With a saddened and dejected air Albert again searched the house. He found no vestige of Ada, save her male attire and the dead dog. An open book was upon the table of her room. That he placed next his heart, with the fond thought that she might have owned and prized it. “Let us leave this place,” said his father, “and the more quickly the better, I will employ someone to watch the house for some days in case Gray should return, and in the meantime, we will ourselves make every inquiry, and use our utmost endeavours to discover his retreat.” With a heavy heart Albert left the house; he lingered long at the door and in the street, and it was only his father’s arguments that induced him at length to quit the spot. “Father,” said Albert, “I will make an application to Sir Francis Hartleton!” “You forget,” replied Mr. Seyton, “that Sir Francis Hartleton is a magistrate and has a public duty to perform, from which he is not the man to flinch. We wish to temporise with this man Gray, and not drive him to extremities. The more heartily Sir Francis might enter into this business, the more misery we might be laying up for the persecuted girl it is our wish to rescue. Recollect, Albert, there still lives the awful doubt that Jacob Gray may still be the father of Ada.” “It is an awful doubt,” said Albert. “We must not then embitter her existence, wicked as Gray may be, by executing upon him the full measure of justice until that doubt is solved. It would be coldly right to do so, I will grant; but we look more to Ada’s happiness, Albert, than the vengeance of the law upon a guilty man.” Albert grasped his father’s hand as he replied, in a voice struggling with emotion,— “Guide me, father—tell me what to do. Your words bring truth and conviction with them.” “Then, Albert, if you succeed in getting the situation you have been endeavouring to obtain, as private secretary to this gentleman, who is reported to be so rich and liberal, there may arise some opportunity of interesting him in the matter, and, through his means and influence, much might be done to unravel the whole mystery without endangering Gray, should he turn out to be Ada’s father, of which, however, I have the strongest doubts.” “Yes,” cried Albert, with renovated hope; “they tell me this gentleman, Squire Learmont, is rolling in wealth.” “Ay, that is his name. He is comparatively unknown, I hear, in London; but if you become his secretary, he may take a pleasure, if he be a good man, in assisting you.” “It shall be tried, father,” said Albert. Learmont had been inquiring of several persons since his arrival in London for some young man as private secretary, and Albert Seyton, who never in his wildest dreams imagined that the rich Squire Learmont, whose wealth was the theme of every tongue, could possibly be in any way connected with the fortunes of the poor persecuted Ada, had applied for the situation, and met with a favourable although evasive answer. CHAPTER XXXIII.