Ada, when she made up her mind that she would accompany Gray, quite astonished him by the nervous haste which she showed in urging him along, and his naturally suspicious mind at once surmised that there was some especial reason in the mind of the young girl which induced her desire to return to the house they were leaving within the hour.
“She has betrayed me to yon boy,” he thought. “’Tis more than likely that within the hour I should be a prisoner suing for mercy to him, and my confessions in his hands.”
They soon reached the river side, and Gray, addressing a waterman said,—
“Can you take us to Battersea, quickly?”
“Yes, master,” said the man; “the tide serves.”
Without another word Gray handed Ada into the boat, and they were soon gliding swiftly along the Thames, towards the marshy fields of Battersea.
As the time progressed, Ada’s uneasiness became more and more apparent, and when the waterman tended them at a craggy flight of wooden steps that merely led to the open fields, a tremor came over her, and she began to repent trusting Jacob Gray.
“I see no house,” she said. “Whither are you leading me?”
“There—to your left,” said Gray. “Yon low building is the place of our destination.”
“Let us be quick,” said Ada.