“Now, if you so much as mutter a word, or attempt to make any alarm till I see you again,” he said “you know what you have to expect. Look at this cleaver.”
“I—I—won’t, sir. Have mercy, sir—I won’t; I—I—suppose as you are Master Gray’s relation as he’s a feared of?”
“Yes, I’m his uncle.”
“Good gracious!”
“Silence, I say. Another word, and—”
Britton made a fearful demonstration with the cleaver round the head of the terrified woman, and then went back to the shop, where Learmont was standing, looking awfully pale, and his eyes emitting an unnatural brilliance from the great excitement under which he was labouring.
“What do you think of that, squire,” whispered the smith. “D—n him, he’s in the three pair front, and nobody to interfere with us. Now that’s what I call pleasant. There’s only two women in the house. Oh, won’t I have some fun with Master Jacob. Cunning Master Gray,—Ha! Ha! Ha! Artful, clever Jacob.”
“’Tis well,” said Learmont, “as it has turned out; but you run great risks. Let us secure the door now.”
“I can lock it,” said Britton, as he did so. “Now we are all right, squire. How cunning Gray is, and what a clod that Britton is. A sot am I. We shall see, Master Gray, with all your cunning, how you will wriggle out of the pleasant circumstances you are in to-night.”
“Now, Britton, let me implore you to drink no more. Wait, at least, until our enterprise is concluded.”