“My life? Is Britton dead?” she replied. “What do you mean?” said Gray, impatiently. “Because I cannot die till he does.” “Listen to me,” said Gray. “You say that this Hartleton talks of imprisoning Gray. Was that all he said?” “I wept, and he would not then take from me what the angel had given me. I promised her by a name, as sacred to me as that of Heaven, and I could not even let him have it,—no, no! He pitied my tears, and let me keep the angel’s paper.” “Paper!—Paper!—What paper?” “Oh! It is precious!” continued Maud; “I think it is a charm against sickness,—it is, truly, as coming from an angel.” “Let me see it.” “Yes, of course; I am to show it to all,—that was what the angel said. You shall see,—but you will not take it—promise me you will not take it.” “I promise.” Maud then dived her hand in her breast, and produced, with an expression of intense pride and satisfaction, the scrap of paper which Ada had given her, with the faint hope that it might meet the hands of Albert Seyton. She held it out to Gray to read, and as he did so, and fully comprehending the few words it contained, his lips turned to an ashy paleness, and his brain grew dizzy with apprehension. “He—he has seen this?” he gasped. “Who?” “Hartleton!” “Oh yes; I tell you he wanted it, but he would not tear it from me.” Gray made a snatch at it, and tore it from the grasp of the poor creature. Maud uttered a loud scream, and Gray, drawing a pistol from his pocket, stood in an attitude of defence, as he heard a confusion of steps upon the stairs. “Give it to me!” shrieked Maud—“Oh! As you hope for heaven, give it to me!” A moment’s reflection assured Jacob Gray that not only was he acting indiscreetly, but that he had no time to lose. Hastily concealing the pistol, he handed the paper to Maud, saying— “Hence, hence; I did but jest.” The door was immediately flung open, and several heads appeared. “This poor creature is mad, friends,” said Gray. “She—she thinks she has seen something.” “The Lord preserve us!” cried the landlord. “An’ it please you, sir, I see Sir Frederick crossing the river.” “Who?” cried Grey. “Your honour’s good friend, Sir Frederick Hartleton—ah, I’ll warrant he has some sport in view, for he has Elias and Stephy, his two runners, with him.” Gray darted to the door. “Your honour—honour,” cried the landlord, “an’ it please you, what did the poor crazy creature fancy she saw?” “The devil!” cried Gray. In a moment he was outside the house. He cast one glance towards the river. In the middle of the stream was a two-oared cutter, pulled rapidly by two rowers, while a figure that he at once recognised as the magistrate sat steering. With a stifled cry, Jacob Gray set his teeth, and darted off towards his solitary home, like a hunted hare. CHAPTER XLIII. The Proposal.—Gray’s Reasoning.—The Vault.—Ada’s Tears.—A Guilty Heart’s Agony.