When Ada sunk insensible into the arms of a stranger, after denouncing Jacob Gray as a murderer, she was conveyed into a shop by Charing-cross, when her rare and singular beauty, and the peculiar circumstances under which she had fainted, were the themes of every tongue. Such restoratives as upon the moment could be procured were immediately brought into requisition, and after a quarter of an hour she gently opened her eyes with a faint sigh and looked inquiringly about her. Then she clasped her hands, and as she gazed upon the throng of curious, yet compassionate faces that surrounded her, she exclaimed,— “What has happened? Oh, speak to me; where am I?” “You have fainted,” cried four or five voices in a breath. “Fainted—fainted?” “Yes; I brought you in after you had called after the man as a murderer,” said the person who had caught Ada before she was brought into the shop. For the space of about another minute then the young girl looked confused; after that a gush of recollections flashed across her mind, and the feeling that she was really at last free from Jacob Gray, came across her heart with so much happiness and joy, that covering her beautiful face with her small slender hands, she burst into tears and sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. Those who stood by seemed to feel that there was something sacred in the tears of the young thing before them, for they stood silent, and no one attempted to insult her by the usual commonplace remarks of vulgar consolation. There were tears in almost every eye, and when Ada withdrew her hands from her face, and a smile, beautiful as a sunbeam after an April shower, illumined her expressive countenance, it seemed as if some universal joy had been awakened in every breast, and murmured blessings upon her beauty, burst from several of the persons who had crowded, from motives of curiosity, into the shop. Then Ada looked from face to face, and oh, how different were those honest sympathising countenances to the dark ever shifting expression of the lineaments of Jacob Gray, where avarice, cruelty, and fear were ever struggling together for a mastery. “Thank you all—thank you all,” she cried; “I am very happy now.” This was not a very comprehensible speech to those who had not gone through the scene of misery and woe, that the young heart of Ada had known, but still there was a deep truthfulness and sincerity in the tone in which it was uttered that sensibly affected every one. “Shall I take you home?” said the person who had supported her in the street. “Home—home?” cried Ada. “Yes; you are not well enough to go home by yourself; I will see you safely home.” “I have no home,” said Ada. “No home?” “None—I never had a home.” The people looked at each other in amazement, and several of them significantly touched their foreheads in confirmation of their belief that the beautiful young girl was not quite right in her head. “Where are your friends?” said one.