“It is joy—the joy of meeting a kind heart, that forces these tears from me—I am, sir, but too—too happy now.” “God forbid I should speak otherwise than kindly to you.” “Oh, sir,” said Ada, dashing aside the long clustering ringlets of her hair, that in her deep emotion had veiled her face. “You do not know me, but I have pondered over your name till hopes and fears of who or what you were have made my heart sicken. Though young in years, it seems to me that in the small space of time which has seen my existence, I have lived an age of sorrow, of persecution, of horror. I am a harmless, friendless, and for all I know, a nameless thing. Debarred from all that to the young is beautiful, I have passed the dawning of my life the victim of another’s crimes, although how connected with him and his great sinfulness, I cannot tell. My spirit has been worn by incessant rebuke, until death would have been a relief. A murderer’s hand has been lifted against me while I slept—I have seen blood shed before my eyes, and could not stay the unrighteous hand of the murderer—I have had none to love me but one—no mother ever smiled upon me—no recollection of a father’s caress warms my heart. To you, sir, I came for succour, for protection—a fugitive—a homeless wanderer—a thing of blight and desolation; when I hoped, there has come despair—when I wept I have met with mockery—when I trusted I was betrayed—you called upon me once when I dared not return you one answering cry—you proclaimed yourself my friend—I am she whom you called in Forest’s ancient house. I am Ada, the Betrayed!” Sir Francis Hartleton during this speech had stood before Ada with one of her hands clasped in his, and showing by his earnest attention, and the deep sympathy depicted in his countenance, that he was far from an unmoved listener to her words. When she had concluded, a fervent “thank Heaven!” burst from his lips, and he cried with animation.— “Ada, I have for many months now sought you throughout this great city—not one day has elapsed without some effort upon my part to find you, and offer you friendship, protection, and a home; my poor girl, you have suffered much—I know it—have known it long, and it has been a shadow on my heart, to think that I could not aid you;—your trials—your persecutions are all over now, and once more I from my heart thank Heaven that I see you under my protection, safe from that awful man, who I ever dreaded would in some wild moment, sacrifice you to his fears, or to his revenge. Ada, you are safe and free! I have both power and will to shelter you, and while Sir Francis Hartleton lives, whoever would harm you must do it through his heart.”