Upon this argument, he decided upon informing Albert, when he should next see him, that the identity of the man he (Learmont) wished him to watch was Jacob Gray, who held so long in durance the beautiful girl whose image held so constant a place in his heart.
By still assuring Albert of the probability of Ada being with Gray, Learmont considered that he should interest him to strain every nerve to discover his residence, and, we shudder as we write it, but the cold-blooded squire determined upon the death of Albert the moment he should cease to be of any service, or become in the least troublesome or suspicious.
Engaged in such unholy cogitations as those, the day to Learmont passed more swiftly, and more pleasantly than had done many a preceding one, and when he rose the following morning, he looked more himself than he had done since his first attempt upon the life of Gray, at the ruinous house in South Lambeth—an attempt which had so signally failed, and which, in its result, had suppressed the squire with a sense of the hopelessness of ever getting rid of the running Jacob.
Albert Seyton, his mind agitated by a thousand hopes and fears, was punctual in his attendance upon Learmont; and, when he entered the room in which sat the squire, any one might have seen by his countenance that he had passed a sleepless night, and that he was suffering all the tender anxieties of newly awakened hope upon a subject nearest his heart.
Learmont motioned him to be seated, and then stealing but a glance at the face of the young man, he said,—
“Young sir, I have been thinking over the story you told me yesterday.”
“I thank you, sir,” said Albert; “may I venture to hope that mature consideration has not in any way altered the sanguine opinion you were pleased to pronounce yesterday upon the subject.”
“It has not.”
“Thank Heaven!”
“But—”