“I will keep it,” cried the smith; “for I hate this Jacob Gray, although he has made me know my own value.”
“It was Jacob Gray who told me there were documents of some importance about the body of—”
“Hush—hush!” cried Learmont; “name him not—it is enough. But tell me, why did Gray inform you of the existence of those papers instead of securing them himself?”
“He lacked the courage to seek them where they were to be found.”
“And yet I must take your word that they do prove what you say?”
“Squire Learmont, these papers distinctly prove your illegitimacy. Among them is a letter from your mother, urging your father to marry her on account of her infant—that infant was yourself, for you know she died before you were one year old.”
“Enough—enough,” said Learmont.—“I will believe it is so.”
“So you perceive, squire, admitting your brother to—”
“Cease—cease!” cried Learmont, “I want not these details.”
“I was only about to remark that you were not the heir-at-law,” said Britton.
“Heir to hell!” cried Learmont. “Now begone. You have delivered your message. I will send to you at the pot-house you mention when a fitting time comes. Now, away!”
“Not so fast,” said Britton. “I have made a resolution.”
“Never to leave this house empty-handed.”
“Pshaw! You forget the large sum you have received of me within these three days.”
“No, squire, I do not: but I have told you my resolve—I shall charge for my visits here.”
“And pray how much do you expect to receive whenever I am honoured by your presence?” sneered Learmont.
“I shall leave that to your generosity,” said Britton.
“As often as the humour takes me, or my wants require,” replied the smith, insolently.
Learmont evidently made a great effort to subdue his rage, and he said, in half-choked accents,—
Learmont took his purse from his pocket, and without a word, counted out required sum, and then stood with his lamp in his hand waiting for the other to leave the place.
“You won’t show me your house, I suppose?” said Britton, in an aggravating voice.
The dark eye of Learmont flashed with rage; but he said nothing.
“Oh, very well,” cried Britton; “another time will do just as well. Recollect the sign of ‘The Old Chequers,’ I shall be very glad to see you whenever you may choose to call, and we can always find something interesting to talk about.”