“That I had a special reason for, which I will not tell you, Jacob Gray.” “I do not wish to kill you.” “That I know—you have some highly politic reason for preserving my life, else it had been sacrificed long since.” “But now it has become politic so to do,” added Gray. “Indeed?” “Ay—indeed.” “Then, God help me. If I must die now by your hands, may Heaven forgive you for your deep sinfulness.” “Hear me, girl,” cried Gray. “There is yet a chance of saving you.” “Say on. You have some proposition to make, from which you guess I will revolt, or you would not preface it with such murderous looks.” Gray walked first to a window, which commanded a view in the direction of Lambeth. He saw as yet no traces of the magistrate and his party, and he returned to Ada. “Attend to what I say,” he cried. “There are those coming here who, as it happened once before in our former place of abode, seek mine and your life.” Ada started. “Yes,” continued Gray. “By an accident little short of a miracle, I have discovered their intentions—they are now on their road here. There is not time to fly.” “They may be foes to you only,” said Ada. She then suddenly clasped her hands and uttered a cry of joy. “I see it now,” she said, “Albert—Albert is coming.” “No!” thundered Gray. “You are wrong—on my soul, you are wrong. It is not he. If you hear his voice, act as you please—I will not restrain you.” “Who are these men then?” “That I cannot, will not tell you. Suffice it, they seek your life. We must die or live together in this emergency; or else if you, with fatal obstinacy, will not be guided by me, and embrace the only chance of escape, in self-defence I must silence you.” “By murdering me?” “Yes, although reluctantly. Ada, you have sense, knowledge, discretion, beyond your years.” Ada sat down, and deep emotion was evident in her countenance. “Jacob Gray,” she said, “death is frightful to the young. Let me believe the reasons you urge, or believe them not, it matters little. You will kill me if I do not do your bidding in this case. Those who are coming may be my friends or they may be my enemies, I cannot tell, and your statements carry not with them the stamp of truth to my mind. The heart once thoroughly deceived, trusts no more. You need not seek to delude with untruths—it is enough that you will kill me if I do not hide from those whom you dread—but you have said that, should I hear the voice of him—him who—why should I shrink from the avowal?—Him whom I love, you will not stay me.” “I swear I will not,” cried Gray. “Your word is quite as weighty as your oath, Jacob Gray,” said Ada. “Both are worthless. But you would not make such a promise even if you thought that he would be one of those you expect.” “Time, Ada—time is precious!” cried Gray. “To you probably—but I must obey you.”