"I'm sure, sir, I don't know. All I can tell is, that he's sure not to be anywhere in Liverpool; for he told me the morning he left me that he was going to leave the town, and should not come back again."

"I'm grieved to hear it," said the baronet. "And can you give us a clue, Mrs Jones, to our dear misguided child's present place of abode?

Can you suggest no way of finding it out?"

"I fear not, sir; Mr Oldfield has left nothing behind him except his Bible and Prayer-book, which he asked me to accept as a token of his kind feeling and regard, he was good enough to say."

"His Bible and Prayer-book! Oh, let me look at them," exclaimed Lady Oldfield.

Mrs Jones brought them. The Prayer-book was one given him on his twelfth birthday by his mother. His name in it was in her own handwriting. The Bible was a much newer book, and bore but few marks of use. It was a gift from Mary Oliphant. The handwriting of his name was hers, as was also that of two texts below the name, which were written out in full--

"Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of life."

"There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man; but G.o.d is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able, but will, with the temptation, also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it."

Lady Oldfield gazed at these books and the writing in them for a long time without uttering a word, and without shedding a tear. It seemed as though the sight had for the moment chained every other feeling, and left her only the power to stare wildly at the two familiar handwritings.

"And he has parted with these," she said at last, half out loud; "he has given them away. Oh, merciful Father in heaven, what has become of my unhappy boy?"

"Calm yourself, my dear," said Sir Thomas; "let us hope that things may be better than our fears."

"I'm sure, ma'am," said Mrs Jones, "I should never think of keeping these books if you or Mr Oldfield's father wish to have them."

"Oh, it is not that, it is not that," sobbed Lady Oldfield. "Are you a mother, Mrs Jones?" she cried, turning abruptly to her.

"Yes, ma'am; I've had seven children, and five are living now."

"Then you'll understand _my_ feelings as a mother. I fear, oh, I cannot say how terribly I fear, that poor Frank means to do something dreadful; perhaps to--to--oh, I can't bear to think of it."

"Why, my dear, why," asked her husband, "should you think so?"

"Why, Thomas! Oh, isn't there something terrible in his parting with these two books, my gift and dear Mary's gift, and at such a time?

Doesn't it seem as if he was turning his back upon everything that is good and holy, and simply giving himself up to despair. Isn't it like saying, 'The Bible's no longer a book for me, for G.o.d is no longer my G.o.d?' Isn't it like saying, 'Prayer is no longer for me, for G.o.d will not hear me.'"

"My dearest wife," said Sir Thomas, anxiously, "don't look at the darkest side. Don't lose your faith and trust now. My good Mrs Jones, you see we're in sore trouble. You can understand how our hearts are almost broken about our erring son, but still he _is_ our son, and very dear to us; and we want you to help us to find him, if it be possible."

"I'm sure, sir," replied the kind-hearted landlady, "I do feel for you both with all my heart, and only wish I knew what to advise. But really I know no more than yourselves where Mr Oldfield is likely to be found.

It seems that he's wished to keep it a secret, and so he has purposely kept me in the dark."

Sir Thomas sighed.

"I understand exactly how it is," he said. "I do not see what we can do, except endeavour to get a clue through the police. By the way, Mrs Jones, you don't happen to know the names or lodgings of any of his a.s.sociates? That might help us, if you did."

"I do not, sir; for I never saw one of them enter this house. Your son never brought any one home with him as I know of. Jacob Poole and he were the only persons who ever were together here while he had my lodgings."

"Do you happen, then, ever to have heard him mention where any of his companions lived? I mean those persons he used to stay out with at night or in the day?"

"Never, sir."

"Nor so much as the name of any of his a.s.sociates?"

"Not once, sir. I fear--that is to say--"

"Speak out, Mrs Jones, pray. You know this may be a matter of life and death to him, and perhaps to us also. Don't be afraid of wounding us; we want to know everything that can in the least help us in our search."

"Well, sir, I was going to say, only I hesitated to say so much to my lodger's own father and mother, that I feared he had got mixed up with companions as wouldn't be likely to meet him in any private house."

"I understand you; you think he met his friends, (his companions or a.s.sociates, I mean), at some common rendezvous or club."

"Yes, sir; I fear so from all I heard and saw, and from what Mr Poole has said."

"I fear, then, that you can afford us no information that will help us at present. But here is my card; we shall be staying for some days probably, possibly for some weeks, at the Albion Hotel. Will you kindly, without fail, let us know, and that without loss of time, if you hear or see anything either of our poor son or of Jacob Poole, or of any one who may be able to give us any light or any help in our search?"

"You may depend upon me, Sir Thomas," said Mrs Jones; "and I'm sure, sir, I hope you and her ladyship will excuse this homely room. It's only very plainly furnished, but it's the one your son occupied."

"Pray, don't make any apologies," said her ladyship; "they are not needed. It is not fine rooms and grand furniture that can give peace.

I have just one thing to ask you to grant me before we go, and we must not delay, for time is precious."

"I'm sure, my lady, I'll grant you anything in my power."

"Let me, then, see the room where my poor boy slept."

"Certainly, ma'am, though it's in a sadly untidy state. I've not had time--"

"Never mind, Mrs Jones; I shall not notice any defects. My heart aches too sorely for me to heed these trifles. There, thank you; now leave me alone in the room for five minutes. And will you kindly tell my husband that I will join him almost directly!"

When the door was closed upon the unhappy mother, she threw herself on her knees beside the bed on which her son had slept, too commonly, alas!

the drunkard's sleep, and poured out her heart with tears to G.o.d that she might find her poor, lost, and guilty child before it should be too late. Rendered calmer by this prayer, she joined Sir Thomas.

"Farewell, Mrs Jones," she said, as they left the house; "many thanks for your kind sympathy. I trust we may have a less sad tale to tell when we meet again."

They drove to their hotel, and Sir Thomas wrote at once to the superintendent of police, requesting him to call upon him at the "Albion" at his earliest convenience. In about an hour that functionary appeared. He was a tall and stoutly-built man, of a decidedly military carriage; slightly bald, with a peculiarly searching eye, and thin decided lips. His manner was remarkably quiet, and his language precise and deliberate. He evidently always thought before he spoke, and then spoke what he thought, and nothing more. Taking the seat offered him by Sir Thomas, but declining any refreshment, he put himself in the att.i.tude of listening, as one accustomed to weigh evidence, and to put every fact and conjecture into its right box.

"I have requested your kind attendance, Mr Superintendent," began the baronet, "that I might ask your advice and help in a matter in which Lady Oldfield here and myself are most deeply concerned."

The superintendent gave a slight bend forward, as much as to say that this introduction to the subject in hand was a matter of course.

Sir Thomas then, with some embarra.s.sment of manner, gave his hearer an account of his son's unhappy career, and his own difficulties about tracing him, and concluded by saying,--

"And now, sir, I would ask your help to discover my poor boy before it be too late."

The superintendent signified his a.s.sent.

"What do you think?" asked Sir Thomas.

"We can find him, no doubt, if he is still in Liverpool," said the officer.

"And do you think he _is_ now in Liverpool?" asked Lady Oldfield.