It was upon one of these occasions that poor Albert was more than usually dispirited and weary, that his father said kindly to him,— “Albert, it does appear to me that we can have no further scruple how we commit this man Gray. He cannot be the father of the persecuted Ada.” “He her father!” exclaimed Albert. “I would as leave think that the tiger could be sire to the lamb. Oh, no! There is some dark, mysterious villany at the bottom of all. My poor Ada is the innocent victim of some intrigues and enemies, with which this Gray and Britton are mixed up. Alas! Alas! The villains may have killed her. Oh I would that kind Heaven would direct me where to seek her!” “Do not despair, Albert,” said his rather soothingly, “the time will come when all this must be made clear and apparent.” “I hope it may, father,” said Albert, despondingly, “but I am very wretched.” “It strikes me,” continued Mr. Seyton, “that we are not justified, Albert, in the course we are pursuing.” “Indeed! Father.” “No, Albert. What I advise is an immediate communication of the whole of the circumstances to the magistrate, Sir Frederick Hartleton. The fact that a mysterious packet was actually addressed to him, and set such a store by this man Gray, will be sufficient to interest him in the case.” Albert remained in thought for a few moments, and then springing from his seat with energy, he exclaimed,— “Yes, father, let us do so. There is hope in that. Sir Frederick Hartleton must have means of inquiry, and sources of information that no one but a person in his situation could have. Let us go at once.” “You are wearied now, Albert.” “No, no; I am never wearied in the cause of Ada.” “Wait till you are invigorated; you can then tell your fate better, for in truth you must know a great deal more than I.” “Oh father, come with me now. You have made this suggestion, and it may be a most happy one. Come now!” “I will not baulk you,” said Mr. Seyton, rising, “I do not think it a proper course; but do not build too much upon it, Albert: only look upon it as a chance that should not be thrown away.” Sir Frederick Hartleton’s office was across the Park, somewhere close about the spot now occupied by the gardens of Buckingham Palace, and Seyton lived in the neighbourhood of Soho; so that the father and son proceeded to Charing Cross and entered the Park by the gate in Spring Gardens. The sun was setting; but the great mall of the Park was thronged with promenaders—St. James’s being then a much more fashionable place than it is now.