“The man I mention—Andrew Britton by name—was one of them who came to you at our late house. That he is in some manner connected with the mysterious circumstances which envelope me, I am convinced. Oh, Jacob Gray, bethink you now of the evil of wickedness; you cannot gain more, nay, not half so much by deceiving and persecuting me than you would gain by trusting me with every secret. Besides, there is one possession which would then be yours, which is beyond all price—that dear inheritance we all have from Heaven as its best, most costly gift, and which is too often bartered for a bauble. You would have peace of mind, Jacob Gray, which you have not now. He who tries may read pain and disquiet in your face. You are haunted by the fearful creations of your own over-hardened conscience. I—even I—can see that some hideous spectre of the past is ever rising, perhaps in bloody guise, before your appalled imagination. Oh, I am weak, young, and unknowing in the ways of life, but I can tell you, Jacob Gray, that guilt is misery. You are wretched—most wretched—you lead a life of apprehension. Your own fears will carry you to an early grave. Oh, do some solitary but great act of justice, and it will stand as a shield betwixt you and your trembling soul—will plead with Heaven for you, and by its brightness so dim the record of your guilt that you may cherish such dear hopes of mercy as shall in themselves be happiness. Release me—trust me. Tell me, Jacob Gray, who and what I am. Justice, though tardy, is justice still. I will invent causes for you up to this moment—I will pray for you, Jacob Gray. Oh, end at once this life of horror, suspicion and distress!” Gray waved his hand several times while Ada was speaking, as if he would implore her to cease, but wanted power of speech to stop her in her appeal. When she had ceased speaking, she stood with clasped hands gazing in his face, and waiting with a deep and holy anxiety the words that would pass his lips in reply. “Girl!” he gasped, “you know not what you ask! I wish you well, but dare not—dare not—dare not tell you a tale would drive you mad! Enough—enough—urge me no more! All this will have an end—it must—but not as you ask. Have patience, Ada, and I will do great things for you! Yes, great things, when I am far away in another land, and safe—safe from those who would take my life—who would spill my blood like water! Have patience, girl! Have patience, and all will be well.” “I am your prisoner, then, Jacob Gray,” said Ada—“still your prisoner.” “For a time—only for a time. Promise me, by the faith you have in Heaven—swear that you will abide here without an effort to escape, and such a freedom as you can safely have, you shall have.” “If I refuse?” “Then you must take the consequences. My safety—my life, I tell you, depends upon your security. I will not trifle with my own existence! Night and day yon cellar shall be your home!”