Ada’s Faith in Albert Seyton.—The Confidence of a Generous Heart.
Sir Francis Hartleton was never so much vexed in his life as he was at
the supposed treachery of Albert Seyton. He revolved in his mind over
and over again, how he should tell Ada of the scene that had occurred
between him and her lover, and of all his suspicions concerning him,
and at length he resolved that Lady Hartleton should be the medium of
communicating the unwelcome intelligence of Albert’s defection from his
love and entertainment by Ada’s worst enemy.
For this purpose it became necessary that Ada should be put in
possession of more facts concerning herself than the humane and
considerate magistrate had, as yet, thought proper to burthen her mind
with. This he much regretted, because he had hoped that before he had
occasion to mention Learmont’s name particularly to Ada, he should be
able to couple with it something more than mere surmises, however well
founded such surmises might be.
While he was in his own private room, considering deeply and painfully
this matter, a note arrived to him, which was immediately another
source of vexation, inasmuch as it hurried on the events which he would
have been glad to see develop themselves a little further before he
actively interfered in them.
The letter was from the Secretary of State, intimating that the charges
confidentially made against Learmont, by him, Sir Francis Hartleton,
must either be abandoned, or speedily proved, for that a dissolution of
Parliament was about to take place, and it was absolutely necessary to
know in whose hands the Learmont property was.
“This,” said Sir Francis, as he laid down the minister’s note, “must
bring affairs to a crisis. I must apprehend Jacob Gray now, and
Britton, and trust to one or other of them committing Learmont; a
slender, hope, I am afraid, since no mercy can be offered to Gray on
account of Vaughan’s business, and Britton is the last person to expect
a confession from.”
Sir Francis then took from a secret drawer the small scraps of paper
which he procured from mad Maud, and read them again attentively.
“These are interesting to me,” he said, “as leading me on in my chain
of conjecture; but they are no evidence, for, first of all, who is to
prove they were ever written by Jacob Gray, or in his possession; and
secondly, they are too vague in themselves to be of any importance,
unless merely used as evidence corroborative of facts which can be
nearly proved without them. The question now is, has Gray written a
full disclosure of who Ada is, and what crime has led to her being
placed in so singular a position, or not? Well, I will crave of the
minister another week; and then consent to withdraw my charges against
Learmont for the present. He must triumph, I suppose, and I cannot help
it.”
He then sought Lady Hartleton, and informing her of what he had
discovered concerning Albert, begged her to communicate the same to Ada
as carefully as she could, so as not to shock her sensitive mind too
suddenly with the news of the bad faith of him to whom she had given
her heart.
Lady Hartleton was so much accustomed to rely upon the judgment of her
husband, that, although she was not without some lingering doubts,
after all there might be some possible explanation of the conduct of
her lover, she consented to the task which was set her, and immediately
went to Ada to communicate the sad intelligence.
“My dear Ada,” said Lady Hartleton, “there are circumstances which have
induced Sir Francis not to ask Mr. Seyton to come here.”
Ada started, and with a heightened colour she said in her soft gentle
voice,—
“Lady, you have already done too much for the poor and friendless girl
whom chance threw in your way—I ought never to have accepted—”
“Now, Ada, you mistake me,” interrupted Lady Hartleton, “the cause
which prevented Sir Francis from bringing Albert here with him, has no
reference to anything but the young man’s want of worth.”
“Albert Seyton’s want of worth?” said Ada.
“Yes—my dear Ada. You have a great enemy in London—an enemy who would
take your life, and when I tell you that Albert Seyton is in the
confidential service of that enemy, there is good cause of suspicion.”
“Suspicion of what, lady?”
“Of his want of faith.”
Ada shook her head. “No,” she said, “there is no want of faith in
Albert Seyton. Where I can give my heart and my faith, I never suspect.
You do not know him, dear Lady Hartleton.”
“But he is with your enemies.”
“Still he is true.”
“He may have sold himself to them, and be even now plotting
destruction.”
“Albert Seyton loves me,” said Ada.
“But you are open to conviction.”
“No, no—there are some things that the heart will cherish, despite all
reasoning. You suspect Albert Seyton, my dear Lady Hartleton; but, let
appearances be what they may, he can and will explain them all. He may
be, from his own honest, unsuspecting nature, the dupe of villains, but
he is not one himself.”
“Then you preserve your good opinion of him, Ada, despite all
unfavourable appearances?”
“I do, as Heaven is my judge. He is innocent of all wrong—my heart
tells me he is. I must go to him myself.”
“Nay, that were, indeed, to court destruction—for where he is, is a
fatal place for you.”
“He will protect me.”
“But, admitting all your confidence to be well grounded, he may not
have the power.”
“But I must see him,” said Ada; “he must have an opportunity of
clearing himself from the suspicion that surrounds his name in the mind
of you and Sir Francis, my dear and only friends. Oh, why did I not
follow him myself, when Providence threw him in my way? Then all would
have been well, and perhaps, with a few brief words, he would have
explained every seeming contradiction in his present and his past
conditions.”
“I will not deny to you, Ada,” said Lady Hartleton, “that such a
thought crossed my mind when Sir Francis first spoke to me on this
point. ’Tis said that suspicion breeds suspicion, but in this case it
is not so; for your generous and noble confidence in your lover has
imbued me with much of your own feelings.”
“You believe, then, he may be innocent?”
“I certainly do.”
“Bless you, lady, for your noble confidence. You have given me more
pleasure by that word than you gave me pain by hinting disparagement of
Albert—that never reached my heart, for it was proof against it; but
your confidence is kindred with my own feelings, and shares their
place. As I have faith in the reality of my own existence, I have faith
in Albert Seyton’s constancy and truth. Oh, tell Sir Francis, your
noble husband, that he is mistaken. I implore him, for my sake, to seek
him once more, and to question him, when he will meet with no guile—no
evasions—but the honest truth will flow from his lips, and his
innocence of purpose will be apparent.”
“Ada, a heart so full of dear emotions, and so replete with noble
confidence, as yours, deserves, indeed, a happy fate. Be you tranquil,
and I will urge my husband to the step you now propose; and if my
earnest prayers can make you happy, you will never know another care.”
Ada could only thank Lady Hartleton with her eyes, and the kind-hearted
wife immediately left the room in search of her husband, much shaken in
her own mind with respect to Albert’s supposed faithlessness—so
infectious is generosity and confidence among noble spirits.
While this conversation, so painfully interesting to Ada, was
proceeding between her and Lady Hartleton, Sir Francis was informed
that the spy he had set upon the house inhabited by Gray wished
particularly to see him, and upon the man’s admittance, he informed Sir
Francis of his hunt after Gray the evening before, and his fears that
some person was after him for some other purpose.
“A light and active young fellow,” the man said, “kept as close upon
his heels as I did; he would not lose sight of him a moment, and once
or twice nearly baulked me in keeping my man in sight. Thus, when I had
traced him safely from the rich squire’s house to his lodgings in
Buckingham-street, this fellow popped himself in the very same doorway
from which I and the other officers have, from time to time, watched
Gray come and go.”
“What kind of young man was he?” said the magistrate.
“A light active fellow of the middle height, with a clear blue eye and
long hair. A slight moustache is on his upper lip.”
“’Tis Seyton,” thought Sir Francis. “Thank you; keep an eye on him,
and, should anything particular occur to Jacob Gray, mind you lay hands
on this young man you mention.”
“We shall want assistance, then, sir.”
“That you shall have. Take with you some one on whom you can rely
to-night. You go on duty at eight, do you not?”
“Yes, sir. Philip Lee is on the watch now.”
“Very well. Go now, and take your rest. Your duty in watching this man
will not last much longer, for he must be arrested within a week. Did
you leave his young man you mention on the spot when you came away.”
“No, sir. We had a sort of scuffle about who should stand in the
passage, and he ran away.”
“Ah, that is not in his favour,” thought Sir Francis. “My poor Ada!
Your best affections are thrown away. You may go now, but let me see
you in the morning with a report of your night’s work.”
The man departed, and Sir Francis Hartleton remained for some time in
melancholy thought.
“Before the week, expires,” he said, “I must go myself and arrest Jacob
Gray, ostensibly for the murder of Vaughan. I may find some written
paper of importance. Well, well, it must be so, Ada, your fortunes hang
upon the events of the next four or five days.”