“Ay, Jacob Gray; I never saw you look so bad in all my life. You must be nearer death than you think.”
“I—I am very well,” said Gray. “I hope yet to attend your funeral, and receive something commensurate with our ancient friendship through the medium of your will.”
“You are kind and obliging,” said Learmont, “but I don’t intend to die first, Jacob Gray.”
Gray smiled in his usual sickly disagreeable manner, and then drawing himself a seat, he sat down by Learmont, and said,—
“A truce to jesting, squire. Have you thought further of my proposition to you?”
“Scarcely,” said Learmont; “and yet I have a notion of entertaining it.”
“You have?”
“I have.”
“Believe me ’tis the best and safest plan.”
“If I understand you rightly, you offer to surrender all that may make my life now a constant source of anxiety and torment for one large sum of money paid to you at once.”