“And yet I have set my life upon the cast, and I will stand the hazard.  I tell you I will accomplish this object, or I will perish in the attempt.”

“You are too enthusiastic.”

“Not at all.  Nothing has been ever done, the execution of which was difficult, without enthusiasm.  I will do what I intend, or Bannerworth Hall shall become a heap of ruins, where fire shall do its worst work of devastation, and I will myself find a grave in the midst.”

“Well, I quarrel with no man for chalking out the course he intends to pursue; but what do you mean to do with the prisoner below here?”

“Kill him.”

“What?”

“I say kill him.  Do you not understand me?”

“I do, indeed.”

“When everything else is secured, and when the whole of that which I so much court, and which I will have, is in my possession, I will take his life, or you shall.  Ay, you are just the man for such a deed.  A smooth-faced, specious sort of roan are you, and you like not danger.  There will be none in taking the life of a man who is chained to the floor of a dungeon.”

“I know not why,” said the other, “you take a pleasure on this particular night, of all others, in saying all you can which you think will be offensive to me.”

“Now, how you wrong me.  This is the reward of confidence.”

“I don’t want such confidence.”

“Why, you surely don’t want me to flatter you.”

“No; but—­”

“Psha!  Hark you.  That admiral is the great stumbling-block in my way.  I should ere this have had undisturbed possession of Bannerworth Hall but for him.  He must be got out of the way somehow.”

“A short time will tire him out of watching.  He is one of those men of impulse who soon become wearied of inaction.”

“Ay, and then the Bannerworths return to the Hall.”

“It may be so.”

“I am certain of it.  We have been out-generalled in this matter, although I grant we did all that men could do to give us success.”

“In what way would you get rid of this troublesome admiral?”

“I scarcely know.  A letter from his nephew might, if well put together, get him to London.”

“I doubt it.  I hate him mortally.  He has offended me more than once most grievously.”

“I know it.  He saw through you.”

“I do not give him so much credit.  He is a suspicious man, and a vain and a jealous one.”

“And yet he saw through you.  Now, listen to me.  You are completely at fault, and have no plan of operations whatever in your mind.  What I want you to do is, to disappear from the neighbourhood for a time, and so will I. As for our prisoner here below, I cannot see what else can be done with him than—­than—­”

“Than what?  Do you hesitate?”

“I do.”

“Then what is it you were about to say?”

“I cannot but feel that all we have done hitherto, as regards this young prisoner of ours, has failed.  He has, with a determined obstinacy, set at naught, as well you know, all threats.”