An awful expression came across the face of Learmont as he replied.
“Yes—yes. As you say, it will be an accident. May I ask what your impression is?”
“I have scarcely an impression upon the subject,” replied Hartleton; “we lawyers, you know, are particularly cautious how we take up impressions upon subjects unfounded upon evidence.”
“Exceedingly proper is such caution,” said Learmont; “otherwise the innocent might be the victims of endless mistakes.”
“Exactly,” replied Hartleton; “but I have no particular objection to tell you my dream without founding any impression upon it.”
“I dreamt first that that smith, of the name of Britton, was a desperate villain, and for gold would—”
“Oh, no; my vision changed, and I thought I saw a gloomy passage, mouldy with the damps of time, and dripping with unwholesome moisture—creeping slimy things were all around, and in the midst I saw—”
“Yes—yes,” gasped Learmont. “W—what saw you?”
“Yes, and the most curious circumstance of all was that in the midst of it I constantly heard the clank of the smith’s hammer. I knew the sound in a moment.”
“Most strange!” said Hartleton; “but again my vision changed.”
“It was densely crowded, and some important and interesting proceeding was evidently pending; then suddenly I heard a voice cry your name.”
“Yes, and you were asked to plead to a charge of murder!”
A cold sweat broke out upon the forehead of Learmont, and he could not answer, when Hartleton added,—
“It was but a dream, though. I wish you a good morning, and a pleasant walk, Squire Learmont.”
The Dark Threat.—The Biter Bit.—Another Murder Projected.—Learmont’s Reasoning.
Learmont stood for a few moments gazing after the retreating figure of Sir Francis Hartleton; then, shaking his clenched hand in the direction he was proceeding, he muttered between his teeth,—
“Beware—beware, Sir Magistrate!—beware! You may rouse a spirit you cannot quell again. I am not the man to allow such as thou to be a stumbling-block in my path.”
So saying, with a dark scowl upon his brow, the squire retraced his steps towards his own house. The morning sun was now gilding with beauty the housetops, and the icicles, which, pendant from every tree, shone like gems of the purest water and brilliancy. Unheedful, however, of the beauties of nature around, the wealthy Learmont passed onwards, his thoughts, dark and gainful as they were, fully absorbing all his attention. He passed up the little lane which was the nearest route to his own house; and, as he was about to emerge from it, he was startled (for the guilty are ever timid) by some one touching his shoulder. Turning quickly round, he saw Jacob Gray, with a sickly, disagreeable smile upon his face, standing close to him.