Sebastian left her, walked into the room, and found it all as he had expected. Mr. Spenceley had committed suicide. He had taken prussic acid, and lay dead upon the couch at the foot of his bed. Sebastian, looking quickly round, saw a written paper lying on the floor at his feet. It was merely a scrap of paper, with the words, ‘DEAR LIZZIE,--I am a ruined man, and I can’t bear it. I’ve never made you very happy, and the best I can do is to leave you. I don’t know what will be left, but there is always your money of your own, and Nelly’s that I----’ Here it broke off. It was not torn; it was as if the facts had rushed over the man as he wrote these words, and he had failed to pen another syllable. There was no proof that Fred had absconded, or that he knew his father’s fate. Sebastian knew he must put the matter in the best light; but he himself felt an absolute certainty of conviction on the matter. He took the paper and went out of the room, locking the door and putting the key in his pocket. Helena looked up as he came to her, but said not a word. ‘Helena,’ he began, ‘from what has happened to-night, I fear your father has found that he is ruined.’ ‘Is that all?’ said Helena, drawing a long breath of relief. ‘No. That, if true, is the least part of it. Remember what this must have been to your father. Prosperity and success were his very _life_.’ ‘Do you mean that it has killed papa?’ asked Helena with unnatural calm, fixing her eyes upon his face. ‘I wish to spare your mother, or I would not tell you this. It has killed him--that is, he could not bear to live after such a fall. My poor child, your father has destroyed himself.’ ‘He has--oh!’ came like a whisper from her white lips. Face, cheeks, brow, lips, were white as the dress she wore. She caught at a chair which stood near and supported herself upon it, looking at him with a stare of blank, utter horror, which he felt to be almost unbearable. For weeks afterwards he was haunted by the vision of the white figure in its cloudy dress; the roses scattered about it, all like one white marble figure, save the dusky hair and eyes which looked coal-black by contrast with her face. ‘Think of your mother,’ said he, feeling that that spell of horror must be broken, and he gently put his arm round her, and placed her in the chair on which she had been leaning. She did not speak for a moment, but at last said, ‘Oh, poor mamma! If she only need not know.’ ‘I fear she must know a great deal of it.’ Then Helena put the question which he dreaded. ‘But where can Fred be all this time?’ ‘He is not in the house. He may have gone away to see if the failure is complete--if anything remains to be saved,’ said Sebastian; ‘at any rate he is not here.’ ‘Ah, yes!’ said Helena, and no suspicion like Sebastian’s conviction even for a moment troubled her mind. He gave her the paper he had found.