“On my faith, squire, you are too suspicious—far too suspicious.”
“Have I no cause?”
“None whatever. It is my interest as well as yours that the past should be forgotten. What could I gain by denouncing you?”
“Nothing but a barren triumph of man over man. I think, Jacob Gray, that I will trust you. But permit me, between this time and when we shall meet again, to consider of the subject.”
“I pray you do so,” said Gray, who was so elated at the idea of getting Learmont to pay him largely, for the doubtful advantage of his absence, that he almost forgot his usual caution in his extreme eagerness to induce a compliance with his wishes.
“You will feel so much at ease,” he added, “when I am gone from England never to return, and many of the fears that now disturb your mind will at once terminate.”
“I hope to terminate them so,” said Learmont.
“Such hope is wisely grounded,” replied Gray. “You have but then to get rid of the drunken sot, Andrew Britton, and a career of brilliant enjoyment will await you, unchecked by one lingering doubt of your safety.”
“’Twere a blessed state,” said Learmont, “and one I have much striven to obtain. Now, however, I do certainly begin to see some light amid the gloom which had surrounded me.”
“Your fortunes are in your hands,” said Gray; “I am tired of this mode of life. Give me five thousand pounds, and let me go in peace.”