“Oh, oh,” he said, “Ada, my beautiful and true. Even now, although so near to you, I must not rush to your rescue. My word of honour binds me, but I can gaze with rapture upon the house in which you are. I can please myself by fancying I breathe the same air with you. Oh, how cruel is this that I cannot, for my promise to the rich squire, at once rush into the house that contains my heart’s treasure, and claim it as my own, I must control my impatience. Ada, your imprisonment shall now be but of short duration. Soon now shall I clasp you to my heart.”
Albert now crossed over to the other side of the way, and diving into a doorway where he was completely hidden, but from whence he could command a good view of the house in which he so erroneously supposed Ada to be, he gave himself up to the delirious feeling that he had at length arrived at the end of all his troubles, and Ada would soon be his, while the patronage of the rich Squire Learmont would ensure him ease, and perhaps in time fortune.
There was no sign of inhabitants visible in the whole front of the house; but in a few more moments, as Albert rose his eye restlessly from window to window, he saw a dirty narrow curtain moved in one of the top rooms, and fancy made him think the hand was Ada’s, which he saw but partially.
“My Ada—my own. Ada—my beautiful,” he cried; “oh! If I could but be sure now that you were well, and,—”
He was interrupted at this moment by some one popping into the dark doorway so suddenly as to run against him with great violence.
Albert immediately laid hold of the intruder, and cried—“Hilloa, friend! Softly here.”
“What do you do here?” cried a man’s voice in no very pleasant accents.
“I may as well retaliate the question.”
“Oh! Be d—d,” cried the man, who was no other than the spy, “I know you now by your voice. You are the fellow who took a boat before me.”
“Then I presume,” said Albert, “you are the fellow who took a boat after me.”