“Oh, very well,” said Albert. “I have no wish to induce you to do so, I am sure. Nothing could be further from my intention.”
“No, sir,” said the servant,
“I am your master’s most devoted friend.”
“Yes, sir.”
Albert turned away, for he saw that by some means he had excited the suspicions of the man, and he determined now to say no more to him at all.
The day passed off to Albert strangely, and when the evening came, he was rejoiced that by so many hours he was nearer the completion of his hopes, for he looked upon the scheme of following Gray home as certain to bring him once more to Ada.
Sometimes he would pace his room for an hour or more in a delightful reverie, dreaming of future happiness with Ada, and fondly imagining that he was gazing on those eyes which to him were glimpses of heaven. Then again he would become despondent, and fancy her at the mercy of Jacob Gray, who to rid himself of uneasiness on her account, might at that moment be contriving her death.
The anxious lover would then torture himself awhile with this supposition, until hope refreshed sprung up again in his heart, like a phœnix from its ashes, and he smiled as, in imagination, he clasped his long-lost but much-loved Ada to his heart.
CHAPTER XC.
The Last Meeting.—Mutual Cunning.—The Squire and Jacob Gray.