“Wretch!” cried Britton; “if your madness may be feigned for all I know. Swear to me that you will at once, return to Learmont.” “Return?” “Ay; you shall not dog my steps. I know not what you mean. You rave, woman—you rave.” “Do I rave? Well, well, perhaps ’tis true. But I saw the child.” “Tell me one thing, Maud. Do you know who that child is?” There was a pause of a moment and Ada’s heart beat with tumultuous emotion, as she thought that now she might hear by this strange accidental meeting the secret of her birth. “Yes,” said Maud; “yes—I know.” “You are sure,” said Britton. “I know, I know,” repeated Maud. “Then, if there is a heaven above us, or a hell beneath us,” cried Britton, “you shall not leave this bridge alive.” “Hush—hush!” cried Mad Maud, “I have dreamt it often, and believe it. You are to die before I do; it is so arranged, Andrew Britton.” Ada looked out with trembling apprehension from her place of concealment, and she saw, by the rapidly increasing light of the coming day, the savage smith casting rapid glances around, as if to assure himself that no one was within sight of the deed of blood he was about to commit. For a moment an awful apathy crept over the heart of Ada, and she felt as if she were condemned to crouch in that little alcove without power of voice or action, and see the murder committed. Mad Maud did not appear to have comprehended the last muttered threat of Britton, for she stood with her arms folded across her breast, murmuring in a low tone to herself, and apparently unheedful even of the presence of her enemy. Ada then saw the smith fumble awhile in his breast, and then he drew forth a knife. She saw it glitter in the faint light. “Yes, yes,” said Maud, in a low tone, “I recollect all, or nearly all. How difficult it is to separate the dreams from the reality. The spirit of the dead man still haunts the place! Yes; that is real! He cries for his child!—His little child!—And there is a garb on his breast! Let me think. How has he lived so long after his murder? Oh, yes—I know now: it is by drinking the blood continually from his own wounds! Ay, that would preserve him!” Britton made a step towards her. “The child!” she cried suddenly. “You shall torment me no longer,” he cried. “Ha!” shrieked Maud, as she saw the knife uplifted, “you dare not—cannot do it!” She shrank back, but Britton followed close upon her, Ada again saw the knife uplifted, and by a violent effort, like a person recovering from a nightmare, she screamed. The sound seemed to Britton so great a surprise, that he staggered, and dropped the knife from his trembling hand. Her own voice appeared to have broken the spell of horror that bound up the faculties of Ada, and now, by an impulse which lent her strength and courage, she rushed from the place of concealment, and, snatching the knife from the ground, she fled quickly along the bridge, crying, “Help!—Help!”