“My poor Ada.”
“Yes, Albert, I am your poor Ada.”
“But rich in all true wealth, beauty, innocence, and dear virtue, such as no gold can buy.”
“The kind words of those who love are so very grateful,” sighed Ada, “and they are so new to me.”
“Tell me all that has happened to you since we last parted,” said Albert. “My own history is very shortly summed up. My father, remained some few weeks longer at Mrs. Strangeways, and then having by dint of earnest applications and remonstrances, procured some portion of what was his due from the Government, we have come close here by Buckingham House, and I am myself in the hope of procuring a situation as private secretary to a man, they say, of enormous wealth and great liberality.”
“I joy in your prospects,” said Ada. “Alas! Mine is a darker retrospect—a gloomier future.”
“Nay, Ada, our happiness must go hand-in-hand; or farewell to it for Albert Seyton.”
Ada sighed.
“You forget, Albert, that I am beset with difficulties—strange mysteries are around me; who and what I am, even, I know not; although perhaps my ignorance is my greatest joy, while it is my constant source of anxiety, for I have hope now which might by a knowledge of the truth be extinguished for ever.”
“Your hope shall become a bright certainty,” said Albert, fervently; “and now, tell me, Ada, of your present situation. You have more freedom, or you would not be in the Great Mall of St. James’s Park.”