"I never knew it," breathed Selina. "And it is of little import your knowing it now," gently spoke Oscar. "I am as likely to come into the Grange as I am of being made prime minister. Robert is a younger man than I am." "Poor Robert!" lamented Alice. "He has been left to himself up in that great wicked town, he has had no one to turn to for advice or counsel, and I dare say he has only done what he has done from thoughtlessness. A word from mamma may set him right. Mamma, do you not think you ought to go to him?" "Yes, Alice. It is what I have been resolving to do, now, as you were talking. And you must stay here over tomorrow, and go with me, Oscar. We will start by the nine-o'clock train on Monday morning." "So be it," acquiesced Oscar. "It is the only thing. He may listen to you." So Oscar Dalrymple stayed with them at the Grange until the Monday, revelling in the society of the one only being he loved on earth--Selina. Mrs. Dalrymple had made ready for the journey--and how fervent, how imploringly earnest her prayers were that it might bear happy fruit, she and Heaven alone know. They all sat down to an early breakfast: even Alice, whose lameness was an apology for not rising betimes in general. In the midst of breakfast, James came in, and looked at Oscar Dalrymple. "Will you please to step here, sir, for a minute?" "What for?" "Just for a minute, sir," repeated the man; and his eyes seemed to telegraph a momentary entreaty with the words. Oscar went out hurriedly, for there was no time to spare, and the carriage to take them to the station had already come round. James shut the door. "Here's Reuben come down, sir, by the early train," he whispered. "He told me to fetch you out to him, quietly, but not to say who it was." Oscar walked quickly across the hall. Reuben awaited him in an empty room. "What is it, Reuben? What has brought you from town?" The old servant trembled with agitation, and grasped hold of the back of a chair. "Oh, Mr. Oscar, it is all over. My poor young master is gone." Oscar sat down, seemingly unconscious what he did, and the red light came again into his cheeks. "The very night after you left London, sir, those men drew him out again. Before he went, I spoke to him, trying to stop him, and he told me he was ruined and worse than ruined. He never came back. He has just followed in the steps of Mr. Claude Dalrymple, and has met with the same fate." "Surely he has not destroyed himself?" breathed Oscar. "He has; he has." "But how? In what manner?" "By drowning, sir. He jumped over Westminster Bridge right into the water during that same night. About two o'clock, they say. Oh, what distraction his poor mind must have been in, to urge him to such a death as that!" Oscar rose and looked from the window. Cold as was his nature, the news could not fail to shock him--although he was the inheritor of the Grange. "Has he been found?" he presently asked.