For a moment Jacob Gray glanced at the fixed eyes of the dog, then he spurned it from the door with his foot, as he muttered,—
“Humph! So far successful and now for—for—”
“The murder,” he would have said, but in one moment, as if paralysed by the touch of some enchanter’s wand, all his old fears returned upon him, and now that there was no obstacle between him and the commission of the awful deed he meditated, he leaned against the wall for support, and the perspiration of fear rolled down his face in heavy drops, and gave his countenance an awful appearance of horror and death-like paleness.
“What—what,” he stammered, “what if she should scream? God of Heaven, if she should scream!”
So terrified was he at the supposition that his victim might, in her death-struggle, find breath to scream, that for a moment he gave up his purpose, and retreated slowly backwards from the room.
Suddenly now the silence that reigned without was broken by the various churches striking twelve.
Gray started as the sounds met his ear.
“Twelve! Twelve!” he exclaimed. “It—it—should have been done ere this. To-morrow. The to-morrow that she looks for is come. I—I thought not ’twas so late. It must be done! It must be done!”
CHAPTER XXIV.
The Attempted Assassination.—A Surprise.—Ada’s Surmises.—The Agony of Gray.