“And perhaps destroy him!”
“It might be so.”
“Then, Albert, arises the terrible doubt that bad, wicked, cruel as he is, he may be the father of the wretched Ada.”
“I cannot for one moment think so,” said Albert; “and yet, I own the thought is terrible.”
“If we err, Albert, oh, let us err safely. I cannot call down upon him the vengeance of the laws he has outraged. If some proposal could be made to him, by which he might be induced to tell the truth, upon an assurance of safety from the consequences, I might be saved the bitter pang of betraying my own father, guilty though he may be.”
“You are right, Ada,” said Albert; “that is the best, the surest, and the most merciful course. My father will undertake to make such terms with Jacob Gray. He will be mild, yet firm.”
“That would be joy indeed,” said Ada.
“It shall be done. Dear Ada, a happier future is brightening before you. The past will seem like an envious dream that has only robbed you of a few hours of sunshine and joy.”
“Oh, would I could think so!” said Ada.
“It will—it must be so!” cried Albert, with a full face of animation. “Come with me now to my father, and we will concert all necessary measures.”