Elias paused a moment. Then there was a bright flash, a loud report, and a heavy fall, all of which were succeeded by a silence as awful and profound as that of the grave. Ada rose partially from the floor, and a dreadful consciousness of what had occurred came across her mind. “Jacob Gray,” she said, “you are a murderer—a murderer.” “I—I was compelled to do the deed,” said Gray, in a low hoarse voice. “Come away—come away, Ada. Let us fly from hence—come away.” “Not with you, man of blood,” cried Ada. “God sees this deed. Murderer, I cannot go with you.” “’Twas my life or his,” said Gray, creeping out from behind the ladder, where he had been crouching, and through the spokes of which he had shot Elias as he descended with a certainty of effect. “No—no. Such was not the fact,” cried Ada. “I care not,” said Gray, throwing off his low cautious tone, and assuming a high shrill accent of anger; “I care not. Place what construction you will upon me, or my actions, you shall come with me now, or remain here to starve. Refuse to accompany me, and I will remove the ladder and leave you here with the dead.” Ada shuddered. “Whither—oh whither would you lead me?” she said. “To some other place of refuge for a short time, until my purposes are completed. Be quick girl, do you stay or go?” “It may be death to go,” said Ada, “but it is suicide to stay.” “You consent?” “I am in the hand of Providence. To it I commit myself. I will follow you.” “Quick, quick!” cried Gray, and he ascended the ladder with nervous trepidation, followed slowly by the afflicted and terrified Ada. The evening was fast approaching as they gained the room above, and Jacob Gray, seizing Ada by the wrist, led her to the outer door of the old house in which they had lived so long. He turned upon the threshold, and holding up his hand, cried,— “My curse be upon this habitation. Had I the means at hand—yet stay one moment, Ada.” He knelt on the step, and struck a light with materials he always carried about him. Dragging Ada again into the house, he opened the door of a room on the ground floor, on which was a quantity of littered straw and baskets. Throwing the light among the inflammable material, he ground through his set teeth,— “Burn, burn! And may not one brick stand upon another of this hateful place.” He then dragged Ada from the house, and took his course along the fields at a rapid pace. CHAPTER L. The Ruin at Night.—The Fire.—Gray’s Behaviour.—A Challenge.—Old Westminster Again. Ada made no remark upon these proceedings of Jacob Gray. She had made up her mind to a particular course of action. She had wound up her feelings and her courage to a certain pitch and she resolved not to say another word to Jacob Gray, until she had an opportunity of acting, as she had now considered it her sacred duty to act.