“Gracious heavens!” said Sir Francis, as a sudden flush of colour to his face showed the interest he felt in the document, “where got you this, Ada?”
“When Albert, impatient of his temporary detention in the room overlooking the garden,” said Ada, “made an attempt to escape from it, he tried to descend from the window by the aid of a cloak, which rent with his weight, revealing this packet of papers addressed to you.”
“Thus heaven works its wonders,” said Sir Francis; “and the very circumstances, that at the moment of their occurrence fill us with regret, bring us to the dearest of our wishes. You know this handwriting, Ada?”
“It is Jacob Gray’s.”
“Then there can be no doubt,” said Sir Francis, as with fingers that trembled with eagerness he broke the seals by which the packet was fastened—“there can be no doubt that these are the papers, or similar ones to those long ago addressed to me by Jacob Gray, and said to be concerning you.”
“Albert thinks with you,” said Ada, “and longs to penetrate the mystery of their contents.”
“Will you leave me?” said Sir Francis. “I would fain read this alone, Ada. Will you grant me that indulgence?”
Ada rose as she said,—
“Dear friend, a wish of yours shall ever be a command to me; but remember that, let these papers contain what they may, I can bear to hear all.”
“Nothing shall be concealed from you, Ada,” said Sir Francis, “but—but my own deeply interested feelings would not permit me to read these documents aloud to you at first.”