Ada knew the room well to which Sir Francis had directed her, and her eager footsteps in a few moments brought her to the door. For one brief moment then she paused to recover herself from her state of agitation. In the next she had opened the door—the room was tenantless. Ada flew to the window—there hung the torn cloak.
“Albert, Albert,” she cried, and sunk upon the floor in an agony of grief.
Sir Francis Hartleton heard the cry of Ada, and hastening from his room, the truth shot across his mind in a moment when he saw the cloak hanging by the iron bar.
“Who could have imagined this?” he cried. “Ada, Ada, be of good cheer; all will be well. He cannot leave the garden.”
“Oh, Sir Francis,” cried Ada; “for Heaven’s sake explain to me the meaning of all this—what could induce him to fly thus strangely?”
“Think nothing of it, Ada, all will be well. I meditated giving Albert Seyton an agreeable surprise, and he has given us a disagreeable one, that is all—hark!”
As Sir Francis spoke, there arose a confused noise in the garden, and upon his going to the window, he saw Albert in the grasp of two of his officers. Without any remark concerning what he was to say, he turned to Ada and said,—
“Leave all to me. Do you remain here, Ada, until I come to you. I pledge you my word all shall be explained to your satisfaction within this present hour.”
Sir Francis then hurried from the room, leaving Ada in a greater state of bewilderment than ever, and, hastening to the garden, he met the officers who had recaptured Albert.
“So, sir,” said Sir Francis, “you have, methinks, a small amount of patience.”