“Mr. Seyton—you have yet to learn that those who say the least are often the most to be trusted. I am convinced of your innocence of this murder.”
Albert clasped his hands as he cried—
“Thank Heaven! Thank Heaven! I shall not die the death of a felon. In some battle for right against might, I am content now in a foreign land to lay down my life. Something tells me that Ada is lost to me for ever. The villain Gray must have taken her life, and I am desolate.”
“You jump, perchance, too hastily at that conclusion,” said Sir Francis. “You may yet find her. She may even some time since have escaped from Gray.”
“Oh if I could but think so.”
“Why should you not? Besides, do you mean to give up your friend, the squire.”
“I do—from the first I have had my suspicions of that man. It is not for me to say he killed Jacob Gray, but I will see him no more. His ways are crooked and mysterious.”
“Why, he certainly is not the most open and candid character in the world, Mr. Seyton; but were I you, I would not yet give up all hope of discovering Ada.”
“Oh, sir, if I could find the smallest foothold for hope to rest upon, I should be again, as I have been, sanguine; but my heart is very sad, and full of despair.”
“Being now at liberty, as you may consider yourself, what may be your intentions.”