“Indeed!” said Ada, incredulously. “You may believe me,” said Gray; “on my faith, what I say is true.” “’Tis hard to believe him who would murder one moment, and promise wealth and freedom the next.” “I was forced to threaten your life, Ada, for my own, as I tell you, hung upon a thread; you will not repent this day’s proceedings when you are happy with him you love, and surrounded by luxury.” Ada started; and had there been light enough in that dismal place. Gray would have seen the mantling flash of colour that visited the cheek of the persecuted girl, as the words he spoke conjured up a dream of happiness to her imagination, that she felt would indeed pay her for all she had suffered—ay, were it ten times more. She did not speak, for she would not let Jacob Gray guess, from the agitation of her voice, the effect that his words had produced, and after a pause he said to her,— “Remain here while I go into the house and see that all is safe. They must be gone by this time, Jacob Gray has foiled them once again, but he will not incur the danger a third time, I assure you. Ada, as I live and breathe your thraldom shall not—cannot last another month.” He ascended the ladder as he spoke, and after listening attentively and hearing nothing, he slid open the panel and looked into the room. All was still, and the glorious bright sunshine was streaming in upon the dingy walls and blackened floor. Again Gray listened—all was still, and he got through the opening with a lurking smile of gratified cunning upon his face. He, however, could not forget his habitual caution, and it was with a slinking, cat-like movement that he walked along the floor of the room. He intended to walk through the entire house, to see if his unwelcome visitors had left behind them any traces of their presence. Opening the door of the room, very carefully, he began to descend the stairs; he muttered to himself as he went,— “’Twas an hour of great danger, I have been saved by what good and pious people would call a miracle, had it happened to them, but I suppose it’s merely an accident in Jacob Gray’s case; well, well, be it so—accident or miracle, ’tis all the same to me; and I am not sorry too, to leave this old house: it has grown hateful and loathsome to me. I would not pass such another night in it as I have passed for—for—much money. No, no—it would indeed require a heap of gold to tempt me.” Now he reached the door of a large cupboard on the staircase, which was wide open, as Sir Francis and his men had left it in the course of their search.