“Ada! Ada!” cried Gray. There was no answer; and, looking into the chamber, he saw she was not there. Suddenly he started. The sweetly clear and natural voice of Ada emerging from an upper room met his ears. She was looking out at the blue sky, and watching the soaring larks, totally unconscious of the sudden return of Jacob Gray, and fondly anticipating the pleasure—for all our pains and pleasures are comparative—and it was a pleasure to Ada of being alone for a whole day. Gray was in no mood for singing, and with a step very different from the cautious stealthy one with which he usually crawled about the house, he ascended the staircase, and presented himself before the astonished eyes of Ada. “Returned,” she exclaimed. “Yes—returned,” echoed Gray. “Ada, you have broken your vow.” “So help me, Heaven, no!” “You have,” cried Gray, in a high, shrieking voice that decreased to a hissing sound, as if he were afraid of his own violent outcry. “I have not,” repeated Ada, fearlessly, and meeting Gray’s eyes with a clear and open gaze that he shrunk from. “The—the scrap of paper,” said Gray. “The note to the—the—what shall I shall I call him?—Albert Seyton—I have seen that. Ah! Well may your colour flit. Ada, you are detected—you have tampered with your vow. No more prate to me of your innocence and high virtue—no more taunt me with your purity. Ada, we understand each other better now.” “Liar!” cried Ada, with an energy that made Gray start, “I will still taunt you—still prate to you, of my innocence, which only can gall you in proportion as you yourself are guilty. I have tampered with no vow, and you know it. I still stand on a pinnacle, from which you have fallen, never, never to rise again. Bend not your brows on me Jacob Gray—you are my slave and you know that too!” Gray quailed, and trembled, before the flashing eye of Ada, who, as she spoke, assumed unconsciously an attitude of such rare grace and beauty, with the fire of heavenly intelligence and truth beaming in every feature of her face, that it was with mixed feelings-of fear, hate, and admiration, that Gray replied,— “You have made an indirect attempt to escape from here.” “And why not?” said Ada. “If I have the power and opportunity, I will make a hundred—ay, Jacob Gray, and a hundred more to back them. My vow contained a special reservation, that I would accept of aid if it came to me. Moreover, Jacob Gray, when I made the attempt, of which, by some accident, you have become aware, I was as free as air—my promise had expired.” “Ha!” “Yes: it was made in the brief time that elapsed between one promise and another, Jacob Gray.” “Damnation! Why do you reiterate my name so constantly?” “Because it angers you, Jacob Gray.” “What if I were to kill you?” growled Gray. “’Twould be another murder,” said Ada. “Ada, I do not believe your exculpation. Why did you not escape, if you had the opportunity you speak of?”