding any interruption, “so having placed my written confession where, in case I return not soon, it would be easily found and forwarded to Sir Francis Hartleton, I came, you see, here at once.”
“Sir Francis Hartleton!” cried Britton; “if you have anything really to say it is of him, I’ll be sworn. He has been hunting me, but I will have his heart’s hood, I will!”
Gray caught at the suggestion, and immediately replied,—
“Yes—yes, Britton, it was of Sir Francis Hartleton I came to warn you.”
“Indeed, on your soul?”
“On my soul it was. He is hatching some mischief against us all, Britton, and do you think I will let an old friend fall into danger, and not warn him? So as I say, after placing my full and carefully written confession—”
“Now, Jacob Gray,” said Britton, “if you say another word about your d—d confession, I will brain you on the spot.”
“I only wished you to understand our relative positions, my good Britton,” said Gray, who was rapidly overcoming his first fright, and with his usual fertility of invention scheming to overcome Britton by cunning.