“Ada—Ada!” he cried, wildly. “If you live, speak—Gray—Learmont? Where are you all? Am I dreaming, or is this awful silence real? Ada—Ada—God of heaven? Where, oh, where are you, my Ada?”
He felt something soft and slimy under his feet. He stooped with the light—deadly sickness came over him—for a moment all objects swam before his eyes; he was compelled to hold the back of the chair for support—he was standing in a pool of coagulated blood!
How long it was then before he recovered full consciousness he knew not, but gradually his perceptions returned, and then he shrieked the name of Ada, with a tone of anguish, that would have saddened any heart, and lingered in the ears for months like a death shriek.
“They have killed her—they have killed her!” he cried, “Ada—Ada—I should have flown sooner to your aid—God help me, I am heart-stricken now for ever—she is dead—she is dead. My beautiful Ada—oh, God—oh, God!”
He reeled further into the room, and when he had passed the bed, which partially concealed the window he stood like one suddenly transformed to stone; for there lying in a ghastly heap, in a pool of blood, the features horribly disfigured, and scarcely a trace of the upper portion of the skull visible, his eyes fell upon what once was Jacob Gray.
All his air-drawn schemes—his deep resolves—his cunning—his cruelty—his avarice, and his ambition—where were they now? What had he reaped as the reward of his great selfishness? A death of horror. May Heaven have mercy on his soul.
Albert Seyton felt like one fascinated by the hideous glare of a serpent. He could not withdraw his eyes from the ghastly spectacle for many minutes, and while he so gazed, his very heart seemed to shrink within him, and a feeling of horror crept up—up to his brain, till a clammy perspiration broke out upon his brow, and hung there in heavy drops, while each breath he drew, was laboured and heavy.
It was frightful, but by the crushing blow of the cleaver, one of Gray’s eyes had been forced from its socket—it hung by a bleeding filament—round—glassy and fixed—it seemed to glare upon Albert like a thing of life—he could almost fancy it moved. The young man covered his eyes with his disengaged hand, as he said,—
“This must be a dream—God of heaven, this cannot be real—when oh, when shall I awake?”
Distinct sounds, as of many voices, now suddenly came upon his ears, and he started, as if the tones of a human voice had removed some spell from off his faculties. Louder and louder the sound came upon his ears. There were evidently several voices. Then he heard a confused trampling of feet—heavy footsteps were approaching.