e other, it was plain to see what was passing within him.

"Do ye want it done? Tell me that,--be fair and above boord with me,--do
you want it done?"

Linton was silent; but a slight, an almost imperceptible motion of his
brows made the reply.

"And now what's it worth?" resumed Tom.

"To _you_," said Linton, speaking slowly, "it is worth much--everything.
It is all the difference between poverty, suffering, and a jail, and a
life of ease and comfort either here or in America. Your little farm,
that you hold at present by the will, or rather the caprice, of your
landlord, becomes your own forever; when I say forever, I mean what is
just as good, since the estate will be thrown back into Chancery; and it
is neither _your_ children nor mine will see the end of that."

"That's no answer to _me_," said Keane, fixing his cold, steady stare
on Linton's face. "I want to know--and I won't ax it again--what is it
worth to _you?_"

"To _me!_--to _me!_" said Linton, starting. "How could it be worth
anything to _me?_"

"You know that best yourself," said Tom, sulkily.

"I am neither the heir to his estates, nor one of his remote kindred.
If I see a fine property going to ruin, and the tenantry treated like
galley-slaves, I may, it is true, grieve over it; I may also perceive
what a change--a total and happy change--a mere accident might work;
for, after all, just think of the casualties that every day brings
forth--"

"I have n't time for these thoughts now," muttered Tom.

"Always to the point,--always thinking of the direct question!" said
Linton, smiling.

"'T is n't yer honer's failin', anyhow," said Tom, laughing
sardonically.

"You shall not say that of me, Tom," said Linton, affecting to relish
the jocularity; "I'll be as prompt and ready as yourself. I'll wager you
ten sovereigns in gold--there they are--that I can keep a secret as well
as you can."

As he spoke, he threw down the glittering pieces upon the step on which
they sat.

The peasant's eyes were bent upon the money with a fierce and angry
expression, less betokening desire than actual hate. As he looked at
them, his cheek grew red, and then pale, and red once more; his broad
chest rose and fell like a swelling wave, and his bony fingers clasped
each other in a rigid grasp.

"There are twenty more where these came from," said Linton,
significantly.

"That's a high price,--devil a lie in it!" muttered Tom, thoughtfully.

Linton spoke not, bu