“Yes, your worship. I’d take my solemn davy as there’s nothing here.” “I know I can rely upon you,” said Sir Francis, in a tone of disappointment. “Ex—actly, your worship.” “Do you think there are any hiding places about this house?” “Can’t say as I does. Your worship sees as it’s a house a standing all alone, and there ain’t no great opportunity to make hiding-places, you see.” “I will make one more effort,” said Sir Francis; “it is a forlorn hope; but if the girl be hiding anywhere in this house under the impression that I am an enemy, she may hear me and put faith in my words. I will call to her.” Sir Francis rose as he spoke; and Jacob Gray, upon whom this determination came like a thunder-clap, dropped from his trembling hands the remnant of the confession he had been eating, and curling his feet round the ladder, he slid in a moment to the damp floor of the vault. His great dread was, that on the impulse of a moment, Ada might answer any call to her by name; and he knew that, close as Sir Hartleton was, the least shrill cry of hers must inevitably reach his ears, when instant discovery and capture would be certain to follow. Drawing then his pistol from his pocket, he felt about for Ada. “Ada, Ada,” he said, in the faintest whisper. “Here,” said Ada. “Hush,” said Gray, as he grasped her arm; “speak above the tone I use, and you seal your own destruction.” He placed, as he spoke, the cold muzzle of a pistol against her forehead, Ada shuddered as she said— “What is that?” “A pistol! Make the least noise—raise the faintest cry, and I will pull the trigger. You will be a mangled corpse in a moment. Hush, hush, hush!” A voice now reached the ears of Ada, and thrilled through the very heart of Jacob Gray. It was the voice of Sir Francis Hartleton, which, now that he raised it to a high key, was quite audible to Ada, while before, from the low position she occupied at the bottom of the vault, she had only heard a confused murmuring of voices, without being able to detect what was said. “Ada!” cried the magistrate; “Ada!” The girl clasped her hands, and an answering cry was on her lips, but the cold barrel of the pistol pressed heavily and painfully against her brow, and Gray, with his lips close to her ear, said,— “Hush, hush!” prolonging the sound till it resembled the hissing of some loathsome snake. “Ada!” again cried Sir Francis, “Ada! If you are concealed within, hearing of my voice, be assured it is a friend who addresses you.” A low gasping sob burst from Ada, and Gray again hissed in her ear,— “A word, and you die. You are a corpse if you speak; and all hope of seeing Albert Seyton in this world will be past!” “Ada!” again cried Sir Francis. “Speak if you be here. A friend addresses you, I am Sir Francis Hartleton, the magistrate.” Ada made a slight movement and Gray pressed her quite back with the violence with which he held the pistol against her temple.