CHAPTER XCIX.
Ada’s Faith in Albert Seyton.—The Confidence of a Generous Heart.
Sir Francis Hartleton was never so much vexed in his life as he was at the supposed treachery of Albert Seyton. He revolved in his mind over and over again, how he should tell Ada of the scene that had occurred between him and her lover, and of all his suspicions concerning him, and at length he resolved that Lady Hartleton should be the medium of communicating the unwelcome intelligence of Albert’s defection from his love and entertainment by Ada’s worst enemy.
For this purpose it became necessary that Ada should be put in possession of more facts concerning herself than the humane and considerate magistrate had, as yet, thought proper to burthen her mind with. This he much regretted, because he had hoped that before he had occasion to mention Learmont’s name particularly to Ada, he should be able to couple with it something more than mere surmises, however well founded such surmises might be.
While he was in his own private room, considering deeply and painfully this matter, a note arrived to him, which was immediately another source of vexation, inasmuch as it hurried on the events which he would have been glad to see develop themselves a little further before he actively interfered in them.
The letter was from the Secretary of State, intimating that the charges confidentially made against Learmont, by him, Sir Francis Hartleton, must either be abandoned, or speedily proved, for that a dissolution of Parliament was about to take place, and it was absolutely necessary to know in whose hands the Learmont property was.
“This,” said Sir Francis, as he laid down the minister’s note, “must bring affairs to a crisis. I must apprehend Jacob Gray now, and Britton, and trust to one or other of them committing Learmont; a slender, hope, I am afraid, since no mercy can be offered to Gray on account of Vaughan’s business, and Britton is the last person to expect a confession from.”
Sir Francis then took from a secret drawer the small scraps of paper which he procured from mad Maud, and read them again attentively.
“These are interesting to me,” he said, “as leading me on in my chain of conjecture; but they are no evidence, for, first of all, who is to prove they were ever written by Jacob Gray, or in his possession; and secondly, they are too vague in themselves to be of any importance, unless merely used as evidence corroborative of facts which can be nearly proved without them. The question now is, has Gray written a full disclosure of who Ada is, and what crime has led to her being placed in so singular a position, or not? Well, I will crave of the minister another week; and then consent to withdraw my charges against Learmont for the present. He must triumph, I suppose, and I cannot help it.”
He then sought Lady Hartleton, and informing her of what he had discovered concerning Albert, begged her to communicate the same to Ada as carefully as she could, so as not to shock her sensitive mind too suddenly with the news of the bad faith of him to whom she had given her heart.
Lady Hartleton was so much accustomed to rely upon the judgment of her husband, that, although she was not without some lingering doubts, after all there might be some possible explanation of the conduct of her lover, she consented to the task which was set her, and immediately went to Ada to communicate the sad intelligence.
“My dear Ada,” said Lady Hartleton, “there are circumstances which have induced Sir Francis not to ask Mr. Seyton to come here.”
Ada started, and with a heightened colour she said in her soft gentle voice,—
“Lady, you have already done too much for the poor and friendless girl whom chance threw in your way—I ought never to have accepted—”
“Now, Ada, you mistake me,” interrupted Lady Hartleton, “the cause which prevented Sir Francis from bringing Albert here with him, has no reference to anything but the young man’s want of worth.”
“Albert Seyton’s want of worth?” said Ada.
“Yes—my dear Ada. You have a great enemy in London—an enemy who would take your life, and when I tell you that Albert Seyton is in the confidential service of that enemy, there is good cause of suspicion.”
“Suspicion of what, lady?”
“Of his want of faith.”
Ada shook her head. “No,” she said, “there is no want of faith in Albert Seyton. Where I can give my heart and my faith, I never suspect. You do not know him, dear Lady Hartleton.”
“But he is with your enemies.”
“Still he is true.”
“He may have sold himself to them, and be even now plotting destruction.”
“Albert Seyton loves me,” said Ada.
“But you are open to conviction.”
“No, no—there are some things that the heart will cherish, despite all reasoning. You suspect Albert Seyton, my dear Lady Hartleton; but, let appearances be what they may, he can and will explain them all. He may be, from his own honest, unsuspecting nature, the dupe of villains, but he is not one himself.”
“Then you preserve your good opinion of him, Ada, despite all unfavourable appearances?”
“I do, as Heaven is my judge. He is innocent of all wrong—my heart tells me he is. I must go to him myself.”
“Nay, that were, indeed, to court destruction—for where he is, is a fatal place for you.”
“He will protect me.”
“But, admitting all your confidence to be well grounded, he may not have the power.”
“But I must see him,” said Ada; “he must have an opportunity of clearing himself from the suspicion that surrounds his name in the mind of you and Sir Francis, my dear and only friends. Oh, why did I not follow him myself, when Providence threw him in my way? Then all would have been well, and perhaps, with a few brief words, he would have explained every seeming contradiction in his present and his past conditions.”
“I will not deny to you, Ada,” said Lady Hartleton, “that such a thought crossed my mind when Sir Francis first spoke to me on this point. ’Tis said that suspicion breeds suspicion, but in this case it is not so; for your generous and noble confidence in your lover has imbued me with much of your own feelings.”
“You believe, then, he may be innocent?”
“I certainly do.”
“Bless you, lady, for your noble confidence. You have given me more pleasure by that word than you gave me pain by hinting disparagement of Albert—that never reached my heart, for it was proof against it; but your confidence is kindred with my own feelings, and shares their place. As I have faith in the reality of my own existence, I have faith in Albert Seyton’s constancy and truth. Oh, tell Sir Francis, your noble husband, that he is mistaken. I implore him, for my sake, to seek him once more, and to question him, when he will meet with no guile—no evasions—but the honest truth will flow from his lips, and his innocence of purpose will be apparent.”
“Ada, a heart so full of dear emotions, and so replete with noble confidence, as yours, deserves, indeed, a happy fate. Be you tranquil, and I will urge my husband to the step you now propose; and if my earnest prayers can make you happy, you will never know another care.”
Ada could only thank Lady Hartleton with her eyes, and the kind-hearted wife immediately left the room in search of her husband, much shaken in her own mind with respect to Albert’s supposed faithlessness—so infectious is generosity and confidence among noble spirits.
While this conversation, so painfully interesting to Ada, was proceeding between her and Lady Hartleton, Sir Francis was informed that the spy he had set upon the house inhabited by Gray wished particularly to see him, and upon the man’s admittance, he informed Sir Francis of his hunt after Gray the evening before, and his fears that some person was after him for some other purpose.
“A light and active young fellow,” the man said, “kept as close upon his heels as I did; he would not lose sight of him a moment, and once or twice nearly baulked me in keeping my man in sight. Thus, when I had traced him safely from the rich squire’s house to his lodgings in Buckingham-street, this fellow popped himself in the very same doorway from which I and the other officers have, from time to time, watched Gray come and go.”
“What kind of young man was he?” said the magistrate.
“A light active fellow of the middle height, with a clear blue eye and long hair. A slight moustache is on his upper lip.”
“’Tis Seyton,” thought Sir Francis. “Thank you; keep an eye on him, and, should anything particular occur to Jacob Gray, mind you lay hands on this young man you mention.”
“We shall want assistance, then, sir.”
“That you shall have. Take with you some one on whom you can rely to-night. You go on duty at eight, do you not?”
“Yes, sir. Philip Lee is on the watch now.”
“Very well. Go now, and take your rest. Your duty in watching this man will not last much longer, for he must be arrested within a week. Did you leave his young man you mention on the spot when you came away.”
“No, sir. We had a sort of scuffle about who should stand in the passage, and he ran away.”
“Ah, that is not in his favour,” thought Sir Francis. “My poor Ada! Your best affections are thrown away. You may go now, but let me see you in the morning with a report of your night’s work.”
The man departed, and Sir Francis Hartleton remained for some time in melancholy thought.
“Before the week, expires,” he said, “I must go myself and arrest Jacob Gray, ostensibly for the murder of Vaughan. I may find some written paper of importance. Well, well, it must be so, Ada, your fortunes hang upon the events of the next four or five days.”