The words were scarcely out from his mouth, when he heard the door unlock gently, and arming himself then, with all the indignation he felt, he cried in a loud voice,—
“Whoever you are, advance here, at your peril!”
The door opened very slowly, and when it was just wide enough for the person to enter Ada glided into the room.
“At my peril, Albert?” she said.
The colour forsook the cheek of Albert, and he stood gazing at her for a few moments, incapable of thought or action; then, with a gush of joy, he flew towards her.
“Ada, Ada! My dear Ada, are you in life or am I mocked by some vision: My Ada, speak!”
“Albert.”
He clasped her to his heart. He kissed her cheek, her brow, her hands. Tears gushed from his eyes, and mingled with those of the long-lost, fondly cherished idol of his heart. They could neither of them speak, and nothing was heard for many minutes in that room, but sobs of gushing joy, such as make the heart leap in extacy, and give humanity a glimpse of heaven.
CHAPTER CX.
The Lovers.—The Interview of Sir Francis Hartleton with the Secretary of State.—The Ball.