The first result of this was that Deakin came rushing up to London. He had seen Bennet, who, wild with rage and defeated spite, had ordered him to go and see what was the meaning of this change of front on the part of the Eversleighs. "Mr. Bennet," said Deakin, "is the most reckless man I ever saw. He behaves like a lunatic, and says the most mad things. He tells me--of course, I know it is absurd--that he can send Mr. Francis Eversleigh to prison for embezzlement, and he demands again that Mr. Gilbert Eversleigh appear for him at his trial." It was Ernest Eversleigh to whom Deakin spoke. Ernest, acting on the advice of Gilbert, told Deakin in confidence as much of the facts as was necessary, winding up by saying-- "My father, no doubt, might still be proceeded against, but he is out of his mind. Besides, I offer the fullest compensation. Taking these two things together, is there need to say more?" "I should say not," replied Deakin, without a moment's hesitation. And back Deakin went to York, and acquainted Bennet with what he had learned. For a time Bennet refused to believe what Deakin had told him about the recovery of the money from Silwood, but when at last he was convinced of it, he fell into a great surly silence, from which he could not be drawn. When Deakin spoke of obtaining the services of an eminent counsel for his defence, Bennet made no reply. Instead of giving way to anger, as he usually did when he heard anything that displeased him, he sat gloomy and sullen. After trying for ten minutes to get a word out of him, and failing, Deakin left the prison. Next morning he received a hurried summons to the Governor of the Prison's room, and there he heard that Bennet, in spite of the fact that he was constantly watched night and day, had somehow managed to open a vein in his arm and had bled to death in the night. "The warder, who was guarding him at the time," said the Governor, "saw him lying on his bed fast asleep, as he supposed; when it was daylight blood was noticed on the floor, and then it was found that Bennet was dead." "But how did he get an instrument with which to open a vein in his arm?" asked Deakin, aghast. "The surgeon says," answered the Governor, "that the vein was bitten open. The act was done with great determination. You saw him yesterday, I believe; was there anything in what you told him to account for the deed?" "I brought him news that greatly disappointed him, but nothing to account for this. Poor devil!" But Deakin did not know all. When Bennet's death became public, there were many who said he had cheated the gallows, and few mourned for the lost life and the career gone fatally wrong. Even Kitty Thornton, in her kind heart, could not sincerely say she was sorry he was dead. Indeed, in the years that came after, she never thought of Harry Bennet without growing quiet and pensive far beyond her wont, as she reflected how, in one way and another, she had been saved from him.