“You are in my power. Still, likewise, I assert you are my daughter.”
“In your power I grant myself, as far as Heaven will permit you; but you are no kindred to me, Jacob Gray.”
“By hell, if you call me Jacob Gray again—”
“Jacob Gray,” shouted Ada, her face kindling with excitement, and her delicate form appearing to dilate as she pointed to the abashed and writhing countenance of the villain who trembled before her.
“Be it so,” said Gray; “we understand each other now. You defy me.”
“I ever defied you, Jacob Gray!”
“Be it so,” he repeated. “Follow me.”
“It is my heart that defies you, Jacob Gray,” said Ada. “You are a man, and I a weak girl. You are strong enough to enforce me to accompany you.”
“Come on!” cried Gray.
Ada slowly followed him from the room. Gray passed out at a large doorway into a smaller apartment, in which was a table, some baskets, similar to those Ada had seen in the cellar turned up for seats, and a small fire dimly burning on an ample hearth; before which a bullock might have been roasted, and perhaps had been in days gone by.