“Ada! Ada!” cried Albert, and then, ashamed of the violence of his feelings, he blushed scarlet, and endeavoured to apologise.
“Heed it not—heed it not!” said Learmont. “There can be no doubt but this man will call for an answer to his letter, and your line of proceeding will then be to follow him to his home, taking care, as you say he knows you, to keep out of his sight.”
“Oh, yes, sir, I will follow him were he to lead me half over the world. Let me but once set eyes again on Jacob Gray and I will never lose sight of him except I leave him at his own home.”
“I hope,” said Learmont, who felt a delight in hurrying Albert’s spirits down from boiling point to Zero, “that my Jacob Gray and yours are the same men.”
“Surely they—they must be,” faltered Albert Seyton.
“Nay, my young friend, we should arm ourselves against the disappointment if they should turn out to be different persons.”
“The name is peculiar,” said Albert, “and perhaps, sir, you can recollect sufficient of the personal appearance of the man to enable me at once to decide upon that doubt.”
“Probably. He is thin and pale, with an ever-shifting glance, and has a peculiar habit of continually moistening his lips with his tongue, and frequently biting the under lip.”
“It is the same!” cried Albert, clasping his hands; “I should know him among a million.”
“You are sure?”