“I shall pursue a course,” replied Albert, “that I marked out for myself before I entered the service of this Squire Learmont. I shall, in the capacity of a common soldier, join the army, and hope to find an early and an honourable grave.”
“But your testimony will be required on the inquest which will be held on Jacob Gray.”
“I cannot help it. I tell you, sir, I am as one wearied now from the world, and all its uses and companionships; Ada, I feel is lost to me for ever! Farewell, sir. For what exertion you have made, and for what consideration you have shown me, I thank you. Farewell, sir.”
“Do you intend now to enlist?”
“I do.”
“Well, then, I wish you a happier fate and brighter destiny than you have sketched for yourself. If such be your determination, it is not for me to prevent it.”
With a heavy heart Albert rose, and bowing to Sir Francis, who followed him to the room-door, and gave orders for his free egress, he passed out of the house, sick and weary at heart.
Albert then paused in the street a moment, and the idea came across him that it was just possible he might by calling upon Learmont, procure some hint or information of the fate of Ada; but he rejected the proposition almost as quickly as he formed it, and the ghastly corpse of Gray rose up before his imagination, mutely, but strongly accusing Learmont of the murder.
“No—no,” he said, “that man is a man of blood! For some cause unknown to me, he has made me a mere tool in his hands to aid in the destruction of Gray. I will leave him to his conscience, and to the laws. I will see him no more.”
The unhappy young man then turned his steps towards the park, and sauntering down the Birdcage-walk, till he came to the old barracks, he accosted a soldier who was lounging by the gate.