“My dear Ada,” said Sir Francis, “I have to apologise.”
Ada rose, and while a blush spread itself over her face, she said,—
“Sir Francis Hartleton, how can Albert and myself find words, to tell you how much we owe to you, our noble, considerate, generous friend. What would have become of the poor destitute, desolate Ada, but for you?”
“And I, sir,” said Albert, while a tear glistened in his eye, “I’m afraid I have offended you past all forgiveness.”
“No such thing,” said Sir Francis. “You know I was very provoking indeed, Mr. Seyton; but Ada, my dear, go and fetch Lady Hartleton, for she must hear what I have to tell you.”
Ada looked in his face a moment, to read by his expressive features the character of the intelligence he had gleaned from Gray’s confession; and the magistrate shaking his head, said playfully,—
“Now, Ada, that is too bad;” but the smile with which he accompanied his words assured her that what he had to say was not the worst that could be under the circumstances anticipated, and she flew to Lady Hartleton to come and join the group.
When they were all assembled Sir Francis said,—
“What I now tell you must remain in our own breasts until Saturday. Ada, I shall commence with one piece of intelligence, which will not displease you, and I am sure remove one occasionally disagreeable thought from your mind—Jacob Gray is not in the remotest degree connected with you by the ties of relationship.”
“Thank Heaven!” said Ada.