“But how can my being your unknown, solitary, and unseen prisoner avail you?”
“Ask me not,” cried Gray. “There is but one other alternative.”
“And that is—”
“Your death, Ada!”
“Ay—my death! Such was my thought.”
“But I—I do not want to kill you,” cried Gray, hurriedly. “On my soul, I do not! Understand me, girl; your existence is equally valuable to me as your death! Perhaps more so, although it has its risks. Promise me that you will not increase those risks, and on my oath, you shall live unharmed by me.”
Ada sank into a seat, and a feeling of despair came over her heart.
“Jacob Gray,” she said, “let me promise to go far away—I will be unseen—unknown.”
“Not yet,” cried Gray. “I tell you I have not gold enough for that yet. There will come a time when to proclaim who and what you are will be so sweet to me, that it is only my love for that gold which brings in its train the means of every enjoyment that can stifle pangs that spring from the past, that induces me now to put off the dear gratification of that deep revenge!”
“Still a bad and unworthy motive,” said Ada. “You will only do justice to me for the gratification of your own malignant passions.”