“None but Jacob Gray’s. His pale hideous face seemed ever turned towards me, and I used to fancy that being in so solitary a mode of life with him, put such fancies in my sleeping brain.”
“Well, Ada and you, my dear,” said Sir Francis Hartleton, “must endure my absence from London, I think, for about a week.”
“A week?” said Lady Hartleton.
“Yes, I must endeavour to get leave to go for that time. It is upon business of the utmost importance.”
He rose as he spoke, and his wife looked at him regretfully, as she said,—
“You are not going to-day, Francis?”
“No, nor to-morrow,” he replied, smiling; “and when I do go, I have not quite made up my mind that I shall not take you both with me.”
“Then you may go as soon as you like, Francis, if Ada will accompany us.”
A tear started to Ada’s eye, as she said,—
“What other friend, save Heaven, have I but you to cling to now, for he—”