“Artful Jacob, what do you think of that? Look at it—it is sharp and bright—fancy it crashing through your skull till it comes to the brain; and then, even then, you may have still life enough to feel the cracking of your own bones and the crushing agony.”
“Oh no—no,” cried Gray, suddenly. “Save me from him, Learmont—oh, God, save me from Andrew Britton! Learmont—Learmont—make me your slave—maim me—inflict daily, hourly pain upon me—but save me from Andrew Britton! Off, off, off—oh, Heaven, have mercy!”
Britton made a chop with the cleaver, purposely, so near Jacob Gray’s face, that it passed only within a hair’s breadth of him, and excited his utmost terror; a scream burst from his lips as he fell over on one side, and held up his hands to avert the blow.
“Andrew Britton,” cried Learmont, “do your work. This will ruin us—quickly—quickly.”
“Hark ye, Jacob,” said Britton; “make as much noise, or half as much again, and I’ll smash you. What would you give to live a little longer?”
“Oh, worlds! Worlds!” said Gray.
“Be quiet, then, and you shall have a few minutes more, to think how cunning you have been, and what a sad, muddle-brained fool Andrew Britton is. Ho! Ho! Jacob Gray! Think fast, as you will not have time to turn over in your mind all your cleverness.”
“Britton—Britton!” said Gray. “Triumph over me, but spare my life. I have done much for you.”
“Much for me?” exclaimed Britton, and his face became more inflamed with rage. “Much for me? Now, curses on you! You kept me working at the forge for ten long years, all because you were too much of a coward to strangle a young brat you had in your power. Yes, you have done much for me, Jacob Gray, and I will do something for you. I’m going to hack you to pieces with this cleaver.”
Learmont, during this awful conference, was busy about the room laying his trembling hands upon everything with a hope of finding the confession of Gray, and each moment as his search was unproductive, he became more dreadfully anxious and excited, until his very brain seemed on fire.