Then, with a sudden outburst, she gasped, in a low, terrified voice, and putting up her arms with a wild gesture:

"No, no! You must not show that to him. You won't, Ralph--for my sake, you won't. Will you?"

CHAPTER XXV.

TO PAY THE PRICE.

"Well?" asked Ansell, looking at his wife with a distinctly evil grin.

"Well?" she answered blankly, for want of something else to say.

"What will you give me for this letter?" he asked, carefully replacing it in his wallet and transferring it to his pocket with an air of supreme satisfaction.

"I have nothing to give, Ralph."

"But you can find something quite easily," he urged, with mock politeness. "Your ladyship must control a bit of cash-money. Remember, I've already made enquiries, and I know quite well that this man Bracondale is extremely wealthy. Surely he doesn't keep too tight a hold on the purse-strings!"

"I have already told you that I have no money except what Lord Bracondale gives me, and he often looks at my banker's pa.s.s-book. He would quickly ask me where the money had gone to."

"Bah! You are a woman, and a woman can easily make an excuse. He'll believe anything if he is really fond of you, as I suppose he must be.

You wouldn't like him to have that letter--would you, now?"

"No. I've told you that," she replied, her pale, dry lips moving nervously.

"Then we shall have to discuss very seriously ways and means, and come to terms, my girl," was his rough rejoinder.

"But how can I make terms with you?"

"Quite easily--by getting money."

"I can't!" she cried.

"Well, I guess I'm not going to starve and see you living in luxury--a leader of London society. It isn't likely, now, is it?"

"No; knowing you as well as I do, I suppose it isn't likely."

"Ah! You do me an injustice, Jean," he said. "I only want just sufficient to get away from here--to America--and begin afresh a new life. I'll turn over a new leaf--believe me, I will. I want to, but I haven't the cash-money to do it. To be honest costs money."

"Yes," she sighed. "I suppose it does. And to be dishonest, alas! is always profitable in these days, when honour stands at a premium."

"Well, how much can you get for me?" he asked roughly.

"Nothing," she replied, holding out her hands in despair. "Where am I to get money from?"

"You know best, Jean. I don't. All I know is, I want money--and I mean to have it."

"But I tell you I can't get any," she protested.

"You'll have to. You don't want Bracondale to know the truth, do you?"

he asked.

She shook her head. Her eyes were wild and haggard, her cheeks as pale as death.

"Well, look here," he said, again thrusting his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "Give me five thousand pounds, and you shall have your letter. I will be silent, and we will never meet again. I'll go back to America, and give my firm promise never to cross to Europe again."

"Five thousand pounds!" echoed the distracted woman. "Why, I can't get such a sum! You must surely know that."

"You will do so somehow--in order to save your honour."

"What is the use of discussing it?" she asked. "I tell you such a proposal is entirely out of the question."

"Very well. Then you must bear the consequences. If you won't pay me, perhaps Bracondale will."

"What!" she gasped. "You would go to my husband?"

"Husband!" he sneered. "I'm your husband, my girl. And I mean that either you or Bracondale shall pay. You thought yourself rid of me, but you were mistaken, you see," he added, with a hard laugh of triumph.

"I was misled by the newspapers," she said, simply, as she stood with her back against the grey rocks. "Had I not believed that you had lost your life in the Seine I should not have married Lord Bracondale."

"Deceived him, you mean, not married him," he said harshly. "Well, I haven't much time to wait. Besides, that governess of yours may come back. It won't be nice for that little girl to be taken from you, will it?" he said. "But when Bracondale knows, that's what will happen."

"Never. He is not cruel and inhuman, like you, Ralph!" she responded, bitterly.

"I'm merely asking for what is due to me. I find that another man has usurped my place, and I want my price."

"And that is--what?" she asked, after a few minutes' pause, looking him straight in the face.

"Five thousand, and this interesting letter is yours."

"Impossible!" she cried. "You might as well ask me for the crown of England."

"Look here," he said, putting out his hand towards her, but she shrank from his touch--the touch of a hand stained with the blood of Richard Harborne.

"No. I won't hurt you," he laughed, believing that she stood in fear of him. "I want nothing but the cash-money. I'll call at Monplaisir this evening for it. By Jove!" he added. "That's a nice, comfortable house of yours. You've been very happy there, both of you, I suppose--eh?"

"Yes," she sighed. His threat to call at the villa held her appalled.

She saw no way to appease this man, who was now bent upon her ruin. The present, with all its happiness, had faded from her and the future was only a grey vista of grief and despair.

"You know quite well," he went on, "that when you tell me that you can't get money, I don't believe you. You surely aren't going to stand by and see your husband starve, are you? I've had cursed bad luck of late. A year ago I was rich, but to-day I'm broke again--utterly broke, and, moreover, the police are looking for me. That's why I want to get away to America--with your help."

"But don't I say I can't help you?" she protested. "Ah!" she exclaimed, a second later. "You can have my brooch--here it is," and she proceeded to take it from the breast of her white gown.

"Bah! What's the good of that to me?" he laughed. "No. Keep it--why, it isn't worth more than fifty pounds! You surely don't think I'm going to let you have your affectionate letter for that sum, do you?"

"I've got nothing else."