“Bravo!” cried Elias, when he had completed the last few notes of his whistling accompaniment. “Bravo!—Encore! Bravo! Well, I do hate these long summer days, to be sure. Why, it will be half-past eight, if it’s a bit, before Stephy comes. There’s a infliction, I wish this cursed fellow, or the gal, or both of them, would just trot over the fields, and save me any further waiting. Let me see—a thin, pale covey, the governor said, with a nervous sort of look. Very good; I shall know him. Just let him show his physiognomy here, and I’ll pop the darbies on him before he can say Jack, to leave alone the Robinson. Well, I’ll take another walk through the old den. They say there’s been a murder here. I wonder if the fellow got much swag? I never heard o’ any gentleman being hung for a murder here, I ’spose as that affair never put forty pound into a runner’s pocket. Some fellows is such beasts when they does slap-up murders; they commits suicide, and so cheat somebody of the blood-money. Curse ’em!” Having uttered this sentiment, Mr. Elias struck up an intense whistle, and walked from the room. Jacob Gray could hear him descend the stairs, and the whistle gradually died away in the distance, until it sounded only faintly upon his ears, convincing him that the stranger had gone into some of the rooms on the ground floor. Jacob Gray now slowly descended the ladder, and pronounced the name of Ada in a low, anxious tone. “I am here,” she replied. “Ada, our situation is now perilous and awkward in the extreme. The persons who were here have left one of their number behind them.” “Indeed!” “Yes, they suspect I may return to this house.” “Are we then to starve here?” said Ada. “Starved?” echoed Gray, “I—I did not think of that. God of Heaven! What shall we do?” “Jacob Gray,” said Ada, “you are caught in your own snare. This place which you imagined to be one of safety has now become your prison. Remain here, if you please; I have no such urgent reasons as you may have. If he whom you tell me is keeping guard in the house, be an enemy to me, as well as to you, I will rather trust to his mercy than abide here the horrors of famine. Such a death would be dreadful! Jacob Gray, I will not remain here.” “You will not?” “I will not.” “I am armed, Ada. You forget that I can force your obedience by the fear of death.” “You can murder me,” replied Ada, “but I cannot perceive that it is your interest to do so.” “Why not?” “Let me go freely, and I promise not to disclose the secret of your place of concealment. He who is waiting, if he be an enemy to me as well as to you, may be satisfied with my capture, or perchance my death, and leave you undisturbed to pursue your own course. If he prove a friend to me, which from my heart, Jacob Gray, I verily believe, for the voice I heard address me by name carried in its tones truth and sincerity, then you will have less to fear, for I here promise not to betray you.”