The demand from Bennet was contained in a short letter, and the sum he asked for was ten thousand pounds.

With a curt explanation that a horse on which he had put a great deal of money had disappointed him, he said it was now necessary for him to have this amount immediately. He went on to say that he knew they, his solicitors, had no ready money of his in their hands, but they would undoubtedly be able to advance it on the security of Beauclerk Mansions, which he directed them to sell. However, to sell them to the best advantage might take some time. Would they, therefore, anticipate the proceeds of the sale to the extent of the sum asked for, and repay themselves afterwards when the sale was effected? He was sure that the Mansions would fetch far more than ten thousand pounds.

Though the period had been marked by events so important as to cause it to seem of considerable length, but a few weeks in reality had elapsed since Harry Bennet had proposed to and been rejected by Kitty Thornton. Like all the world, Bennet was not ignorant of what had happened in the Eversleigh circle, but he was completely absorbed by his turf speculations. He had not quite forgotten his purpose of being revenged on Gilbert, but for the time it slumbered.

After Goodwood, all through the month of August, Bennet followed the round of race-meetings with unimpaired zest; sometimes he was successful in his bets, but far more frequently he was a heavy loser. He had soon spent the considerable sum he had made during his Goodwood campaign, and now was hard pressed for funds. He had already managed to dissipate the whole of his once extensive patrimony, with the exception of the large block of flats called Beauclerk Mansions, which he now told his solicitors to put on the market.

In ordinary circumstances there would have been no difficulty in getting an immediate advance on the property, which was worth far more than ten thousand pounds, as Bennet said. But Cooper Silwood had changed all that.

Williamson, who now watched, as a cat a mouse, Eversleigh as he had watched Silwood, had put the letter into his principal's hand with the remark that it was such a pity Mr. Bennet was ruining himself; he seemed bent on going headlong to destruction!

Francis Eversleigh merely nodded, read the letter, and said dully that he would attend to the matter himself presently.

At first he was not without hope that all was well, and that the advance could be procured. But a brief examination showed him that Beauclerk Mansions no longer stood in Bennet's name—they had been sold during the preceding year, as he shortly discovered, by Silwood. Amongst other things, this of course meant that Silwood had forged Bennet's signature. But, at the moment, Eversleigh did not stop to think of it; the one damning fact which stood forth with frightful distinctness was that Beauclerk Mansions were already sold.

"What am I to do?" groaned Eversleigh.

He considered if there was any way by which he could raise the money; but ten thousand pounds is a large sum, even to a rich man, when it has to be put down in cold cash. Still, the credit of the firm was unimpaired, and for a few brief moments Eversleigh permitted himself the luxury of imagining his bankers would advance the amount. But he knew they would not do so without security, and he was certain he had none to offer. Silwood had taken care of that.

"What am I to do? In Heavens name, what am I to do?" Eversleigh asked himself, while his heart seemed to be contracting under the unrelenting grip of a hand of iron.

Ruin, black ruin!

It was coming very near, very near!

And worse than ruin.

Infamy!

Again, as often before, he saw the convict's cell, the desolate home, the wife and children whom he loved for ever disgraced.

The cold sweat of terror, of despair, stood on the brows of the wretched man, who shook and trembled as with palsy. He had a swooning sense that he was standing in the midst of a dissolving world, a wreck amidst a myriad of wrecks all whirling on to some dark abyss. He felt as if his brain were giving way under these repeated shocks; then a merciful blankness and vacuity of thought and impression suddenly descended upon him.

Williamson, coming into the room later, found Eversleigh in a faint stretched across the table.

The head-clerk regarded his principal curiously; then he proceeded, before attempting to resuscitate Eversleigh, to look carefully over the papers lying on the table. Amongst them, however, he saw nothing that was of a specially suspicious character, unless it was Bennet's letter. Having satisfied himself on this point, Williamson next endeavoured to revive his master.

"I am afraid you're trying to do too much," he observed to Eversleigh, when the latter had recovered. "Now that Mr. Silwood is gone, your work is doubled."

"Oh, I'm all right now; it was just a passing weakness," replied Eversleigh. Then he noticed Bennet's letter and glancing from it to Williamson, said, "I must not forget to see about getting the money as soon as possible for Mr. Bennet. I don't suppose there will be much trouble about getting it. But it will take a day or two to arrange."

"In the mean time," asked Williamson, "shall I look out the deeds of the property?"

"No," replied Eversleigh, with a shiver, which he tried to hide successfully; "there will be time enough for that when I have got the advance arranged for."

"Yes, sir; but should not a notice of the sale be drawn up at once, and the matter otherwise put in shape?"

"I am not without hope," said Eversleigh, slowly, "that there may, after all, be no necessity to sell the Mansions. It's a fine property, and it would be a good thing if Mr. Bennet could keep it. A mortgage for the ten thousand may be sufficient. I'll mention that when I write Mr. Bennet to-day."

Williamson bowed and retired, mutely asking himself what was the particular thing or reason that had so affected his principal as to cause him to faint. Could it be, in any way, he wondered, connected with Bennet? No; on reflection, he thought it could not be that, for Eversleigh's references to the matter had been quite natural. Yet the head-clerk opined there must be some reason.

"I believe," he told himself, after long consideration, "the best course for me to pursue would be to resign and get out of it all."

But he did not resign.

That afternoon Eversleigh wrote Bennet a reply in which he stated the loan Bennet required would doubtless be obtained very soon, but two or three days might elapse before the preliminaries were concluded. Then he expressed the hope that a mortgage on the Mansions for ten thousand pounds might be enough to extricate Bennet from his difficulties, and in that case the sale need not be proceeded with. But if the Mansions must be sold, he trusted plenty of time for advertising would be allowed, otherwise they might have to be disposed of at a considerable sacrifice.

In a word, it was exactly the kind of letter a solicitor who had nothing behind in his mind, would write a client in Bennet's position.

Here, again, Eversleigh was playing for a respite; but here, again, he did not deceive himself—he knew that the end was fast approaching.

The bitterness of death took hold of him. When he went home that evening he scarcely touched any food. As soon as dinner was over, he rose from the table, and, saying he would go out for a walk by the river, left Ivydene. For a long time he paced up and down in a great agony of mind. Three courses were open to him. One was to go on as long as possible—till the crash came. The second was to file his petition in bankruptcy, in which case exposure was inevitable. The third lay before him—in the broad bosom of the river gliding past him; a plunge, and all would be over.

The last, as a final solution of all his difficulties, had a strong attraction. It seemed so easy, and called for so small an effort. There was a fascination in the flowing water, in its softly murmurous motion. He looked at the river, and then dared not look longer. It seemed to cry to him, "Come to me! come to me!" Then he strode away from it into the high-road; but it drew him back again, for still he heard it calling, calling, "Come to me! come to me!"

Moving out of the shadows of the trees on the terrace, he walked slowly, listening to that sinister voice, while he looked at the dark spaces of the water where the river lay in its deepest pools.

But as he walked, still within the shadows, he came upon a pair of lovers, and he stopped to watch them.

The lovers were his son Gilbert and Kitty Thornton.

Their faces looked forward along the path, and they did not see the man standing in the shadows. The girl leaned lightly on Gilbert's arm, and was speaking low and softly to him. As she uttered the words, Gilbert patted the little hand that rested on his arm.

On Kitty's face was something that had not been there a month or two before, and which now imparted to it a touch of gravity. Perhaps her face was just a little sad. And yet she was not feeling sad, for the man in the shadows heard her say—

"Oh, Gilbert, it is good to be in love! Life now would not be worth living without love."

A passing boat attracted the attention of the pair, and they stood to observe it. Behind them was Francis Eversleigh.

"I feel as if I could not exist without you now, Gilbert," said the girl, moving on again.

"Nor I without you, darling," answered Gilbert, tenderly.

Then in silence they went on their way.

When they were out of hearing, Francis Eversleigh heaved a great sigh, and followed them with tottering steps. The siren voice of the river had died out from his ears; it called him no longer.

"I must struggle on to the end," he said, and returned to his house.

About noon next day, Bennet, who had pressing reasons for getting at once the ten thousand pounds he had asked for, looked in at 176, New Square, Lincoln's Inn, and requested to see Francis Eversleigh.

"How are you, Harry?" inquired Eversleigh, when he saw him.

Bennet had not seen the other for a considerable time, and he was immensely struck by the altered appearance of the solicitor, so he answered that he was very well, but regretted to notice that Mr. Eversleigh appeared to be in poor health.

"Well," said Eversleigh; "you have no doubt heard I've had much of a painful nature—Mr. Silwood's death and Mr. Thornton's—to try me recently. I have felt these blows very keenly."

"Of course you would," responded Bennet. "About this money, Mr. Eversleigh, I am sorry to trouble you, but I must have it at once."

"At once!"

"Yes, to-day if possible."

"It's not possible."

"Then to-morrow. I should like you to push on with the sale of Beauclerk Mansions. I do not desire a mortgage on the property. It must be sold out-right."

"But, Harry——"

"Pray spare me, Mr. Eversleigh. I know you wish to expostulate with me, and I know the kindness which inspires you to do so, but I have quite made up my mind. Can I have the money to-morrow?"

"I'm afraid not, Harry. It's not so very easy to raise so large a sum in a day or two—there are all sorts of formalities, you know."

"It ought not to be difficult, surely. These Kensington properties are first-rate and should find ready purchasers. And Beauclerk Mansions are in the best situation too. I am certain they must be in splendid order, for I never receive complaints now from the tenants. You remember that two or three years ago the tenants often sent me complaints direct instead of writing to you. Well, there has been nothing of the sort for a long while. I know Mr. Silwood was a splendid manager. What a pity it is you lost him! I haven't been near Beauclerk Mansions for many a month—no need, you know, thanks to Mr. Silwood's ability. I am sorry to lose the property, but go it must. I suppose it will realize thirty or forty thousand, won't it?"

"I dare say it will."

"Then an advance of ten thousand should be easy to get."

"Yes, yes," agreed Eversleigh; "but it will take a few days."

"I must have it to-morrow, sir—to-morrow. I cannot wait any further than that."

"Well, I'll do what I can," said Eversleigh, with a choking gasp; "I'll do what I can."

"I'm certain you will be able to manage it," said Bennet, rising and going to the door. There he stopped and turned to Eversleigh. "Do you know," he said; "I think I'll run down on the Underground to High Street, and take a look at Beauclerk Mansions—a last fond look," he added with a grin and disappeared.

At four o'clock in the same day he was back again at Lincoln's Inn, and there was a strange expression on his face as he climbed the stairs to Francis Eversleigh's room.