“There ain’t not nothing, your worship, by no means,” he said.
“You have searched carefully?”
“Yes, your worship. I’d take my solemn davy as there’s nothing here.”
“I know I can rely upon you,” said Sir Francis, in a tone of disappointment.
“Ex—actly, your worship.”
“Do you think there are any hiding places about this house?”
“Can’t say as I does. Your worship sees as it’s a house a standing all alone, and there ain’t no great opportunity to make hiding-places, you see.”
“I will make one more effort,” said Sir Francis; “it is a forlorn hope; but if the girl be hiding anywhere in this house under the impression that I am an enemy, she may hear me and put faith in my words. I will call to her.”
Sir Francis rose as he spoke; and Jacob Gray, upon whom this determination came like a thunder-clap, dropped from his trembling hands the remnant of the confession he had been eating, and curling his feet round the ladder, he slid in a moment to the damp floor of the vault. His great dread was, that on the impulse of a moment, Ada might answer any call to her by name; and he knew that, close as Sir Hartleton was, the least shrill cry of hers must inevitably reach his ears, when instant discovery and capture would be certain to follow.
Drawing then his pistol from his pocket, he felt about for Ada.