“Was it you singing just now?“ asked the officer. “It was. My voice, I think, soothes him, even in sleep. Hush! Do not speak so loud, or you will wake him.” “Leave her alone,” said the officer. “My good woman, we don’t want to disturb your child. We have our duty, however, to do; but I am quite satisfied he whom we seek is not here.” “A mother’s blessing be upon you, sir,” said the woman. “You have, perhaps, saved the very life of my child by not disturbing it.” “What, has it been so bad as that?” remarked another. “Oh, quite, quite!” “The turn of a fever in those young things is always a ticklish affair,” remarked another. “Come on,” said the officer, “come on. We are sorry for disturbing you. If any strange man should walk in here, be sure you give an immediate alarm.” “Yes, yes,” gasped the young mother, scarcely yet believing that her infant was safe. In a few moments more the room was clear of the men, and then the woman covered her face with her hands and burst into such a hysterical passion of weeping, that Gray was dreadfully alarmed lest it should be heard, and induce a return of his pursuers. “Peace, woman—peace,” he said, in a hoarse whisper, from his hiding-place. “I am not yet out of danger, nor is your child yet safe from my vengeance.” “Man, man!” cried the mother, “I have saved your life. Be grateful and depart.” “Not yet—not yet,” said Jacob Gray, slowly and cautiously emerging from his hiding-place, “not yet. This place is now the safest I can remain in for sometime, because it has been visited.” “You are wrong.” “I cannot be.” “I say you are wrong. I have a husband, and when he returns, he may not be so weak as his wife.” Gray started, and replied in accents of fear,— “When—when do you expect him?” “Even now—he may be here directly.” “I must go.—I must go,” said Gray. “You are telling me the truth? I will give you gold if you hide me here for another hour.” “My compliance with your commands,” said the woman, “arose from a higher motive than the love of gold. Heaven knows we are poor—wretchedly poor, but gold from your polluted hands would bring with it a curse, instead of a blessing.” “You reject a large sum for an hour’s safety for me?” “I do.” “But your husband may better see his interest in this matter.” “No—my husband is poor, but he was not always so. The feelings and the habits of a gentleman still cling to him in the sad reverse of fortune we are now enduring. Go, wretched man, save yourself if you can, and ask mercy of Heaven for the crime I hear you have committed.” “That crime was in self-defence,” said Gray; “I will risk all, and remain here until this house has been searched.” “I cannot hinder you. On your own head be the risk.” Gray stood near the door, listening attentively, and presently he heard descending footsteps, which from their number, he supposed rightly to be the officers returning from their unsuccessful search in the upper rooms of the house.