“I do, as Heaven is my judge. He is innocent of all wrong—my heart tells me he is. I must go to him myself.”
“Nay, that were, indeed, to court destruction—for where he is, is a fatal place for you.”
“He will protect me.”
“But, admitting all your confidence to be well grounded, he may not have the power.”
“But I must see him,” said Ada; “he must have an opportunity of clearing himself from the suspicion that surrounds his name in the mind of you and Sir Francis, my dear and only friends. Oh, why did I not follow him myself, when Providence threw him in my way? Then all would have been well, and perhaps, with a few brief words, he would have explained every seeming contradiction in his present and his past conditions.”
“I will not deny to you, Ada,” said Lady Hartleton, “that such a thought crossed my mind when Sir Francis first spoke to me on this point. ’Tis said that suspicion breeds suspicion, but in this case it is not so; for your generous and noble confidence in your lover has imbued me with much of your own feelings.”
“You believe, then, he may be innocent?”
“I certainly do.”
“Bless you, lady, for your noble confidence. You have given me more pleasure by that word than you gave me pain by hinting disparagement of Albert—that never reached my heart, for it was proof against it; but your confidence is kindred with my own feelings, and shares their place. As I have faith in the reality of my own existence, I have faith in Albert Seyton’s constancy and truth. Oh, tell Sir Francis, your noble husband, that he is mistaken. I implore him, for my sake, to seek him once more, and to question him, when he will meet with no guile—no evasions—but the honest truth will flow from his lips, and his innocence of purpose will be apparent.”
“Ada, a heart so full of dear emotions, and so replete with noble confidence, as yours, deserves, indeed, a happy fate. Be you tranquil, and I will urge my husband to the step you now propose; and if my earnest prayers can make you happy, you will never know another care.”