A few more minutes of great anxiety now passed, during which Maud did not speak, but rocked to and fro in her chair, sighing deeply, as if the sound of her murdered lover’s name had affected her deeply. “Maud,” said Ada. “Maud, attend to me.” “I hear the voice,” said Maud, “the voice of the angel that has come from Heaven to speak words of kindness to poor Mad Maud.” “By the memory of William Heriot,” said Ada, “do not speak or move till I come to you again.” Ada then left the room for the purpose of ascertaining in what room Jacob Gray was staying. With an assumed carelessness of step and manner she walked into the rooms on the ground floor, but in none of them was Jacob Gray; she then ascended the staircase, and as she neared the top of the crazy flight, a door was suddenly opened upon the landing, and Gray appeared. Ada paused, and they regarded each other for a few moments in silence. Then Gray said, in a low tone,— “Nothing has happened, Ada? No alarm?” “No alarm,” said Ada, answering his last question; “wait for me below, we must have some talk to-day.” “To-day?” “Yes, I promise but from month to month—to-day the month expires,” said Ada. “It does, but the promise will be renewed.” “Stay where you are,” said Ada, “I will come to you in a short time.” “Nay, not here,” said Gray, “go to the room below. I will be with you shortly.” “I am even now proceeding to my own chamber,” said Ada; “in a quarter of an hour I will meet you here.” Without waiting for a reply, Ada ascended to her own room. Gray stood for a minute with the door in his hand, muttering to himself,— “She braves me thus ever—if I were to remark that the sun shone, she would declare ’twas very cold—sometimes I doubt if I hate her or Learmont most; yet I must spare her to be revenged on him! Curses on them all!” He flung the door to, which shut with a bang that Ada heard with thankfulness. Gray then unlocked a cupboard in the room, and proceeded to deposit, in a sacred place he had constructed at the back of it, the last sum of money he had wrung from the fears of Learmont. In the same place of safety, likewise, was the written confession addressed to Sir Francis Hartleton, but that was not concealed; it lay openly in the cupboard, a prominent object to any one who should force the door. A smile of self-satisfaction came across Jacob Gray’s face as he took the paper in his hand, and fixed his keen eyes upon its superscription to the magistrate.