“No, I do not rave—’tis you that with a hollow, hideous sophistry delude yourself.” “Your consent or non-consent is of little moment,” said Gray; “I hold both your life and his in my hands.” “Then you shall take mine first, for I am sickened at such villany, and would rather be its victim than its spectator. From this moment, Jacob Gray, no bond, no promise binds me to you. Take but one decisive step to commit the murder you contemplate, and this place shall echo with my cries.” Gray was evidently unprepared for the dilemma into which he had now brought himself, and he knew not what to say for some moments, during which he glared upon Ada with a fiendish expression of his eyes; which she could just discern in the dim light of the cellar, that was more worthy of some malignant demon than anything human. “You ask me to sacrifice myself?” he at length said. “No, I ask no such thing,” replied Ada; “allow me to ascend from this place and see the man you say waits above. Friend or foe, I will risk the encounter, and I will not betray you.” “No, no,” said Gray; “not yet, not yet, Ada; I cannot part with you yet. Moreover, there would still be danger—great danger. I cannot do as you wish.” “Then you shall incur a greater risk, or commit two murders.” “Hush, hush,” said Gray; “you speak too loud. Let me think again; I will spare him if I can.” Jacob Gray remained in deep thought for about ten minutes; then, as he came to some conclusion satisfactory to him, a dark and singular contortion of the features crossed his face, and his hand was thrust into the breast of his clothing, where he had a loaded pistol, upon which he well knew he could depend in any sudden emergency. “Ada,” he said, “I am resolved.” “Resolved on what?” “To take this man’s life, who is here for the express purpose of taking mine if he can find the opportunity.” “Then I am resolved,” said Ada, “to raise a voice of warning to that man, be he whom he may. If this is to be my last hour, Heaven receive me!” “You shall die,” said Gray. Ada sunk on her knees, and covering her face within her hands, she said,— “Jacob Gray, if Heaven permits you to murder me, I will not shrink. May God forgive you the awful crime!” Gray laughed a bitter, short laugh, as he said,— “No, Ada, you may live. I do not intend to kill you. Possibly, too, I may spare him who keeps watch above for me. Be patient while I go and reconnoitre.” “No, no,” cried Ada, “I cannot be patient here; you are going to murder.” “Listen to me,” said Gray. “There is one more chance. After nightfall we will endeavour to leave the house. If we succeed in doing so unobstructed, all may be well; but if opposition be offered, I must defend myself. You surely cannot deny me that privilege, Ada?” “Jacob Gray, you have not the courage to pursue such a plan,” said Ada. “Girl, are you bent on your own destruction?” cried Gray.