Lydia knew the hand too well. It was that of her French milliner, Mademoiselle Susanne, to whom she owed a sum which she knew never could be paid out of her own finances. The thought of this debt had been a perpetual nightmare to her. There was no such thing as bankruptcy for a lady of fashion in those days; and it was in the power of Mademoiselle Susanna to put her high-bred creditor into a common prison, and detain her there until she had passed the ordeal of the Insolvent Debtors' Court. Lydia opened the packet with a sinking heart. There it was, the awful bill, with its records of elegant dresses--every one of which had been worn with the hope of conquest, and all of which had, so far, failed to attain the hoped-for victory. And at the end of that long list came the fearful total--close upon three hundred pounds! "I can never pay it!" murmured Lydia; "never! never!" Her involuntary exclamation sounded almost like a cry of despair. Gordon Graham looked up from the newspaper in which he had been absorbed until this moment, and stared at his sister. "What's the matter?" he exclaimed. "Oh, I see! it's a bill--Susanne's, I suppose? Well, well, you women will make yourselves handsome at any cost, and you must pay for it sooner or later. If you can secure Douglas Dale, a cheque from him will soon settle Mademoiselle Susanne, and make her your humble slave for the future. But what has gone wrong with you, my Lydia? Your brow wears a gloomy shade this morning. Have you received no tidings of your lover?" "Gordon," said Lydia, passionately, "do not taunt me. I don't know what to think. But I have played a desperate game--I have risked all upon the hazard of this die--and if I have failed I must submit to my fate. I can struggle no longer; I am utterly weary of a life that has brought me nothing but disappointment and defeat." * * * * * CHAPTER XXXII. A MEETING AND AN EXPLANATION. For George Jernam's young wife, the days passed sadly enough in the pleasant village of Allanbay. Fair as the scene of her life was, to poor Rosamond it seemed as if the earth were overshadowed by dark clouds, through which no ray of sunlight could penetrate. The affection which had sprung up between her and Susan Jernam was deep and strong, and the only gleam of happiness which Rosamond experienced in her melancholy existence came from the affection of her husband's aunt. If Rosamond's existence was not happy, it was, at least in all outward seeming, peaceful. But the heart of the deserted wife knew not peace. She was perpetually brooding over the strange circumstances of George's departure--perpetually asking herself why it was he had left her. She could shape no answer to that constantly repeated question.