“Ada, Ada,” he said, in the faintest whisper.
“Here,” said Ada.
“Hush,” said Gray, as he grasped her arm; “speak above the tone I use, and you seal your own destruction.”
He placed, as he spoke, the cold muzzle of a pistol against her forehead, Ada shuddered as she said—
“What is that?”
“A pistol! Make the least noise—raise the faintest cry, and I will pull the trigger. You will be a mangled corpse in a moment. Hush, hush, hush!”
A voice now reached the ears of Ada, and thrilled through the very heart of Jacob Gray. It was the voice of Sir Francis Hartleton, which, now that he raised it to a high key, was quite audible to Ada, while before, from the low position she occupied at the bottom of the vault, she had only heard a confused murmuring of voices, without being able to detect what was said.
“Ada!” cried the magistrate; “Ada!”
The girl clasped her hands, and an answering cry was on her lips, but the cold barrel of the pistol pressed heavily and painfully against her brow, and Gray, with his lips close to her ear, said,—
“Hush, hush!” prolonging the sound till it resembled the hissing of some loathsome snake.