"So Morris Thornton comes next week," he said to himself when alone--"next week--next week. The time is short--very short--and there is much to do." Silwood, to all appearance, went on with his work as usual, but in reality he was thinking out the situation. What, he asked, did Francis Eversleigh mean by absenting himself from the office--the plea of illness was transparently absurd; and did he intend to go on absenting himself? That could not be allowed, thought Silwood; it would never do. And Thornton was to be in London next week! Silwood, therefore, resolved to go to Surbiton that afternoon to see Eversleigh. His resolve did not need any strengthening, but something occurred which would have supplied it had it been required. This was the receipt of a telegram from Harry Bennet, telling the firm that he had passed a demand draft on it for two thousand pounds. Silwood, having explained to Ernest that he particularly wished to see his father, not only to see how he was, but also to consult him with respect to Bennet's affairs, accompanied the young man to Ivydene. Silwood had not seen Francis Eversleigh since he had made his confession to him on the Saturday forenoon, and even his phlegm was disturbed by the change worked in twenty-four hours on Francis, who looked broken and seriously ill. The meeting was an intensely painful one to Eversleigh; indeed, he thought at first of declining to see Silwood, but changed his mind. Silwood saw Eversleigh in the latter's bedroom. "Francis," said he, in a stiff, formal tone, "I am very sorry to see you like this. You take things too much to heart. It's a bad blow, I know--a terrible blow. I can't tell you how bitterly I regret what I've done--how I repent of it." Eversleigh looked at him strangely. Ever since Silwood had confessed his guilt there had been moments when Eversleigh felt he could murder Silwood. And now that Silwood was before him, he fiercely asked himself why he should not kill like a rat this man whom he had trusted so implicitly, and who had betrayed that trust so shamefully. Did the man not deserve death? Was anything too bad for him? And these questions were in his eyes as they fixed themselves on Silwood. "I don't suppose you came here," he said, in a strained voice that had a curious hissing sound about it, "to tell me this." "To tell you this, Frank," observed Silwood, meeting fully the other's gaze, "and other things too." "What other things?" he asked hoarsely, glancing away from Silwood. Already his impulse of murder was passing away from his wavering mind; he was telling himself that if he killed Silwood the lot of his wife and family would only be the more desperate. Silwood all the while was regarding him intently. He was trying to read Eversleigh's mind, and he came to the conclusion that Eversleigh was capable of committing suicide or some other rash act.