That night I did not sleep at all. Thoughts of Jim Randolph filled my mind to the exclusion of all hope of repose. Was he really drowned? Had he left the world? Was I never to see his face again? There was a cry at my heart, and an ache there which ought to have told me the truth, and yet I would not face the truth. I said over and over to myself, "If he dies, it is terrible; if he dies, it means ruin for us;" but nevertheless I knew well, although I would not face the truth, that I was not thinking of the ruin to the house in Graham Square, nor the blow to mother, nor the loss of James Randolph simply as a friend. There was a deeper cause for my grief. It was useless for me to say to my own heart Jim Randolph was nothing to me. I knew well that he was. I knew well that he was more to me than any one else in the wide world; that I--yes, although he had never spoken of his love for me, I loved him, yes, I loved him with my full heart. In the morning I made up my mind that I would go and see the Duchess. Perhaps, too, she might know something about Jim Randolph, as he was a friend of hers, a friend about whom she was always hinting, but about whom she said very little. As I was leaving the house Jane called me into her sitting-room. "Where are you going," she said. I told her. "Did you ever think over that idea of mine that you might ask the Duchess to lend us that thousand pounds?" she said. "You remember I mentioned it, and you said you would not do it; but things are very grave, very grave indeed; and if--if my fear about Mr. Randolph is true, why things are graver than ever, in fact everything is up. But I would like for _her_ sake, poor dear, for her sake to ward off the catastrophe as long as possible. She was very ill last night, and I was up with her for a couple of hours. I wouldn't disturb you; but didn't you think yourself that she looked bad this morning?" "Oh yes," I said, the tears starting to my eyes; "I thought mother looked terribly ill, and I am going to see the Duchess. She ought to call in order to make mother happy." "Shut the door, Westenra," said Jane, "I have something I must say." I shut the door, I was trembling. Jane was no longer a rock of defence, she made me more frightened than any one else in the house. "Oh, what is it?" I said; "don't be mysterious, do speak out." "Well, it is this," said Jane, "we want that thousand pounds just dreadfully. If we had it we could go on, we could go on at least till the end of the season, and there would be an excuse to take your mother to the country, and she might never know, never; but it wants two months to the end of the season, and the house is full, and every one is in the height of good humour, and yet they are all walking on the brink of a precipice; the earth is eaten away beneath us, and any moment the whole thing may topple through. Why, it was only yesterday----" "What happened yesterday?" I asked. "A man came, a Mr. Pattens."