Ada felt that to urge Gray now that his great fear had passed away to fulfil any promise he might have made while under its influence, would be quite futile. Moreover, her great object—the escape of poor Maud—was accomplished, and she had no new spectre wherewith to frighten Jacob Gray.
“For that brief time you speak of,” said she, “let us remain here. Think you the spirits of another world cannot follow you wherever you go, Jacob Gray?”
“Follow me?” echoed Gray.
“Ay; are not all places alike to them? Why remove from here?”
Gray seemed to remain silent, then he said in a low agitated voice,—
“Girl, what you say may be true. I will think of it again. To-morrow I will decide! Yes, let it be till to-morrow! You are not weary?”
“Wherefore do you ask?” said Ada.
“Because,” faltered Gray, “I do not wish to be alone.”
“And can you ask me to save you from the horrors of that solitude which your conscience peoples with hideous forms?”
“Question me not,” cried Gray, impatiently. “I—I would have desired your company—but will not enforce it.”