Sir Philip Vining tried the door again and again, shaking it loudly, and repeating his son’s name; but there was no reply.

What should he do—summon assistance and have the room broken open? He dreaded calling for aid, to bring up the curious to gaze upon his anguish, and perhaps upon—

He seemed to check his thoughts there by a tremendous effort, and turning round, he gazed in both directions along the well-lit thickly-carpeted corridor.

There was no one in sight, neither could he hear a sound.

Then he tried to look through the keyhole of the door, but something arrested his vision. He knocked and called again and again, but there was not even the sound of breathing to be detected on the other side; and at last, roused to frenzy. Sir Philip turned the handle, and then dashed his shoulder with all his might against the panelling.

He was not strong, but the sudden sharp shock made the little bolt by which the door was secured give way, when, rushing in, Sir Philip hastily closed the door behind him, anxious even now to hide from the public eye any blur that might have fallen upon the Vinings’ name.

There was a small globe lamp burning upon the table, but the room seemed empty, and the bed was impressed; but on hurrying round to the foot, there on a couch lay Charley, his coat and vest thrown off, his collar and neckband unfastened, and his pale handsome face turned towards the light. His lips were just parted, and his leaden-hued eyelids barely closed; but upon Sir Philip throwing himself on his knees by the figure of his son, he could just detect a faint breathing, and upon hastily drawing his watch and holding it near his lips, the bright gold back was slightly dimmed.

“O, that it should have come to this!” groaned Sir Philip; and raising his clenched hand, for a moment it was as though he were about to call down Heaven’s bitterest curse upon the head of the gentle girl to whom he attributed all this pain and suffering. But as he did so, his hand fell again to his side, and the recollection of the fair, soft, pleading face he had last looked upon, with its gentle eyes and pale cheeks, and then the scene of her fainting when he tottered back to kiss her glossy hair—all came back most vividly, and he groaned aloud.

And then he seemed to awaken to the necessity for instant action, and running to the bell, he tore at it furiously.

But there was pride still busy in the old man’s brain, in spite of the shock: the world must not know what was wrong; and hastily looking round, he saw upon the dressing-table, lying in company with the young man’s watch, with the thick gold chain carelessly thrown around it, a small graduated bottle—Time and Eternity, so it seemed, side by side.

Sir Philip was not surprised. He seemed to know intuitively what was coming. He had suspected it when downstairs, but in a more horrible manner; and as soon as he had thrust the bottle into his pocket, he shudderingly closed and locked the dressing-case upon the table, where, glittering and bright, lay amongst velvet several unused keen-bladed means of avoiding the pains and suffering of this world.

The next minute there was a knock at the bedroom-door, and the chamber-maid appeared.

“Quick!” exclaimed Sir Philip—“the nearest doctor directly. My son is dangerously ill!”

The woman hurried out, but returned directly.

“I have sent, sir. But can I do anything? Has he taken too much?”

“Too much! Too much what?” cried Sir Philip angrily, resenting the remark. “What do you mean, woman?”

“He has been taking it now for above a fortnight, sir,” said the maid. “Poor gentleman! he’s in trouble, I think, and takes it to quiet himself.”

“What?” cried Sir Philip, but this time with less anger in his tones.

“Morphy, I think it’s called, sir—a sort of spirits of laudanum; and I suppose it’s awful strong. Surely, poor gentleman, he ain’t over-done it!”

“Are you sure that he has been in the habit of taking it?” said Sir Philip.

“O, yes, sir. I’ve often seen the bottle on the dressing-table. ‘Morphy: to be used with great care,’ it said on the label. I don’t fancy he’s so bad as you think, sir.”

Sir Philip, still trembling with anxiety, knelt by his son’s couch, to be somewhat reassured by a deep sigh which the young man now drew; and five minutes after, the doctor came in, black, smooth, and silent—a very owl amongst men—bowed to Sir Philip, and then looked at his patient.

“How long has he been like this?”

“I found him so a quarter—half an hour since,” said Sir Philip. “He had left me an hour before that.”

“Humph!” said the doctor. “Any reason for thinking he would commit suicide?”

“H’m—no!” said Sir Philip, hesitating; “but he has, I fear, been suffering a great deal of mental pain.”

&ld............