"Never unkind to me! What have you done with my money?"
"I never had a penny of it."
"Oh, you put the blame on Silwood! He is dead, and cannot deny the charge."
"I never had anything to do with selling your property, Harry. I did not know it had been sold until a day or two ago—until yesterday, in fact."
"But you did know when you wrote me. You lied about it."
"I did," acknowledged Eversleigh. "I could not help it. Consider how I was situated!"
"You were to get me the ten thousand pounds, and to pretend to sell the Mansions?"
"That was it."
"You can get me the ten thousand?"
"No; that was a pretence too. I cannot get you the money."
"Worse and worse!" exclaimed Bennet. "What has been done with the money?"
"Mr. Silwood might have told you, I cannot. I had none of it, I again assure you," protested Eversleigh.
Bennet now sat down.
"Let us understand each other," he said. "So far as I make the matter out, the position is this: you state Mr. Silwood disposed of my property and appropriated the proceeds—is that it?"
Eversleigh bowed.
"What do you intend doing?"
"Nothing. What can I do?"
Bennet sat very still, thinking what was the best course for him to take.
"Do you suppose," he asked at length, "that Mr. Silwood was guilty of other—irregularities?"
"How can I tell? For many years Mr. Silwood attended to all the financial business of the firm, and I never concerned myself with it at all. And now I can only find out very slowly and gradually how matters stand."
"Have you no capital? No means of your own?"
"No. I have always lived up to my income—you know how I have lived, Harry, for you have often shared my hospitality," said Eversleigh, appealingly.
"Oh, your hospitality be ——!" cried Bennet, rudely. "How does that help either you or me now? If anything, it makes matters worse. What I ought to do is just what I said. I should go to another solicitor, tell him how the case stands, and in a short time you would be in prison. But what good will that be to me? I must think everything over very carefully. I shall not be precipitate."
Eversleigh held up his head a little.
"Thank you, Harry," he said.
"I'm not thinking of you," rejoined Harry, brutally. "One word, however. How many people know about my property being disposed of—in this irregular manner by Silwood?" asked Bennet, sarcastically.
"No one but myself."
"Can I depend on that statement?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, I shall take no action to-day. I am going home now, and to-night I'll make up my mind. I shall see you again to-morrow, and tell you what is my intention."
And Bennet strode out of the room. As he descended the stairs he almost cannoned against Gilbert Eversleigh, who was going up to see his father. Bennet hardly returned the salute Gilbert gave him, but the sight of his successful rival had given him an idea.
"I shall see you again to-morrow, and tell you what is my intention," were the words with which Bennet had left Eversleigh, and they rang in the ears of the solicitor like a knell. He knew he was in Bennet's power, and as he thought of Harry and the character of the young man he told himself it was useless to expect mercy or even consideration of any kind.
"The day of reckoning," he moaned, "has indeed come."
He asked himself if there was any one to whom he could appeal for assistance in his extremity; but he could think of no one, and even if such a friend had existed, it would now be too late to appeal to him for help, because Bennet knew enough—and more than enough—to send him to prison.
This was in his mind when Gilbert, passing up the stairs on which he had encountered Bennet, came into his father's room. For one moment he had a wild notion to tell his son everything, but quickly decided against it.
"I met Harry Bennet just now," remarked Gilbert, "and he seemed in a bad humour, to judge from the glance with which he favoured me. I suppose you have been giving him a lecture?"
Giving Bennet a lecture!
The irony of the thing smote Francis Eversleigh. Again he wondered if he should tell Gilbert everything, and put some of the burden on the strong shoulders of his son; but no, he could not do it. And what could Gilbert do to help him?
"Oh no," said Eversleigh, in reply to Gilbert's question; "I did not lecture him. He wanted money at a moment's notice, and I told him he must wait a little."
"I see," responded Gilbert, and the conversation passed to other topics.
When Francis Eversleigh went home to Ivydene that evening he believed it more than probable that he was going to it for the last time for many years, as he felt certain Bennet would have him arrested next day. After a sleepless night of agony and remorse, he took a mute but infinitely pathetic farewell of the place and the loved ones whose abode it was, before leaving it.
"D'you think you are well enough to go to the office to-day?" asked his wife, doubtfully.
"Yes, dear," he replied, with more than usual tenderness in his voice. "I'm quite well, and perhaps since Mr. Silwood's death, I give in too much to business worries; but there is nothing really the matter."
And he embraced her very fondly after he had said this, wondering in his heart what she would think of him when she knew the truth, as she likely would that very day.
Then he went to meet his fate.
His fate proved to be better and worse than he had expected.
The solicitor had scarcely arrived at 176, New Square, Lincoln's Inn, when Bennet made his appearance.
"Well, Harry," said Eversleigh, timidly, on seeing him.
"I have thought this business over," Bennet declared, "and I have come to a determination. I shall not prosecute you. I shall take no action in the matter, but there's a condition."
Francis Eversleigh could hardly believe his ears when he heard Bennet's words, "I shall not prosecute you."
Involuntarily he gave a great sigh of relief.
But then there was a condition, Bennet had said. What was it? He was thunderstruck when he heard what it was.
"I am willing not to prosecute you," continued Bennet, coolly, "on one condition, and on one condition alone. You have acknowledged your guilt, but there is one way in which you may make good your—debt, let us call it—to me."
"Yes?" asked Eversleigh, as Harry stopped for an instant.
"It is the case," said Harry, speaking sharply, "is it not, that your son Gilbert is engaged to Miss Thornton?"
"Certainly," replied Eversleigh, in a puzzled tone.
"You have a great deal of influence with your son?"
"Naturally."
"You and he are on the best of terms—many fathers and sons are not—but you and Gilbert are very good friends."
"Undoubtedly."
"If I prosecute you, you will be convicted and sentenced?"
Eversleigh did not answer.
"Your conviction," Bennet went on remorselessly, "will infallibly cover Gilbert with disgrace, to say nothing of the other members of your family; his career at the Bar will be blighted. Is that not the case?"
Dry-lipped Eversleigh heard, but he could not trust himself to answer.
"Gilbert will be ruined—you know that is so. Now, do you think, with this hanging over him, he is a proper person to marry Miss Thornton? Of course, he is not."
Eversleigh groaned.
"Harry, spare me!" he cried.
But Bennet had no idea of sparing him.
"Your son Gilbert must not marry Miss Thornton; you must prevent him from doing so. Do you understand?"
"But this is monstrous, Harry," protested Eversleigh; "my influence over Gilbert is not great enough for this."
"If that is so, then so much the worse for you. But not only must you use your influence with Gilbert, you must also bring it to bear on Miss Thornton. You must tell her that she must not marry Gilbert. Now, do you understand?"
"I understand," returned Eversleigh, speaking for the first time during the conversation with some firmness; "but what you wish is impossible. Gilbert and Miss Thornton love each other. Gilbert is a man, he is not a child, and Miss Thornton is a woman and not a child either. Is it likely that anything I said to them would make them break off their engagement?"
"Gilbert and Miss Thornton love each other!"
These words were gall and wormwood to Bennet.
The sight of Gilbert the previous afternoon had revived his dormant desire for revenge, and after much thought he had come to the conclusion to tell Francis Eversleigh that the price of his silence with regard to the fraudulent sale of Beauclerk Mansions was that the solicitor must use pressure to get the match broken off, and not only that, but also to induce the girl to marry him. It was rather a mad scheme, and if Bennet had really considered it fully he would probably have decided against suggesting it. It never struck him that he was conniving at fraud; if it had, he would not have been deterred. He was a headstrong, reckless man, determined to get his own way, rightly or wrongly, and to get it whatever happened.
"Wait," he said; "I have not finished yet. You must break off the match. How it is to be done I leave to you. You will find some means of doing it. The main point is that it be done. There must be no misunderstanding on that head. But there is more to be said: you must not only break off the match, but you must forward my suit with Miss Thornton."
"Your suit with Miss Thornton!" cried Eversleigh.
"Yes; perhaps you were not aware that I proposed to her, but I was too late. She had already accepted your son. You never heard that she rejected me?"
"I did not know it."
Eversleigh's thoughts went back to that day—the awful, fateful day in which Silwood had confessed his embezzlements—on which he had given Gilbert a hint of Bennet's advances to Kitty, and how, at the time he had given it, life stretched before him bright and fair. He shuddered as he recalled all that had happened since.
Bennet, watching him intently, saw the shudder that shook the frame of the solicitor, and, not knowing what was passing through the other's mind, misinterpreted it.
"The idea of my proposing to Miss Thornton makes you shudder, is that it?" he asked fiercely and angrily. "It becomes you well—you, the cheat, the embezzler, the swindler."
Eversleigh looked at Bennet helplessly.
"You disapprove of me, you dare to disapprove of me for her!" Bennet continued. "Surely I am as good as your son!" he exclaimed with violence, "the son of a thief!"
"Gilbert is as honest as the day," said Eversleigh, stung into speech.
"I know nothing about that," cried Bennet, scornfully. "But this is all beside the mark. Gilbert is nothing to me; why should I consider him? He stands between me and Kitty Thornton, and it will be your part to remove him from my path."
"How am I to do it? How am I to do it?" wailed Eversleigh.
Bennet regarded him with contempt.
"That lies with you," he said pitilessly. "I have already made that quite clear. And you must speak to Miss Thornton and tell her—oh, tell her anything, but tell her that she must marry me."
"Suppose I did tell her that, do you imagine that it would weigh with her, if it was not backed by some very strong, some overwhelming reason?" asked Eversleigh, struggling to speak calmly with the young man. "And what reason can I give? I cannot perform impossibilities. Surely you must admit that?"
"I admit nothing," snarled Bennet viciously.
The two men looked at each other; Eversleigh's face bore a hopeless and beaten expression, Bennet's was savage and implacable.
For a space there was silence between them.
On Bennet Eversleigh's last words had made a certain impression, and he was asking himself if, after all, his scheme would not work: he felt not the least pity or compassion; but what if he had indeed set Eversleigh a task beyond his powers to accomplish? As he conversed with Eversleigh, he saw that what in his own home the previous evening had seemed a simple enough thing, was not simple at all. He saw that if Eversleigh, at his bidding, told the lovers that the match must be broken off, it did not at all follow they would consent—unless they were told that in this way, and this only, Eversleigh would be delivered from some great and imminent danger. "Well," he thought, "that is what Eversleigh must do, and for the same reason Kitty must be brought to consent to marry me."
"You will speak to your son and Miss Thornton to-night?" Bennet said aloud.
"To-night!"
"Why not? The sooner the better, surely!"
"Harry," said Eversleigh, making a last effort, "just consider the position."
"What else am I doing?" Bennet broke out rudely.
"Have patience a moment, if not for my sake, then for your own. You wish me to tell Gilbert, whom by the way I shall not see to-night, that he must have his engagement with Miss Thornton cancelled. Gilbert knows perfectly that his marriage with Miss Thornton is the thing next my heart, and he will require from me an explanation. Am I to tell him the truth? And it is the same in Miss Thornton's case. Am I to tell her the truth also?"
"Certainly. Why not, pray?" asked Bennet, ruthlessly.
"I do not believe Gilbert will consent."
"He will, fast enough, to save you; for in saving you is he not saving himself and his career?"
"But Miss Thornton," argued Eversleigh, "is not my child. She is of age. She is her own mistress. I have no power over her. How can I compel her to marry you?"
Bennet stood in sullen silence.
"She would marry me to save you from a convict's cell," he said at last. "But as I understand you to mean that you will not speak to her on this matter, I tell you what I'll do. I shall go to her myself, and tell her all I know. If she consents to marry me, then I shall spare you; if she refuses—you can guess for yourself what will take place. And this is my last word," added Bennet, and stalked out of the room.
On leaving Francis Eversleigh, whose feelings at the turn events had taken were poignant beyond description, Harry Bennet went as fast and as straight to Surbiton as the train could carry him. As he neared Ivydene, he was visited by some slight compunctions, but these he soon overcame and thrust out of his mind.
On inquiring if Miss Thornton was at home, he was told by the maid, to whom Bennet was no stranger, that Miss Thornton and Miss Helen Eversleigh were out, but were expected in very shortly. Mrs. Eversleigh, however, was in; would he not come in and see her? But Bennet, who had no wish to see Mrs. Eversleigh, excused himself and withdrew. He did not go far away, but hung about the house waiting till the two young ladies should appear. And presently, when they came into view, Bennet at once went to meet them.
When the girls saw him, they beheld him with very different emotions. There was a smile of welcome on Helen's face, which showed she was glad to see him again, and that perhaps also she still, in her heart, was not ill disposed towards him; at the same time, she wondered why he had not been near Ivydene for so long a time, and this imparted a certain eagerness to her greeting of him. But Kitty received him coldly. Both the girls were in deep mourning, and Bennet thought he had never seen Kitty look better. The coldness of his reception he put down to the grief she must be feeling for her father, and for an instant he was inclined to doubt if this were the proper time to speak to her on the subject which had brought him to Surbiton, but his hesitation was soon over.
There was something strange and unnatural in Bennet's manner as he saluted the girls. So marked was it that even Helen Eversleigh could not help noticing it. Kitty observed it instantly, and she drew an augury of evil from it. Since her rejection of the young man she had almost forgotten his existence, so much had happened in the interval. Now, as she looked at him, her distrust of him returned.
Yet his first words somewhat disarmed her, though the tone in which they were uttered was hardly what she would have expected. She saw he was labouring under some strong excitement.
"I have not seen you, Miss Thornton," he said, hoarsely, "for some time, and I had meant to write you a note of sympathy, but—but—I was so——"
"I understand," said Kitty, as Bennet paused, embarrassed.
"It was very sad for you," remarked Bennet.
"Yes," said Kitty, simply.
The three were now close to Ivydene, and Helen Eversleigh invited him to come in. Bennet stopped in the road, and did not at once reply; the others stopped, too, regarding him curiously.
Then, to the surprise of the girls, Bennet said, addressing Helen Eversleigh—
"Would you mind leaving us, Miss Eversleigh; there is something I wish to say to Miss Thornton?" Then he turned to Kitty and observed, gruffly, "It is something very important. Miss Thornton, or I should not trouble you. Indeed, I have come on purpose to tell you of it."
Kitty bowed gravely, and Helen, greatly astonished, retired to the house, saying as she went—
"Come in when you have had your talk. You won't be long, I suppose."
But neither of the others answered.
"Is it something you have to tell me about my father?" asked Kitty, who at once supposed that Bennet had in some way or other obtained information respecting Morris Thornton.
"No, Miss Thornton," answered Bennet, bluntly. "It is about something quite different that I wish to speak to you."
"But if I do not wish to listen to you?" asked Kitty, suddenly alarmed.
"You must," insisted Bennet.
"Must!" cried Kitty. "You take a very strange tone. I shall not listen to you, Mr. Bennet."
And she moved a step from him.
He strode beside her, and put his hand roughly on her arm.
"I am in earnest," he said, his eyes gleaming balefully. "You must hear me unless you wish the worst to happen to those people in there."
He waved his hand toward Ivydene.
"Miss Thornton," Bennet went on, more calmly when he saw the girl gave heed to him, "it is in your power, and in yours alone, to save your friends, the Eversleighs, from the gravest disaster."
Kitty stared at him, thinking the man must have gone mad.
"I repeat," Bennet continued, "that it is in your power. Miss Thornton—do you understand?—in your power, to avert a great danger, a terrible disaster, from the Eversleighs."
"I do not understand you in the least," said Kitty. "Will you please explain yourself?"
"You will listen, then?" asked Bennet, tauntingly. "And you will do well to listen, if you have any regard for these people."
"Will you explain, please?" asked Kitty, impatiently.
"Yes; but I shall have to trouble you to hear rather a long story, but without it you would not understand."
"Go on," Kitty answered.
"I must commence by speaking of myself," said Bennet. "I had need of a sum of money—ten thousand pounds, and I directed my solicitors, Eversleigh, Silwood and Eversleigh, to get it for me by selling a property in Kensington called Beauclerk Mansions, which belonged to me—at least, I believed it belonged to me. I knew that the sale of the property was not likely to be effected immediately; it had to be advertised, and so on. But I did want that ten thousand in a hurry. So I wrote the Eversleighs, and, knowing the Mansions were worth far more than the sum I asked, requested them to make or procure me an advance of the money, and to repay the loan from the proceeds of the sale. Do you understand, Miss Thornton?"
"Perfectly; though I do not see why you should imagine it is interesting or important to me," replied Kitty.
"I am coming very quickly now to that," returned Bennet. "I wrote the firm as I have told you, and received a communication in reply from Mr. Eversleigh, Mr. Francis Eversleigh, who said that he could not get me the money at once, but would do so in the course of a few days. But there were reasons for my having it without delay, so I went to see Mr. Eversleigh, and I saw him this morning."
Bennet paused, and looked meaningly at Kitty; he saw that she was following him closely.
"You saw Mr. Eversleigh, you were saying," she observed.
"I saw him, told him I must have the money, and he put me off, but said there would be as little delay as possible. With that I had to be content, though I was disappointed. I had nothing particular to do for the rest of the day, and it occurred to me to go to Beauclerk Mansions, and take a last look at them. I was in a bad humour, and the thing fell in with my mood. When I got to the Mansions, can you guess what I discovered?"
"How can I?" inquired Kitty, wonderingly.
"The discovery was an accidental one," Bennet resumed, "but there was no room for doubt about the matter. I found out that Beauclerk Mansions no longer belonged to me. They had been sold some twelve months before to a company named 'Modern Mansions, Limited.'"
And now Kitty began to see something of what Bennet was about to tell her, and she gazed at him apprehensively.
"The property had been sold!" she exclaimed.
"Yes; without my authority, and by my own solicitors, Eversleigh, Silwood and Eversleigh."
"Surely, there was some mistake," suggested the girl.
"I thought so myself, at first," responded Bennet, "and I promptly went to Mr. Eversleigh and asked for an explanation. But, Miss Thornton," he went on, impressively, "there was no mistake. Mr. Eversleigh put the blame of the sale on his dead partner, Silwood—that may be true, or it may not, in either case it is nothing to me—but he confessed that the property had been sold. No account was ever rendered to me—in a word, the sale was a fraudulent one. Out of his own mouth, Eversleigh stood convicted of fraud."
"I cannot believe it!" cried Kitty, "there must be some dreadful mistake."
"The law, Miss Thornton, will not call it a mistake. It will call it a crime. I have but to say the word, and Francis Eversleigh will be arrested, in due course, tried, and convicted."
Kitty stood and faced the man, her eyes full of indignation.
"Mr. Bennet," she said, "I have known Mr. Eversleigh for years, and I cannot credit what you say."
"It is quite natural for you to say so. I could hardly take the thing in myself at first, but there is not the slightest doubt of the truth of what I have told you. Francis Eversleigh is in my power, and I make no scruple in telling you so."
Bennet's air, Kitty acknowledged to herself, was not that of a man who spoke falsely, whatever else it was; she was afraid that he did in very deed speak the truth.
"You do not scruple to tell me this," she said; "why do you tell me about it at all?"
Bennet looked at the beautiful girl, and her beauty maddened him.
"It is because I love you," he said boldly.
"Because you love me! You take a strange way of showing your love. What do you mean?"
"I said that Eversleigh's fate was in my hands; I should have said it was in yours, Kitty."
"In mine?"
"Yes, in yours, in your pretty hands, Kitty. You have but to command me, and, so far as I am concerned, Eversleigh remains a free man. I will not seek to have him arrested if you tell me not to do so."
"And what more, Mr. Bennet? Is it that your love for me dictates this generosity? Oh, if that be so, I thank you with all my heart."
"I do not want your gratitude, Kitty. I want you. I will only stay my hand on condition that you promise to marry me. There, is that plain enough?"
"To marry you!" exclaimed Kitty. "You know very well that I am engaged to Gilbert Eversleigh."
"Oh, Gilbert!" said Bennet, contemptuously. "After what I have told you about his father you would never dream of marrying him!"
Kitty's eyes suddenly blazed.
"Take care what you say!" she cried.
The passion in her eyes did not daunt him; on the contrary, he admired her spirit, and his desire to marry her waxed stronger.
"Am I to understand, then," he asked deliberately, "that you prefer to see Gilbert Eversleigh disgraced, for disgraced he will be when his father is a convicted felon?"
Kitty started; she felt as if she were in a trap.
Bennet saw he had at last made an impression.
"You can ruin Gilbert, too, if you like," he continued; "the fate of both father and son rests with you."
He thought he had said enough, and so was silent. The girl walking by his side was also silent. If what this man said was true, and she was afraid it was, what a frightful calamity had suddenly come upon her! Her heart sank within her, all the sweetness of life and love were on the instant turned to bitterness and gall.
"You can ruin Gilbert," Bennet had said; she could ruin the man she loved! And Francis Eversleigh, the kindly man, who had been a father to her! And Mrs. Eversleigh and the others! She could ruin them or save them—so Bennet had said. Her word would save them!
Bennet fancied he knew the debate which was going on within the girl's breast. At length Kitty came to a decision.
"Do you want an answer now?" she asked.
"At once; yes or no?"
"You know that I do not love you?"
"I love you, and you will come to love me."
"Never, never!" she cried wildly.
Bennet frowned heavily.
"You will, you shall, you must," he vowed.
"You cannot force love," said the girl.
"Now, Miss Kitty," said Bennet, roughly; "I do not wish to discuss that with you. Give me your answer! Will you marry me, yes or no? Or is Francis Eversleigh to go to prison?"
"If I marry you, how will that protect Mr. Eversleigh?"
"I will give him a receipt in full for whatever his firm owes me. I will give you the receipt, if you like, and you can give it to him."
"Mr. Bennet," said Kitty, "I shall tell you what I am willing to do. You have told me some strange things; they are so strange that I find a difficulty in believing them. Yet I am afraid," went on the girl, honestly, "that they are true. But surely I have a right to ask that these statements of yours be confirmed. If you will give me till to-morrow—if you will come then, I will give you my answer."
"And pray what will you do in the mean time?"
"I shall speak to Mr. Eversleigh."
"Very well," said Bennet, after a moment's thought. "He will not deny the truth of what I have told you. I agree. I will be here at noon to-morrow for your decision. Only remember that the fate of the Eversleighs is in your hands, as I have said, and in yours alone."
And he turned and left her.
On entering the house, Kitty went at once to her own room, though she knew Helen Eversleigh would think it strange, perhaps even unkind. "But she will never imagine why it is," thought the girl; "she will suppose Bennet had something painful to tell me about my father."
Kitty Thornton was a brave woman, and she had brains as well as courage; she sat down in her room, and deliberately set herself to consider the situation in which she now found herself. The conversation with Bennet had occupied but a short while, and she had hardly realized all it meant for her. Now, sitting there quietly, she went over it again. On the face of it, what he had told her about Eversleigh seemed improbable in the extreme, but she recalled the positiveness of his assertions and the air of truthfulness and certainty with which he had made them. It was clear to her that Bennet believed he did hold the fate of Eversleigh in his hands.
Then she thought of Francis Eversleigh. In her mind's eye she saw him as he had appeared to her in her girlhood—handsome, generous, large-hearted, kindness itself. Her instinct told her that he was not formed of the stuff out of which the thief and the swindler were made. And she recalled Bennet's words, "Mr. Eversleigh put the blame of the sale on his dead partner Silwood"—Silwood, the man in whose chambers her father's body had been found; yes, Kitty had no doubt whatever that if any one was guilty, he was the criminal. She remembered Silwood's appearance very well, and she contrasted it with that of Eversleigh, to the great advantage of the latter. It was incredible that Eversleigh was a bad man. But though not actually guilty, was he a party to the guilt of Silwood all along, and therefore guilty in that sense? Or had he discovered what Silwood had done only after Silwood's death? Well, she must wait until she had heard what Francis Eversleigh had to say.
For, after all, these were minor points. In all likelihood, she concluded, Eversleigh would confirm Bennet's statements. If so, what then?
And, now, Kitty Thornton had need of all her courage.
The fate of the Eversleighs was in her hands; she could save them, but at what a price!
The sacrifice of her own happiness.
She could save them, but only by condemning herself to misery for the rest of her life.
As she sat thinking, thinking of the wretchedness that must be hers as the wife of Bennet, the poor girl closed her eyes, as if thus she could shut out that blank and dreary prospect. She had no illusions as to the nature of the man. In her heart she called him a bully and a brute, and she knew he was a desperate gambler. Her life with him could be nothing but one long horror.
"I cannot marry him," she said, rebelling against the harshness and bitterness of the dilemma thrust upon her.
"But what then?" she asked herself.
She knew Bennet would keep his word did she refuse to marry him; Francis Eversleigh would be arrested, and he and his family overwhelmed in one common ruin.
"How can I permit it?" she said.
Hitherto she had striven to keep the thought of her lover, Gilbert, out of her mind, so as to be able to reason more clearly, but in its background Gilbert had always been. She loved him with her whole heart, and it was seldom that, consciously or unconsciously, she was not thinking about him. She had looked forward with pride and joy to being his wife. And now?
Bennet had declared that Gilbert's father's ruin would be Gilbert's ruin too.
And she could save him.
"I must, I must," said Kitty, bravely, but her heart was cold as ice. "Cost me what it may, I must save him from ruin."
She told herself that it was her duty to make this sacrifice for her lover's sake, and she tried to steel herself to the idea. But when she thought of the long and bitter years that lay before her as the wife of Harry Bennet, her courage grew less and less.
"I must not think ofthat," she said; "if I do, I shall break down. I must think, and think only, of saving them from the ruin which threatens them all."
Still the tears would come into her eyes. She wiped them away, however, and when she went down to dinner showed no traces of them. Her eyes were suspiciously bright, and the spots of colour on her cheeks were less brilliant than usual, but her aspect was so little different from what it generally was that even Helen Eversleigh, who looked at her inquiringly when they met, did not observe any change in her appearance.
Francis Eversleigh was at the head of the table, and from time to time he shot a quick glance at her. He had heard from his daughter, Helen, that Bennet had called that afternoon, and he felt sure Bennet had told the girl all. He expected she would speak to him on the subject after dinner, and he dreaded it. What would she say to him? What would she do? What had she said to Bennet?
Kitty had always been fond of Francis Eversleigh, and as she caught one or two of these glances of his, and knew the secret of his anxiety, she pitied him and smiled at him encouragingly. Like the other members of the Eversleigh household, she had noticed for weeks how poorly he had looked. Now, as she sat at table with him she told herself she knew why it was—he had been carrying in his breast the knowledge of his partner's crime. She felt so sorry for him, that for a time she almost forgot how black her own future was likely to be.
After dinner she and Eversleigh withdrew from the dining-room together, and went into the library. This move excited no surprise in the others, who supposed it accounted for by there being some fresh development with regard to her late father's affairs which required immediate attention.
Eversleigh left it to Kitty to begin the conversation.
"Mr. Bennet was here this afternoon," she said, steadily; "and he told me something which astonished and pained me more than I can express."
Kitty stopped, expecting Eversleigh to speak, but he only looked at her sorrowfully.
"He told me," said Kitty after a pause, "that some house property of his, which was entrusted to your firm, had been sold without his consent or knowledge, and that the money had been misappropriated. Is it true?"
"I regret to have to answer, Kitty, that it is too true," replied Eversleigh, falteringly. "It is only too true," he repeated, shaking his head sadly, "too true."
"Won't you tell me all about it?" asked the girl. "I do so wish to help you if I can," she cried earnestly.
"Kitty, you are, as you always have been, a dear sweet girl," responded Eversleigh, with twitching lips and tears standing in his eyes; "but I am afraid you can do nothing."
"Perhaps I can. But let me know, will you not, how this frightful thing has come about?" she urged.
"It is a dreadful story, a shameful story, Kitty. I have tried to act for the best——"
He broke off with a sob.
"I shall never believe you were guilty of anything criminal!" she exclaimed.
"I did not steal the money; you are right, if that is what you mean, dear; but the law will hold me guilty."
"I did not imagine for a single instant that you had taken any one's money wrongfully. Mr. Bennet said that you told him the money was taken by Mr. Silwood."
"Yes, yes," returned Eversleigh; "that is true."
"Besides yourself and Mr. Bennet and me, does any other person know about this—trouble?"
"No, not a soul."
"Then it is only Mr. Bennet you have to fear?"
"Yes; but is that not sufficient?"
"I am afraid it is. Still, if there was to be found a way of satisfying him, would that release you from further worries of the same kind?"
"Kitty," said Eversleigh, speaking with much emotion; "Kitty, I shall not pretend not to understand what you refer to when you talk of finding a way to satisfy Bennet. He told me what he intended doing—how he was to disclose to you that my fate was in his hands, and to declare to you he would not prosecute me if you would promise to marry him. It seems to me a monstrous proposition—that you should sacrifice yourself for me. No, Kitty, you must not marry him. You must leave us to our fate."
As Eversleigh said these words, there was a ring in his voice that had long been absent from it. He really meant what he said.
"I shall not leave you and the others to their fate," cried Kitty; "you are all dear to me—and then," she said shyly, "there is Gilbert. Mr. Bennet declares Gilbert will be involved in your ruin; that is," she added gently, "if you were found to be a party to—irregularities; then, in that case he would be compelled to give up the Bar."
Eversleigh nodded gloomily.
"I fear that would be so," he said with a gasp.
"Gilbert is dearer to me than myself," Kitty went on, blushing a little, "and I must save him if I can."
Neither spoke for a few minutes.
"You are a brave, heroic woman," said Eversleigh, at last. "But Gilbert will never consent to your sacrificing yourself in this way."
"Gilbert need not know until you are safe out of Bennet's grasp," suggested Kitty. "And do you not see that I am between two fires," she continued; "so that I must yield myself? If the worst befall you, then you, dear Mrs. Eversleigh who has been a mother to me, your sons and your daughter, will be made miserable for ever! Oh, I cannot think of it! And then there is my love for Gilbert! No," she sighed in a whisper; "I cannot ruin him."
"You are a noble girl," said Eversleigh, with deep feeling; "but I, we—even Gilbert—have no right to expect such a sacrifice from you, Kitty."
The girl did not at once reply. Instead she gazed thoughtfully at him.
"I wonder if there is no other way of satisfying Mr. Bennet?" she asked.
"I do not know of any."
"Could you not take the money you owe him out of my fortune? Oh, I would give him the half of all I possess—nay, the whole of it, if that would satisfy him."
"Kitty," said Eversleigh, in so despairing a voice, that it made her start in a sudden terror that he was about to do something desperate. "Kitty, I see I must tell you everything. Indeed, I should have told you everything sooner, but I am a weak, cowardly wretch. For nearly two months I have endured tortures every hour and every moment, ever since the day Silwood told me that he had embezzled—that is the bitter word—and appropriated to his own use for speculations on the Stock Exchange the money and property of our clients—yours, Kitty, along with the rest. And I, fool that I was, never knew anything of it! I suspected nothing. It was the expected coming of your father which made Silwood speak out. Kitty, the part of your fortune which was in our charge has gone—it does not exist."
Kitty was silent.
"Why do you not reproach me?" inquired Eversleigh. "There is nothing you would say that I should not deserve."
And then he saw she was crying quietly. But it was not for the loss of the greater part of her fortune.
"How you must have suffered!" she said, through her tears.
And now the man broke down helplessly and wept like a child.
"I must save him," she said to herself with determination. "If there is no other way, then I must marry Mr. Bennet."
But even while she felt strong enough to carry out her purpose, there was a great cry of desolation in her heart; she tried to still it with the thought that there was something in the world even higher than love.
After Kitty had left Francis Eversleigh she would have preferred to retire to the seclusion of her bedroom, but she knew that if she did so it would cause surprise to her friends and lead them to guess something was amiss. Anxious to spare them, she forced herself to join them in the drawing-room, and sat for an hour, taking her part in the general talk. Then, saying she was rather tired, she withdrew.
Between the making of a heroic resolve likely to cost the maker dear, and the carrying out heroically of all the resolve entails, there is, unless resolve and deed go swift together, room for many changes of feeling not unlike the rising and the falling of waves. Within Kitty's breast the waves rose and fell that night, now bearing her aloft so that the sacrifice of herself seemed easy, now burying her in depths which made it appear impossible.
She did not really waver in her determination; her mind was made up to save the Eversleighs from the calamity which threatened them. What troubled her most was the way in which she should communicate her decision to Gilbert. She knew that he loved her with all the strength and passion of a strong nature, and he knew that she loved him. And now she must tell him that she was not going to marry him, but Bennet, the very man, in fact, against whom she had warned her lover, and whom, she was well aware, he detested. How was she to break the news to him? How tell him so that he would understand her decision was irrevocable?
For one thing, he must not know why she was breaking off their engagement. Francis Eversleigh had assured her that Gilbert was unconscious of Silwood's frauds; indeed, she had not required any such assurance. And she was determined that he should not know from her. She saw, then, that she could give him no explanation. She must just tell him bluntly she had changed her mind. But, in that case, what would he think of her? what must he think of her? And that she should choose Bennet of all men! Gilbert could not but misunderstand her. He must think her deceit itself.
It was this thought, more than any other, that sunk her deep in gulfs of despair.
And then she told herself that this, too—this renunciation of the good opinion of her lover, this misunderstanding she must subject herself to—was part of the price she had agreed to pay to save him and his father from ruin. "And Gilbert," she said in her heart, "will never know what I have done for him. He will deem me fickle, false, base, a cheat and a lie!"
And then a sort of rage came upon her, and she asked why this fate had been thrust upon her; what had she done to be made the victim of such outrageous fortune?
"Why should I suffer thus cruelly?" she cried rebelliously. "Is there no escape?"
She thought of what she had said to Francis Eversleigh—how she would gladly give up her wealth to Bennet if that would satisfy him. And now she remembered that the whole of her fortune was not lost, for there was still a considerable portion of it in Canada. Could she not make a bargain with Bennet? She resolved to try, but she did not believe she would succeed.
If she failed, and she felt she would, and was compelled to agree to marry Bennet, then it would be impossible to stay any longer with the Eversleighs; she must make arrangements for leaving them at once. They, too, would think her hateful and detestable. It was all very bitter!
"Yet they must never know," said Kitty, pondering darkly all these things through the long blank hours.
In the morning she saw Francis Eversleigh alone for a few moments.
"Kitty," he said, in a shaking voice, "you must not sacrifice yourself. It is not right. Tell Bennet to do his worst. We must bear it as best we can."
There was a brave smile in the girl's eyes as she answered him.
"I have decided," she responded. "You need have no fear. If there is no other way, I'll marry Mr. Bennet."
Then she stopped and looked at him earnestly.
"It may not be necessary," she remarked. "Perhaps the money and property I have in Canada will be enough to satisfy him."
"Kitty, Kitty," cried Eversleigh, "I do not know what to say—do not know how to tell you, but I so love and admire you! But you must not blight all your sweet young life for me—it is not right. As it is, you suffer enough at my hands in the loss of the greater part of the fortune your father worked so hard for."
The girl took his hand and pressed it gently.
"I have made up my mind," she said gravely.
Eversleigh, unable to speak, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it.
Punctually at twelve Bennet made his appearance at Ivydene. He found Kitty waiting for him in the shrubbery in front of the house.
"I have come for your answer," he said, without prelude. "Is it Yes or No, Miss Thornton," he asked excitedly.
"Will you listen to me first—just a moment," she pleaded, as she saw the impatient working of his face; "only a moment?"
"Well," Harry replied grudgingly; "what is it?"
"If you will tell me how much Mr. Eversleigh owes you, I will pay it to you—every farthing," replied Kitty.
Bennet shook his head with an almost savage gesture.
"Miss Thornton," said he, "you will not understand me. I have told you that I love you. And all's fair in love and war. I am glad to have this hold on you—glad to think that if it is even against your will I have such a chance of making you marry me, and I shall not relinquish it. Don't you see, Kitty, I should be a fool to give you up?"
"I will give you twice the amount Mr. Eversleigh owes you, if you like."
"It is useless, quite useless, to make any proposition of that kind," said Bennet, who, of course, thought that the girl's money would come to him in any case. "Will you marry me, yes or no?"
"But you know, Mr. Bennet, that I do not love you. You know that I am engaged to Gilbert Eversleigh?"
"Gilbert Eversleigh!" cried Bennet, with a fierce, scowling, threatening expression. "Why should I consider him? He took you from me; if it had not been for him, perhaps you would have loved me. I hate and loathe the very sound of his name. I should like to see him disgraced and ruined, but I am foregoing that gratification because I love you. I would rather marry you than wreak my vengeance on him, and to give up this opportunity of revenge is no slight thing for me to do."
"He has given you no cause for such feelings!"
"Cause enough," said Bennet. "But all this is stupid. For the last time, I tell you that the fate of the Eversleighs is in your power. Will you send Francis Eversleigh to prison, or will you marry me? That is the issue. And you must answer at once; I will be trifled with no longer."
Kitty, however, did not speak.
There was a sudden panic in the girl's heart. She was asking how could she bring herself to marry this man, with his coarseness and brutality.
"It is No, then!" exclaimed Bennet. "You doom your friends to hopeless ruin and infamy."
"Mr. Bennet, the answer is Yes," said Kitty, her voice quivering, but her heart once more steadfast.
"You will marry me?" asked Bennet, a note of joy in his rough tones.
"Yes, to save the Eversleighs."
"You will marry me soon?"
"Mr. Bennet, you must remember that my father has only been dead a few weeks."
"Kitty, now you have promised to marry me," said Bennet, and he spoke with an accent of sincerity, "I will remember anything you like to ask me to remember, for I do love you. But you will not keep me waiting too long?"
Having gained his object, Bennet tried to drop the bully and to become the lover.
"You do love me," said Kitty, scanning his face.
"With all my soul!"
"And yet your love is not strong enough to make you give me up—even when you know I do not love you, and that my love is another's?"
"Oh, I am not that sort of man; I am uncommonly human. When I see my chance I go for it with all my might; and here is my chance come by wonderful luck, and I take it. What an ass I should be not to take it! Do you blame me so much for doing so, when you, Kitty, are the prize to be won?"
Confident now that he had carried the day, Bennet spoke quite pleasantly. He even attempted to put his arm round the girl, but she would not let him.
"Mr. Bennet," she said, the colour burning in her cheeks, "I have promised to marry you, and I shall not break my word, but I do not love you. Pray spare me until—until——" And she stopped with a slight choke.
Bennet swore under his breath.
Aloud he said, "As you please, Kitty," and stood frowning at her heavily.
"My promise to you," Kitty reminded him, "is conditional on your giving Mr. Eversleigh a full discharge from all his indebtedness to you."
"Yes. You shall have the necessary document from me on the day of our marriage; that is fair, is it not?"
"Will you not let me have it now, or very soon?"
"I'm to give everything and get nothing?" asked Bennet. But even as he put this question he told himself there was no danger of the girl going back from her promise, and that he might safely let her have the discharge. Still, if he did so, it must be on terms. So he continued, "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you that discharge the first time you kiss me."
Kitty, though her heart felt like breaking all the while, smiled a wan assent.
"Is it a bargain?" he inquired.
And she nodded.
"You shall have the discharge," cried Bennet, "as soon as it can be prepared. Does that content you?"
"Yes," said Kitty, and there was a pause.
"My proposed marriage to you," said Kitty, speaking again, "will bring about some changes. It is quite plain that I can stay no longer at Ivydene with the Eversleighs—they will not understand why I am acting as I am doing, and, indeed, they must not suspect why it is. I shall have to invent some plea—some excuse. Until I have gone—for I must go—I do not wish them to know that I am to marry you. Francis Eversleigh will know, but none of the rest need know until I have left Surbiton."
"Where do you think of going?" inquired Bennet. "You must not go far away."
"I have a distant relative—a second cousin of my father's—in Yorkshire. She is an elderly lady, and has more than once asked me to pay her a visit. It is to her that I shall go. Indeed, there is no other to whom I could go; she is the only relative that I have in the world."
"Yorkshire is a long way off," said Bennet.
"I can think of nothing else," she said.
"You will let me know what you decide," said Bennet, after an interval of silence.
"Yes. I'll write you. And now good-bye," said Kitty; "I feel tired and worn out."
When Bennet had gone, Kitty braced herself for the painful tasks which lay before her. First of all, she told Mrs. Eversleigh that she was going to Yorkshire next day, and though Mrs. Eversleigh said very little, the girl saw that she was hurt, offended, and greatly mystified. And Helen Eversleigh, Kitty could not but notice, thought her conduct strange. But neither of the Eversleigh ladies pressed her for an explanation, for which Kitty was thankful.
But infinitely the hardest thing was what she should say to Gilbert. She sat down in her room with a sheet of paper before her, but for a long while she could not bring herself to touch her pen. How she wished she could tell him something of the truth—tell him that she was not the false, fickle light o' love he must think her!
Again she had to fight the battle with herself, and again she triumphed.
It was a very short letter, but it was written in her heart's blood.
"Dear Gilbert," it ran, "I have changed my mind. Our engagement must be broken off. I intend marrying Mr. Bennet.—Kitty."
"Dear Gilbert," it ran, "I have changed my mind. Our engagement must be broken off. I intend marrying Mr. Bennet.—Kitty."
Ever since the discovery of Morris Thornton's body in Silwood's rooms, in Stone Buildings, Gilbert Eversleigh had constantly felt that he moved in an atmosphere of mystery, which affected him so closely that he could not but be very uncomfortable. He attempted in various ways to get further light, but without success. Another thing which worried him not a little was the poor health of his father, and the increasing disinclination the latter showed to attend to business. Over against these disquieting circumstances there were to be set Kitty's love for him, and his love for her, which far over-balanced them.
That morning Gilbert, when he awoke, first thought of Kitty, and promised himself that, as he and she had arranged, they would have a long splendid time together that very day.
When he went in to breakfast, a small pile of letters lay on the table beside his plate. He took them up and scanned the writing of the addresses. Of course, he at once recognized Kitty's writing. For a moment he held her letter in his hand, a happy smile on his face, and was about to open it, but he put it down again, saying to himself that he would keep it to the last as a special treat. So he went through the rest of his correspondence, and read it rather slowly, to put off the moment of delight which should be his when he came to the girl's letter.
At last he opened her letter.
"Dear Gilbert," he read. Instantly he was alarmed, for this was not the way she generally began her letters to him. "I have changed my mind," ran the words; his alarm increased. But when he next came to the words, "Our engagement must be broken off. I intend marrying Mr. Bennet," a feeling of stupefaction overcame him. He read the short letter over and over again in a mechanical sort of way, hardly taking in its meaning.
"'I have changed my mind,'" he repeated to himself. "'Our engagement must be broken off. I intend marrying Mr. Bennet.'"
The thing was so sudden that at first it stunned him—he could not believe it.
But there it was in black and white, in Kitty's own writing.
"I have changed my mind!"
There was no mistaking that.
"Our engagement must be broken off. I intend marrying Mr. Bennet," she wrote.
These were her words, and there was no getting away from them.
So everything was at an end between them!
More than that, Kitty was to marry Bennet!
With a sudden movement of anguish and rage, Gilbert crumpled the letter in his hand and threw it from him. He sat for a while staring out of his window, while his mind began to work with incredible swiftness.
Kitty had jilted him—for Bennet!
But Gilbert knew the girl very well, and the first movements of grief, anger, pain, and amazement past, he tried to think the matter out calmly, with the result that he passionately told himself Kitty was no jilt, and there must be something astounding behind her letter. Then he picked up the crumpled sheet of paper from the floor, smoothed it out, and read its contents once more. But there was neither light nor comfort to be got from them.
What could be the explanation of her extraordinary conduct? he wondered, for of course there must be some explanation. Kitty was no shallow flirt, no woman of mere caprice. Why had she done this?
But did her letter afford no hint?
She had not only thrown him over, but she announced she was to marry Bennet—Bennet, of all people in the world! Had she not warned him against this very man? And now she was to marry him!
Why?
As Gilbert sat in his room endeavouring to solve this problem, it seemed to him that he heard Kitty's rich voice saying in low and sincere accents the words—almost the last she had uttered when they were together by the river-side three evenings before, "I feel as if I could not exist without you now, Gilbert."
What could have brought about this mighty change? What sinister, malign influence had cast its spell over her?
As he thought and thought, it appeared to him plain enough that the girl's change of mind must associate itself in some way with Bennet.
"Yet," said he to himself, "I know she loves me even as I love her. She does not love Bennet, whom she declares she now intends to marry. What pressure, in Heaven's name, can Bennet have brought to bear on her? Pressure there must have been, and of the strongest kind, otherwise she would never dream of marrying him. What can it be?"
A little longer he sat asking questions to which he could furnish no answers.
"I shall go to Surbiton," he said at last, "and ask her what she means. She has not forbidden me to see her, and I shall go at once."
But when he reached Ivydene, Kitty was not to be seen; she had left Surbiton by an early train that morning.
He found the house in some confusion, and in answer to his inquiries, he could discover no more than that Miss Thornton had departed for Yorkshire. He saw both his mother and his sister, but could glean very little from them. Both, he noticed, were greatly excited and distressed, but they told him that, beyond saying it was necessary for her to leave, Kitty had offered no explanation.
"I cannot understand it at all," said Mrs. Eversleigh. "Have you no idea of what has occurred to cause her to act in this strange manner, Gilbert?" she asked her son.
"I have not the slightest idea," replied Gilbert. "I got a short note this morning from her. It said nothing about leaving you. She said she had changed her mind with regard to our engagement, and that she was going to marry Mr. Bennet."
"Marry Mr. Bennet?" exclaimed Mrs. Eversleigh, her eyes wide with astonishment. "She did not tell me that. Oh, Gilbert, what does it all mean? My heart misgives me, there is something frightfully wrong! She told us last night, without any warning, that she was leaving us. Of course I did not like to question her—I had no right, and her manner was forbidding. But the poor girl looked very sad and unhappy. I spoke to your father about her, but he was too ill and miserable to discuss the subject, or, indeed, any subject. I did not wish him to go to town to-day; but he said it was most important he should go, and he went."
"Did he appear surprised at Miss Thornton's decision?"
"I cannot say he did. When she told him she was going, he only nodded."
"Do you think he knows why she has gone, and why she is going to marry Mr. Bennet?"
"I asked him these very questions, Gilbert; but he said he could not tell me anything. It is all very strange!"
"Very strange!" cried Gilbert. "It is perfectly maddening!"
"Perhaps you had better see your father," suggested Mrs. Eversleigh.
"Yes; I'll go to him at once," said Gilbert.
"You will be gentle and careful, Gilbert!" urged his mother. "More than once lately I have been forced to think the troubles through which your father has recently passed have been almost too much for him. He is all the time in a state of fever both of body and mind. You will not forget that, my son!"
"Certainly not, mother," replied Gilbert.
Eversleigh had expected Gilbert would come to him, but, up to the moment of seeing him, was uncertain how to act.
Gilbert, when he met his father, began by stating he had received an extraordinary letter from Miss Thornton, in which she broke off her engagement with him, and announced her intention of marrying Bennet.
"As soon as I got the letter," Gilbert continued, "I went over to Surbiton to see her, but when I went there I found she had left the house and gone to a friend in Yorkshire. Mother could tell me nothing, so I have come to you to see if you can help me to some understanding of the matter."
"Did Kitty give you no reason?"
"She merely said she had changed her mind."
"Changed her mind! A woman's reason," said Eversleigh, with a dreary smile.
"Kitty was not that kind of woman," declared Gilbert. "There must have been some powerful reason to make her act in this way."
The young man, his face working, strode up and down the room.
Presently he turned to his father and asked, almost fiercely—
"Can you tell me why this has happened? Do you know why she has broken off with me, and why she is to marry Bennet?"
Eversleigh moved uneasily in his chair, looked at his son with a glance of entreaty, but remained silent.
"Father," said Gilbert, "you do know something! Will you not tell me of it? Have I not a right to know? I appeal to you to tell me everything."
Eversleigh glanced this way and that, like a man seeking some path of escape.
"Father," said Gilbert again; "you must tell me! I love Kitty with my whole soul—she is dearer to me than life, and I cannot resign her without a struggle! I must know what has come between her and me. Can you not help me?"
"Why don't you write Miss Thornton?" asked Eversleigh.
"I shall do so, though the tone of her letter is not encouraging. But do you mean to say you do not know what has made her change her mind?"
Eversleigh tried to speak. A frightful struggle was going on within him. Should he tell Gilbert the whole truth or not? Suddenly he made up his mind, as Gilbert said beseechingly—
"Oh father, will you not tell me what you know?"
"Yes, I'll tell you what I know—all that I know. But how am I to tell it? You will not forget, Gilbert, that I am your father, your most unhappy father, and you must not condemn me utterly."
Condemn!
The word had an ominous sound, and Gilbert felt himself grow cold as he heard his father's words.
"What is it?" he asked, in a hoarse voice.
"Can you cast your thoughts back," said Eversleigh, in a weak and quavering tone, "to a certain Saturday in July, when you were in this office? I had spoken to you of the presence of Mr. Bennet at Ivydene——"
"Remember that day!" broke in Gilbert. "Shall I ever forget it? It was on the evening of that day I proposed to Kitty, and she accepted me. I have more cause than ever now to remember it!"
"That was the day, Gilbert. It was also the day, you will remember, on which we heard that Mr. Thornton was coming back to England. The whole trouble begins with his letter," said Eversleigh, and stopped with a gulp and a choke.
"With Mr. Thornton's letter?"
"Yes," said Eversleigh, trying to fight down his emotion. "Gilbert," he went on more calmly, "I am very sorry to tell you that on the day we received the letter intimating Mr. Thornton's return, I received from Mr. Silwood a confession that he had been speculating with the funds and the property of our clients, and that all had been lost—Mr. Thornton's with the rest."
"What!" cried Gilbert, doubting his senses.
"It is true."
"Father, do you know what you are saying?"
"Alas, yes, only too well! Thornton's letter spoke of making a formal examination of the securities we held of his, and it was this which led Silwood to confess his embezzlements."
"But you had nothing to do with them, father!"
"No; but I need not tell you that in the eye of the law, I, as Silwood's partner, was equally guilty. What I have suffered, what I have endured from that moment, you can never guess; I have lived in a hell of torture. When I knew the truth, I did not know what to do; but I just let myself drift and drift and drift, hoping against hope that somehow or other there might be a way out of the difficulties that beset me. But there has been no way out. Things have gone from bad to worse. There was first Silwood's death, and then the death of Morris Thornton."
Gilbert uttered a sharp cry.
"You thought Silwood murdered Thornton because of the money?" he said.
"Before the inquest I did, but not afterwards. I know no more about that mystery than you. Well, the effect of these two deaths was to give me a respite—I knew it could be at best but a short one, for at any moment some other client might make a demand which, owing to Silwood's defalcations, we should not be able to meet. And, by a devilish chance of fate, Bennet was the man to make that demand. He told us to sell a block of flats belonging to him, and asked us to advance him ten thousand pounds pending the sale."
"And you couldn't!" exclaimed Gilbert, whose head was whirling with what he had heard.
"There was no possibility of getting the money. But that was not the way in which Bennet came to know of our—embarrassments. He took it into his head to go and see the flats—out of a sort of bravado, I think, and there he discovered the flats had been sold a year ago. He came to me, and I was compelled to tell him the flats had been sold without my knowledge by Silwood. You see that placed me in his power; he could have denounced me at once, and I expected nothing else. But he did not act at once; instead, he said he would take a night to think over it. Next day he returned and announced he would not prosecute me, provided I brought about the breaking off the match between you and Kitty, and got Kitty to marry him."
Eversleigh, who had spoken rapidly, now paused; while Gilbert, with swimming eyes, gazed at his father.
"I protested to Bennet," Eversleigh resumed, "that it was impossible for me to do this; my influence was not strong enough. And then he said he would tell Kitty everything, and leave my fate to her. He did tell her everything, and Kitty, to save me from prison, and you and the rest from ignominy, consented to marry him."
Gilbert drew a deep breath.
"So that is how it is?" he said, his voice full of pain. "She has sacrificed herself for us!"
"It is very noble of her," said Eversleigh.
"Noble, yes; it is heroic. But we have no right to expect such a sacrifice from her."
"None whatever. Indeed, I told her so. I urged her to leave us to our fate; but she would not."
Eversleigh looked at his son anxiously.
The young man's face had a strange hopeless expression; but he had taken his father's statement much more quietly than the latter had anticipated. Gilbert made no frantic moan, the calamity of which he had just been apprised went far beyond anything of the kind. It now literally struck him dumb, both with surprise and grief. Kitty gone from him for ever! Kitty, his darling, his wife that was to be! And she had gone in order to save him and his father; and his father was a defaulter!