“Say what you will, girl,” cried Gray. “Call me what you will, I care not. You are to me now a mine of wealth! When my love of gold is glutted to the full, I can make you an instrument of such revenge that I shall wish for no greater gratification! You understand your position now—you may baulk me of my revenge by forcing me to kill you! Save yourself, Ada, by your solemn promise to remain here!”
Ada felt that all further appeal was useless, and she wept bitterly as the dreary future presented itself to her as a protracted imprisonment, or a speedy and cruel death.
Gray watched her keenly, and advancing close to her, he whispered in her ear,—
“Ada, life is sweet to the young! A world full of beauty and enjoyment is before you—if you promise what I ask—you shall have wealth—and wealth is power. You shall be able to raise the lowly—to crush the proud if you promise! Those whom you love you may do wonders for! He too—that youth who has wound himself around your girlish heart—he you can enrich! He will owe all to you! It will be Ada that will lift him from his low estate, and make him great—perhaps noble! But you must promise! How hard it is to die so young! Think of the last bitter pang! None to pity—none to love you! But I need not point such agony to you, you will promise?”
“Jacob Gray,” said Ada, dashing the tears from her eyes, “the allurements you hold out to me are not sufficient; but I will not cast away the life God has given me.”
“You promise?”
“On condition, I will. But hear me, Gray. I do not believe the tale you tell me, that you will take my life some time when I am sleeping, for awake you dare not—if I promise not, I do believe, for already have you attempted the deed.”
“You—you will promise?” cried Gray, impatiently.
“Not unconditionally,” replied Ada. “For one month from now I do promise.”
“To make no effort to leave here?”