“Will you permit me, myself, for one day to go in search of Albert Seyton?”
“Yourself, Ada?”
“Yes. ’Tis perhaps a foolish wish; but sometimes, what great resources courage and deep knowledge of the work may fail to accomplish, the zeal of affection will be able more easily to do.”
Lady Hartleton shook her head, as she said,—
“Ada, you would but, in such a place as London, expose yourself to much danger and insult. Believe me, that my husband has in his service those who will leave no spot unsearched for him you so much wish to see.”
“Ah, lady, can hired zeal ever reach the height of exertion attained by that which springs alone from the true heart?”
“I grant you that it seldom can; but then, Ada, there are many cases where mere knowledge and skill will do much more than the warmest, holiest zeal that ever animated a human breast.”
“There may be; but is this one?”
“It is, Ada. You are ignorant of London, and its intricacies, and would but lose yourself in a fruitless endeavour to find another.”
“It may be so,” said Ada, with a disappointed air, “and I must be content.”