"Charged with his murder!" repeated Ada, starting. "How?—when? She—his mother—said it was self-destruction!"
"She believes it, perhaps believes it yet, but others think differently. He was found dead in a miserable basement, alone with the old man they have imprisoned. Why he went there no one can guess; but it is known that he was in that basement the night before, but a little earlier than the time when he appeared at your ball. If he had any portion of the money obtained from us about him, that may have tempted the old man, who is miserably poor."
Jacob was going on, but his mistress, who had listened with breathless attention, interrupted him.
"Do you believe this? Do you believe that he was murdered?"
"Very strong proofs exist against the old man," replied Jacob—"the public think him guilty."
Ada drew a deep breath.
"You have taken a terrible load from my heart," she said, pressing one hand to her bosom, and sinking down upon the couch with a low, hysterical laugh. "He is dead, but there is a chance that I did not kill him. I begin to loathe myself less."
"And me!—me you will never cease to hate?"
"You have been a good friend to me, Jacob Strong, better than I deserved," answered Ada, reaching forth her hand, which the servant wrung rather than pressed.
"And this last act," he said, "when I tried to free you from the grasp of a vile man, was the most kind, the most friendly thing I ever did!"