Gray was silent for several moments after Ada had spoken. Then bending down his mouth, close to her ear, he said in a low, agitated voice,— “Ada—there is another resource.” “Indeed?” “Yes—but one man keeps guard above.” “I understand you. You will risk a contest with him?” “No—no—no!” “What mean you then, Jacob Gray?” “To kill him.” “But should he prove the stronger or the bolder, which he may well be, Jacob Gray, you might be worsted in the encounter.” “It shall not be an encounter,” said Gray. “You speak in riddles.” “Listen to me. He is walking uneasily from room to room of the house. He does not suspect any one to be concealed here—that much I can gather from his talk. At sunset I will creep forth, and hiding somewhere in perfect security—watch my opportunity, and shoot him dead.” “What!” cried Ada indignantly—“murder him?” “I—I—only act in self-defence—I cannot help it—he would murder me. Hush—hush! Do not speak so loud—you are incautious, Ada—hush—hush!” CHAPTER XLIX. The Projected Murder.—The Alarm.—The Death-shot.—Ada’s Anguish and Indignation. Ada was so much shocked at the proposal of Jacob Gray to commit a deliberate and cold-blooded murder, that now for several minutes she remained perfectly silent—a silence which Gray construed into passive acquiescence in his proposition. “You see, Ada,” he continued, “we have no other hope—as you say we cannot starve here—the blood of this man be upon his own head—I do not want his life, Ada; but I must preserve myself and you. You must see all this in its proper light, Ada—you do not speak.” “Hear me then speak now,” said Ada. “In all your knowledge of me, Jacob Gray, what have you found upon which to ground a moment’s thought that I could be as wicked as yourself? Captivity may present horrors to you, from which you would free yourself, even at the fearful price of murder. It may be that this awful deed you contemplate would, if executed, add but another item to a fearful record of crime; but, God of Heaven! What should make me so wicked? Wherefore should I connive at a deed proscribed alike by God and man? Jacob Gray, I am weak and you are strong; I am defenceless and you armed; but as there is a Heaven above us, I will dare all—risk all to prevent this contemplated murder.” “You are wild—mad,” said Gray, in a low tone, which, from its bitterness, was evidently one of intense rage likewise. “The fear of death has hitherto acted upon your mind—let it so act still.” “It was a sufficient motive,” replied Ada, “when I personally was concerned, and had to choose between captivity with hope, and death which would extinguish all but Heaven’s mercy hereafter. But now, Jacob Gray, I cannot, will not purchase life for myself at the price of death to a fellow-creature.” “You will not?” “No; I will not: not if he, whose life you seek, were the veriest wretch on earth—were he even such as you are, Jacob Gray, I would leave him to his God.” “You rave, girl—you rave,”