Charles Ravenshoe had committed suicide — committed suicide as deliberately as any maddened wretch had done that day in all the wide miserable world. He knew it well, and was determined to go on with it. He had not hung himself, or drowned himself, but he had committed deliberate suicide, and he knew — knew well — that his obstinacy would carry him through to the end.

What is suicide nine cases out of ten? Any one can tell you. It is the act of a mad, proud coward, who flies, by his own deed, not from humiliation or disgrace, but, as he fancies, from feeling the consequences of them — who flies to unknown, doubtful evils, sooner than bear positive, present, undoubted ones. All this had Charles done, buoying him up with this excuse and that excuse, and fancying that he was behaving, the cur, like Bayard, or Lieutenant Willoughby — a greater than Bayard — all the time.

The above is Charles’s idea of the matter himself, put in the third person for form’s sake. I don’t agree with all he says about himself I don’t deny that he did very foolish thing, but I incline to believe that there was something noble and self-reliant in his doing it. Think a moment. He had only two courses open to him — the one (I put it coarsely) to eat humble pie, to go back to Cuthbert and Mackworth and accept their ofiers; the other to do as he had done — to go alone into the world, and stand by himself. He did the latter, as we shall see. He could not face Ravenshoe, or any connected with it, again. It had been proved that he was an unwilling impostor, of base, low blood, and his sister — ah, one more pang, poor heart — his sister Ellen, what was she?

Little doubt — little doubt! Better for both of them if they had never been born! He was going to London, and, perhaps, might meet her there! All the vice and misery of the country got thrown into that cesspool When anything had got too foul for the pure country air, men said, Away with it; throw it into the great dunghill, and let it rot there. Was he not going there himself? It was fit she should be there before him! They would meet for certain!

How would they meet? Would she be in silks and satins, or in rags? flaunting in her carriage, or shivering in an archway? What matter? was not shame the heritage of the “lower orders?” The pleasures of the rich must be ministered to by the “lower orders,” or what was the use of money or rank? He was one of the lower orders now. He must learn his lesson; learn to cringe and whine like the rest of them. It would be hard, but it must be learnt. The dogs rose against it sometimes, but it never paid.

The devil was pretty busy with poor Charles in his despair, you see. This was all he had left after three and twenty years of careless idleness and luxury. His creed had been, “I am a Ravenshoe,” and lo! one morning, he was a Ravenshoe no longer. A poor crow, that had been fancying himself an eagle. A crow! “by heavens,” he thought “he was not even that.” A non-entity, turned into the world to find his own value! What were honour, honesty, virtue to him? Why, nothing — words! He must truckle and pander for his living. Why not go back and truckle to Father Mackworth? There was time yet,

No!

Why not? Was it pride only? We have no right to say what it was. If it was only pride, it was better than nothing. Better to have that straw only to cling to, than to be all alone in the great sea with nothing. We have seen that he has done nothing good, with circumstances all in his favour; let us see if he can in any way hold his own, with circumstances all against him.

“America?” he thought once. “They are all gentlemen there. If I could only find her, and tear her jewels off, we would go there together. But she must be found — she must be found. I will never leave England till she goes with me. We shall be brought together. We shall see one another. I love her as I never loved her before. What a sweet, gentle little love she was! My arling! And, when 1 have kissed her, I never dreamed she was my sister. My pretty love! Ellen, Ellen, I am coming to you. Where are you, my love?”

He was alone, in a railway carriage, leaning out to catch the fresh wind, as he said this. He said it once again, this time aloud. “Where are you, my sister?”

Where was she? Could he have only seen! We may be allowed to see, though he could not. Come forward into the great Babylon with me, while he is speeding on towards it; we will rejoin him in an instant.

In a small luxuriously furnished hall, there stands a beautiful woman, dressed modestly in the garb of a servant. She is standing with her arms folded, and a cold, stern, curious look on her face. She is looking towards the hall-door, which is held open by a footman. She is waiting for some one who is coming in; and two travellers enter, a man and a woman. She goes up to the woman, and says, quietly, “I bid you welcome, madam.” Who are these people? Is that waiting-woman Ellen? and these travellers, are they Lord Welter and Adelaide? Let us get back to poor Charles: better be with him than here!

We must follow him closely. We must see why, in his despair, he took the extraordinary resolution that he did. Not that I shall take any particular pains to follow the exact process of his mind in arriving at his determination. If the story has hitherto been told well it will appear nothing extraordinary, and, if otherwise, an intelligent reader would very soon detect any attempt at bolstering up ill-told facts by elaborate, soul-analyzing theories.

He could have wished the train would have run on for ever; but he was aroused by the lights growing thicker and more brilliant, and he felt that they were nearing London, and that the time for action was come.

The great plunge was taken, and he was alone in the cold street — alone, save for the man who carried his baggage. He stood for a moment or so, confused with the rush of carriages of all sorts which were taking the people from the train, till he was aroused by the man asking him where he was to go to.

Charles said, without thmking, “The Warwick Hotel,” and thither they went. For a moment he regretted that he had said so, but the next moment he said, aloud, “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die!”

The man turned round, and begged his pardon. Charles did not answer him; and the man went on, wondering what sort of young gentleman he had got hold of.

The good landlord was glad to see him. Would he have dinner? — a bit of fish and a lamb chop, for instance? Then it suddenly struck Charles that he was hungry — ravenous. He laughed aloud at the idea; and the landlord laughed too, and rubbed his hands. Should it be whiting or smelts now? he asked.

“Anything,” said Charles, “so long as you feed me uick. And give me wine, will you, of some sort; I want to drink. Give me sherry, will you? And I say, let me taste some now, and then I can see if I like it. I am very particular about my wine, you must know.”

In a few minutes a waiter brought in a glass of wine, and waited to know how Charles liked it.............