If he attempted to tear it into fragments, he must either cast these fragments on the door of the vault, from whence they would easily be recovered, or he must keep them in his possession, which would avail him nothing. He thought of descending the ladder, and digging a hole with his hands, in which to bury the dangerous document, but then Ada was there, and would by the dim light of that place see what he was about, and it was not to be supposed that she would keep a secret she was so strongly and personally interested in revealing. There was but one other resource that occurred to the maddened brain of Jacob Gray, and that was one which, in his present state, nothing but the abject, awful fear of death by the hands of the executioner could have brought him to—it was to tear the confession into small pieces, and eat it. With trembling hands, while he stood upon the ladder as well as he could, he drew the paper from his breast, and notwithstanding his awful and intense thirst, he began tearing off piece by piece from it, and forcing himself to swallow it. Thus had this written confession—this master-stroke of policy, upon which he had so much prided himself, become to him a source of torment and pain. Occasionally he could hear a door shut in the house, as Sir Francis Hartleton and his two officers pursued their search, and he went on with frantic eagerness devouring the paper. Now, by the distinctness of the sounds, he felt sure those who sought him were in the next apartment. In a few short moments they would be there, his danger was thickening, and the confession was not half disposed of. With trembling fingers, that impeded themselves, he tore off large pieces, and forced them into his mouth, to the danger of choking himself. Now he really heard the door of the room open, and the heavy tread of men upon the floor. In a few moments there was a death-like stillness, and Jacob Gray stood in the act of suspending mastication, with a large piece of the confession fixed in his teeth. Then Sir Francis Hartleton’s voice, or what he guessed to be his, from the tone of authority in which he spoke, came upon Gray’s ears. “This is very strange,” he said. “To my thinking, there are evident indications of recent inhabitants in this house. Go down to the door, and ask your comrade if he has heard anything.” “Yes, Sir Francis,” replied another voice, and the door closed, indicative of the man proceeding on his errand. “Now—now,” thought Gray, “if we were alone—if there were no other, a pistol would rid me for ever of his troublesome and most unwelcome visit.” Sir Francis spoke, as if communing with himself, in a low voice—but in the breathless stillness around, Gray heard distinctly what he said.