"And so he comes from America, does he?" says the stranger again. "Do you know, I haven't seen a dog I fancied so for a long time, and I've often seen you and him here before to-day. Now, I hope it's no offence--and, if it is, I really beg pardon--but you wouldn't feel disposed to part with him, I suppose?" Part with him! Part with Roy--dear, true-hearted Roy, his second self, the one faithful friend who shared his exile. The idea seemed to sting him like a lash! Yet, why should it? He need only answer in the negative, and there wae no harm done. But the question had seemed to come significantly at this moment, for of late he had been haunted by a growing conviction that the time for such a parting was not far distant. "Oh, no offence, of course," he replied quietly, but there is a troubled look in his eyes which the other sees and makes a mental note of. "But I don't want to part with him." "Of course. I can quite understand your not relishing the question," says the stranger good-humouredly. "I hate to be asked to sell a favourite dog myself. But--at the risk of being importunate--if ever you should want to sell him, would you mind giving me the first offer? You shall name your own price. Fact is, I've taken an extraordinary fancy to him. Here's an address that'll always find me." Under the circumstances Roland thinks there is no harm in accepting the card which the other tenders him, and which bears an address in Kensington, and the name of his new acquaintance, he learns through the same agency, is Frank Marsland. But he does not feel bound to reciprocate the confidence, and after a little more conversation they part: Roland, to dismiss the matter completely from his mind, as he makes his way back to his rooms, and the stranger to wonder who the deuce that good-looking fellow can be who seems to haunt the Round Pond with that splendid dog, and who always looks, by Jove! as if he had committed a murder or was about to commit one. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. A TRESPASSER. "Nellie," said Hubert Dorrien to his sister, as he was hurrying through an early breakfast on the morning of his departure for Oxford, "do you ever hear from Roland?" "No--why?" said the girl, with a startled glance around. "Because--well, do you know anything about the state of his affairs? I mean, had he any interest in this Tynnestop Bank? I've a sort of hazy idea he had, don't you see?" Nellie turned very pale. "Is--is there anything wrong with it?" "By jingo!" replied Hubert with a whistle and stare of surprise. "Ra-ther! Why, it went up the gum--bang--smash. Heaps of fellows ruined--one that I know. But that was more than a month ago. Surely you had heard." "Never--until this moment. Hubert, I wonder if papa knows. Why, every shilling Roland had was invested in it." "No!" "It was, though. Oh Hubert, and now he may be--starving perhaps!" cried the girl, choking down a sob. "What is to be done? We don't even know where he is?"