at's my belief."

"And you think that you can find him?"

"I do think so. Was your son fond of low company when he lived at
home?"

Poor Sir Thomas and his wife winced at this question, but it was put by
the superintendent simply as a matter of business.

"Why, not exactly," was the reply; "that is to say, he never frequented
any gatherings of low people, as far as I know. But he was very much in
the habit of making a companion of my under-groom, Juniper Graves."

"Ah, exactly so! And this man drank?"

"Yes."

"And they played cards together?"

"I fear so."

"Then he's most likely hooked in with a low set--that makes it easier."

"Do you suppose that he is still in connection with any such set?" asked
Lady Oldfield.

"Pretty certain, if he has let out, when he was tipsy, that his father
is a gentleman of property. They'll help him on a bit, if they think
there's a chance of bleeding him again."

"But you know he has resolved to keep us in ignorance of his abode, and
all about himself."

"Yes, he meant it when he wrote; but when he's so hard up as to be near
starving, perhaps he'll change his mind."

"How then would you propose to proceed?" asked Sir Thomas.

The superintendent thought for half a minute, and then said,--

"Have you a photograph of your son with you?"

"I have," said the poor mother. She took it out of her pocket-book, and
handed it to the officer. He looked at it very carefully for some time,
and then said,--

"I suppose he must be a little older looking than this."

"Yes, surely," was the reply, "for it was taken three years ago, before
he went out to Australia."

"I must ask you then to spare it me for a few days, as it may help us
materially."

"And how soon may we hope to hear anything from you?"

"In a day or two I expect, perhaps sooner. But don't call at the
office; it will do no good. You may depend upon hearing from me as soon
as I have anything to communicate."

That day passed over, a second, and a third day of sickening suspense.
How utterly powerless the poor parents felt! Lady Oldfield prayed, but
oh, there were sad thoughts of bitter self-reproach mingling with her
prayers. She could not but remember how she had herself been the chief
hindrance to her son's becoming a total abstainer when he was bent on
making the attempt, and had avowed his intention. Oh, she would have
given worlds now could she but recall the time, and her own words, when
she ha