“And you believe—”
“No,” said Ada, with sudden energy; “on my soul, no—as I hope for heaven, no!”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, Jacob Gray, for the honour of all fathers—for the credit of humanity, I cannot—will not believe myself your daughter. No, no, Jacob Gray, I am no longer scared by that dreadful thought—thank God!”
“Girl, you know not what you say.”
“My words may be incoherent—not aptly chosen—but the sense is the same. Jacob Gray, you are neither father, uncle, kith, nor kin of mine. No, no!”
“Who—who—told you so?” gasped Gray.
“There—there!” cried Ada. “Your fears speak the truth; you have confessed the cheat. Jacob Gray, I could forgive you all, now that that dreadful weight is removed from my heart.”
“Know you where you are, since you know so much?” said Gray, after a pause.
“I do not, save that I have been deceived by you, and lured by false promises to this dismal place.”