“I did!” roared the smith. “And now, Jacob Gray, we understand each other, and you know you are safe with me. But I will have no flinching, there is a work to be performed which you shall aid in, although you shrink from it as you would from the mouth of hell. If it turn your blood to liquid flame you shall do it. If your reason fail you at the ghastly sight, for ghastly it is, you shall do it; nay, should you die in gasping terror, and involve me and Learmont in one common destruction by the wily narrative you have left in London, you shall do it.”
“Spare me! spare me!” said Gray.
“Ha! Ha!” laughed the smith, with a discordant yell that echoed through the lofty hall. “Spare you? spare Jacob Gray?”
“I implore you,” cried Gray. “Spare me this task and I will pay you handsomely.”
“You forget,” said Britton “that I have a better-filled purse than yours to apply to. I love money, because it is enjoyment and power, but I have my fancies, and one of them is, that you shall do your full share of this necessary work. Your safety, as well as mine, demands that it should be done. Any prying rustic who could so far call upon his curiosity as to master his fears and penetrate from this hall through yon door, would find food for gossip and inquiry, that would raise a spirit, even all the wealth of Learmont could not quell. It must be done, I say, and by the infernal powers you shall do it.”
Gray shuddered, and he said in a low voice, “When shall we again see Learmont?”
“By the morning’s light,” answered the smith, “I will take you to the mansion by a secret means, known only to myself. You can then procure the means you immediately require. He dare not refuse you, and post-horses will carry you to London, in ample time to take possession of the little document you have so providentially left behind you.”
“Yes—yes,” said Gray. “Oh, yes, there will be time and—and Britton, I will hand to you one-half of the sum that I procure from Learmont’s fears, if—if you will do this work that must be done alone.”
“No!” cried Britton. “A hundred times, no! The world’s wealth, Jacob Gray, should not tempt me to let you off.”
He took a flambeau from a corner as he spoke, and lighting it by the forge fire, he held it high above his head, and while its flickering light cast many dancing shadows upon the time-blackened walls of the Old Smithy, he pointed to the oaken door, and exclaimed to the trembling Gray:—