“Oh!” cried Elias, looking round, him, with a very different expression, upon the old house. “It’s a very comfortable place, indeed, your worship.” “By-the-by,” said Sir Francis, “I forgot one thing—the girl may come in boy’s clothing.” “Oh, the dear!” said Elias. “So, if what you think a boy comes, you may assume that that’s the girl.” “The pretty cretur!” exclaimed Elias. “Fifty pounds! Bless her.” The magistrate then reflected a moment, and not recollecting anything else that it was necessary to impress upon the sensitive mind of Elias, he was turning away from the door, when that gentleman himself suddenly thought of something of the very greatest importance in his eyes. “Your worship,” he said, “my victuals—my victuals, your worship.” “What?” said Sir Francis. “Am I to be starved, your worship? How am I to get my victuals?” Sir Francis smiled, as he replied,— “I should not have forgotten you. You must do the best you can till sunset, when I will send Stephy to you with plenty to last you.” “Well,” exclaimed Elias, “it is a mercy that I tucked in a tolerable breakfast.” Sir Francis now left the house with his other companions, and Elias, who was remarkable for his size and great personal strength, closed the door, and began to bethink how he should amuse the leisure hours until sunset, when the welcome provisions should arrive; after which time he did not contemplate that the time would hang at all heavily upon his hands. In the meanwhile Jacob Gray remained in the vault, threatening Ada, until he thought all danger must be past, from the extreme quiet that reigned in the house. Not the most distant notion of Sir Francis Hartleton’s leaving any one behind him to keep watch in the lonely mansion, occurred to Jacob Gray, and after half an hour, as he guessed, had very nearly passed away, he began to breathe a little more freely, and to congratulate himself that for that time at least the danger had blown over his head. During that half hour he made a determination to leave the house, and for the short time now that he would stay in England—for he was thoroughly scared, and resolved to be off very soon—he would take some lodging for himself and Ada, at the same time binding her by a solemn promise, as before, not to leave him, which promise he would now render less irksome to her, by representing that in a short time she should be quite free to act as she pleased, as well as knowing everything that might concern her or her future fortunes. With this idea, and believing the danger past, he spoke in a more unembarrassed tone to Ada. “Ada,” he said, “be not deceived—the voice you heard calling upon you was not that of Sir Francis Hartleton. That name was assumed merely to deceive you to your destruction. You, as well as I, have escaped a great danger—so great a danger, that I shall hasten my departure from England, and you may rest assured now that within one month of time you will be rich and free.”