“I do,” said Gray.
“The child—and—the confession?”
“The confession and the child that was, but you forget the lapse of years; that child is a child no longer, but at an age to be dangerous. The slightest hint from me would raise a spirit in that offspring of your—”
“Hush,” said Learmont, vehemently; “Jacob Gray, even here I will take your life if you dare to mention him you are about to revert to even now.”
“I will alter my form of speech more to your liking, squire,” said Gray; “I meant that one word of mine would rouse up against you a more formidable opponent than any you have ever met with.”
“And for some thousands of pounds you will leave me free?”
“I will.”
“But, cunning Master Gray, you know your wit is keener than mine,” sneered Learmont; “and how am I to be assured of your faith?”
“You shall see me on shipboard,” said Gray; “with my own hands, then, I will hand you my confession.”
“Suppose there were two copies?”