"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.