CHAPTER XCVIII.
Albert’s Love and Determination.—The Squire’s Dream.
“Let us cross to it,” said Learmont, in a low husky voice, which betrayed how deeply he felt himself interested in the affair.
In a moment they both stood in the dark entry. Learmont’s spy was not there for conceiving justly that Jacob Gray was housed for the night, he had, by way of solacing himself after his quarrel with Albert, betaken himself to a neighbouring public-house, where by that time he was deep in a second jug of old ale.
“There is no one here,” remarked Learmont.
“No,” said Albert; “but I left one here. However, his following Gray might after all have been from mere curiosity, seeing me follow him so closely.”
“The house—the house,” said Learmont; “which is the house?”
“Yon dingy-looking dwelling, with that mean shop upon its basement floor.”
Learmont looked long and eagerly at the miserable dwelling; then he muttered,—
“I should know that house again were I absent from it a hundred years. Yes—found—found—at last! The game is played! Jacob Gray, with all your cunning—with all your art of trickery—you are at last found! Sleep on, if you can sleep, in fancied security! You know not that your career may soon be ended!”