An instant inquiry satisfied her that she was alone, but scarcely had she made this discovery when a gleam of light came in from the passage, and the door was gently and cautiously pushed open. Ada did not speak, but she shrunk into a corner of the room, and saw Gray enter, carrying with him a dim light. “Ada! Ada!” he said. “I am here,” she replied. He set the light on the table, and she saw that his face looked harsh and haggard. “We cannot stay here,” he said, after a pause. “This place will be hideous now.” “Not stay here!“ cried Ada, and her heart sunk within her at the thought of being again removed at the very time when there was a chance of her being rescued by Albert Seyton, should he or any one knowing his name chance to see the paper she had given to Mad Maud. “No—no,” added Gray, “I—I would not sleep here. The very air of this place smells of the grave! We must away, Ada!” “How came I in this room?” said Ada! “After a long time when you returned not to me,” replied Gray, “I descended the staircase, and found you lying in the passage just by the door which you had evidently been trying to escape by.” Ada was deeply thankful that Jacob Gray himself put this interpretation on the circumstance of finding the door open, and she said,— “My feelings overcame me.” “Ay—Yes. The sight must have been terrible!” said Gray. “Come, Ada; ’tis a very dark night—attire yourself in the less cumbrous and safer garments of a boy, and let us leave here.” “You forget your promise,” said Ada. “My promise? What promise?” “You said you would tell me all.” “And so will I at the proper time and season, which, believe me, will be the sooner for what has chanced this night.” “And so am I deceived again,” said Ada. “Girl,” said Gray, “you are young enough yet to wait a short time. There will come a day when justice shall be done you, and the cup of my revenge will be filled to the overflowing! It will be very soon, Ada.” Ada felt that to urge Gray now that his great fear had passed away to fulfil any promise he might have made while under its influence, would be quite futile. Moreover, her great object—the escape of poor Maud—was accomplished, and she had no new spectre wherewith to frighten Jacob Gray. “For that brief time you speak of,” said she, “let us remain here. Think you the spirits of another world cannot follow you wherever you go, Jacob Gray?” “Follow me?” echoed Gray. “Ay; are not all places alike to them? Why remove from here?” Gray seemed to remain silent, then he said in a low agitated voice,— “Girl, what you say may be true. I will think of it again. To-morrow I will decide! Yes, let it be till to-morrow! You are not weary?” “Wherefore do you ask?” said Ada. “Because,” faltered Gray, “I do not wish to be alone.” “And can you ask me to save you from the horrors of that solitude which your conscience peoples with hideous forms?”