"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——"