He was still engaged in this task when the door of a room leading into the passage suddenly opened, and a flood of light immediately dissipated the pitchy darkness of the place. Fortunately for him, Gray was within one pace of the bottom of the staircase he had so recently descended; and, with the fear of instant discovery upon his mind, from the person who was coming with the light, he bounded up the staircase, nor paused till he reached the first landing, from whence he had entered the room containing the mother and her child. There he stopped; but, to his extreme fright, the flashing of the light evidently indicated that its bearer was coming up the stairs. With a stifled groan Gray cautiously ascended the next flight, and again paused on the narrow landing. Still the light came on, and he could not conceal from himself the fact that the person was still ascending, and that he had no other resource than to continue his flight to the very upper part of the house. The next flight of stairs was steep, narrow, and crazy, so that, tread where he would, they wheezed, creaked, and groaned under the pressure of his feet. There was, however, no resource, and onward he went, until he was stopped by a door exactly at the top: he pressed it, and it yielded to his touch, allowing him to enter a dark attic. Further progress Jacob Gray felt there could not be, and he stood in the doorway, listening attentively if he could detect any sounds of approaching feet. A gush of blood to his heart, and an universal tremor of all his limbs, seized him as he saw the light coming, and felt convinced that the destination of the person approaching was one of the attics, if not the very one he had sought refuge in. All hope appeared to die within him. There was no time for the briefest reflection. With his eyes fixed upon the door, and the pistol in his grasp, he retreated backwards into the room as the footsteps came nearer and nearer to the door. Then there was a slight pause; after which the door was flung open, and a tall, heavy, coarse-looking man entered the room, carrying in his hand a light. One glance convinced Jacob Gray that the man was by far his superior in strength—his only chance lay in the loaded pistol he had, and that he was resolved to use should he not be able to bribe the man to connive at his presence, and aid his escape. It was a moment before the man observed the figure of Jacob Gray with his back to the wall opposite to the door, and the pistol in his grasp. When he did, he by no means betrayed the emotion that might have been expected; but shading the light with his disengaged hand, he cried in a loud voice,— “Hilloa! Who are you when you are at home?” “Do you love gold?” said Gray. “Rather,” replied the man. “Will it tempt you to assist me to escape from this place? If so, name your price.” “That’s business like,” said the man. “I suppose it’s you they are making all the rout about below there?”