The shock nearly overwhelmed Dora. The double blow was too much for her, and when the landlady came into the room a short time afterwards she found the girl insensible on the floor. When she returned to consciousness she could not believe she had read the paper aright. She took it up again and went carefully over the passage with aching eyes. The solid ground seemed to be melting away under her feet, and all the material things around her were visionary, unreal, far away. The landlady at length made her talk, and with talk came tears, and with tears relief. She pointed out the paragraph to the woman, and told her she must go at once to the hospital and see about the whole affair. It was too horrible, she said, to think that her grandfather should be killed and her lover nearly killed in this enterprise, whatever it was, they were engaged upon. The woman was of a kindly and compassionate nature, and offered to accompany the girl. This offer Dora gladly accepted, and the two set out. They ascertained at the hospital that Lavirotte was going on favourably, but that they could not see him until next day. They went and saw the body of the old man at the mortuary, and, finding out that nothing could be done, returned to Charterhouse Square, greatly depressed and saddened; for the kindly woman shared the girl's grief, and felt for her desolate condition. Next day, when Dora called at the hospital she was admitted. She found Lavirotte haggard, and worn, and wild-looking, but far less seriously injured than the newspaper report had led her to expect. It was not a place for a demonstrative meeting, and she had been cautioned not to excite the injured man. After the first words of the meeting she asked him all the particulars of what had occurred at the tower. He told her as briefly as he could. Then for the first time she learned that her grandfather and her lover had been seeking for a treasure in that lonely place in Porter Street. He told her how the old man had been firmly persuaded a vast hoard had been hidden beneath the tower before the Great Fire, and had remained there ever since. While he, Lavirotte, was away at his lodgings, looking for letters, the old man had found the top of the vault, had pierced the vault, and descended into it. Then, no doubt, the shock of finding the work of years useless had been too great for him, and he had succumbed. He related how he, being then in a very weak condition from wearing anxiety and the want of food and rest, had returned to the tower, descended into the vault, and found himself unable to reascend. Then later on came the crash, his own insensibility, and finally the rescue the afternoon before. In grief and pity she listened to him, and when he had finished she could think of nothing to say but that she hoped he would soon get strong again, and that she would do anything she could for him, and come to see him as often as they would let her. Then he went on to explain how this terrible disappointment at not finding the treasure would not only leave him almost penniless, but would prevent him doing the service he had intended for O'Donnell and Kempston. He told her he had not replied to the letter he found from Eugene at his lodgings, because he hoped that in a day or two he might be able to communicate the glorious news that the period of their affluence was at hand. Now all this was changed. The whole aspect of his career was altered, and the first thing she would have to do for him was to telegraph to Eugene, saying that all hope of succour was now at an end. It would be a cruel, a terrible, perhaps literally a fatal blow to the elder O'Donnell, but that could not now be helped. He dictated to her the telegram, and she wrote it down. He also dictated a note she was to write to Mr. Kempston. Then he said: "They tell me I shall not be long here; but how it is to be with me when I get about again I cannot say. Misfortune seems to have marked me out as one upon whom she was to try all her arts." She said tenderly, advancing her hand to his: "Don't say that, Dominique." "Forgive me, Dora, darling. I was not thinking of you. I was speaking of only the business aspect of things. We shall be as poor as ever now." "But we were never rich, and yet we were--fond of each other, and very happy." "Ay, darling, very fond of each other, and very happy, and will be always," he added, pressing the hand he had in his. "I was thinking only of you in the matter. When I had this dream of wealth upon me, I used to picture to myself what we should do when we became rich; how you should have all that art and luxury could produce." "I have never wished for wealth or luxury, Dominique," she whispered. "I know I shall be as happy as I ever hoped to be, more happy than I ever deserved, with you. Let us think no more of that treasure. It has brought no good to us up to this. Why should we allow it to cause us sorrow now?" "Ay, ay," he said. "We must make the best of it now. Bad will be the best of it, but it might have been worse. You know I have a little money, and with it I shall be able to continue at the singing until I am good enough for the boards. Then I shall be able to earn enough for us both, Dora." "Very little will be enough," she whispered, again pressing his hand. He returned the pressure, and said: "Thank you, darling. They will not let you stay much longer now. I am sorry I am not able to be up; but I suppose they will do everything necessary about your grandfather. I want you to go to my landlord. He has some money of mine. Tell him to arrange all about the funeral. You tell me there is no man in the house where you lodge, and the few men I know in London, I know scarcely sufficiently well to ask a favour of them. Stop," he said; "there is Grafton. I might ask him. He was very friendly to me when I was in London before. I remember where he lived. Go to him and tell him all, and give him the money. That will be better." He gave her Grafton's address, and after a little while she took her leave. She sought the artist and found him at home. He had two rooms in Charlotte Street--one a bedroom; the other served as studio and sitting-room. When Dora called, he was not alone. Having renewed his acquaintance with Cassidy, he had invited the dandy to his place. Cassidy and he were now having coffee. Grafton hurried Cassidy into the bedroom, which was separated from the sitting-room by folding doors. Dora was shown up, and explained the circumstances of the case. Grafton said he would be delighted to do anything he could for Lavirotte and Miss Harrington. Unfortunately there was a difficulty in the way. It was utterly impossible for him to leave his studio that afternoon or night, as he was at work on a block which would take him till five o'clock in the morning to finish, and he had just that moment received a telegram from the illustrated paper on which he worked, ordering him north to the scene of a great colliery accident the first thing in the morning. He was deeply grieved. He would try if he could possibly do anything. Stop! A friend of his was in the house. He would go and ask him if he could manage to do what was required. He went out by the door leading to the landing, and from that landing through another door into the bedroom where Cassidy was. Cassidy flushed with surprise and pleasure when he saw a chance of his getting mixed up with the Lavirotte affair. He told Grafton he would ask them to give him a holiday to-morrow, and between this afternoon and to-morrow there would be plenty of time to arrange everything about Lionel Crawford, as, no doubt, the inquest was held that day. Then Grafton brought Cassidy in and introduced him to Dora, and said that he would act in every way as though he were Grafton himself. Dora expressed her great gratitude. "You know," Cassidy said, "I shall go and see Mr. Lavirotte as soon as possible, and I have no doubt he will be glad to see me, for I come from the neighbourhood in which he lived, and know Glengowra thoroughly." Here the overwhelming desire to rise in importance in the eyes of Dora, pleasantly or otherwise, mastered him, and he said: "Perhaps you have seen the special edition of The Evening Record?" She said yes; that she had there first seen an account of the terrible affair. "It was I," said he, bowing and smiling, "who gave the information respecting the mysterious occurrence at Glengowra, of which you, doubtless, know." By this time he was, of course, aware he was talking to the girl to whom Lavirotte had made love when formerly in London. "I do not know anything about it," she whispered faintly. "I am exceedingly obliged to both of you." She said good-bye and went. When she was gone, Cassidy said: "Strange she doesn't know anything about the Glengowra affair. I don't think it right she should be kept in ignorance of it. However, Grafton, you haven't a minute to lose now. I'll be off down east and see what's to be done. I assure you nothing could give me greater pleasure than to act for you in this affair."