“I think,” said Ada, “that if this matter can be arranged with Gray, as we wish, he must be taken completely by surprise, or all will be lost. If he have time to hide the papers, or to concoct some deception, we shall gain nothing.”
“That is true, Ada, but how can we do as you wish:“
“Thus,” replied Ada. “I will show you the house, and expecting you and your father at a particular hour, I can direct you. Then there can be no time for Gray even to think of any but a straightforward course of action.”
“But—but,” said Albert, “that involves your return to—to—Gray—and—”
“Oh, heed not that, Albert. A few short hours, blessed as they will be by the conviction that they are the last, will seem nothing in that house, where for so long I have been immured secretly during the light of day, and with no companion to cheer, my solitude but a poor dumb creature, that could but look its kindness and gratitude.”
“And yet, Ada, my heart is very sad at the mere thought of your returning.”
“And so would mine be, Albert, were it not with the assurance of so soon bidding adieu to those gloomy walls for ever.”
“I suppose it must be so,” said Albert with a sigh. “I will only just see you so far as to enable you to point out the exact place to me, and then depend upon my father and I being with you in another hour.”
“But one hour?”
“But one, dear Ada.”