"Well," she said at last, "though you married me, Ralph, you never had a spark of affection for me. Do you recollect the last night that I was beneath your roof--your confession that you were a thief, and how you raised your hand against me because I begged you not to run into danger. How----?" "Enough!" he interrupted roughly. "The past is dead and gone. I was a fool then." "But I remember it all too well, alas!" she said. "I remember how I loved you, and how full and bitter was my disillusionment." "And what do you intend doing now?" he asked defiantly. "Nothing," was her reply. Truth to tell, she was nonplussed. She saw no solution of the ghastly problem. "But I want money," he declared, fiercely. "I have none--only what my husband gives me." "Husband! I'm your husband, remember. I tell you, Jean, I don't intend to starve. I may be well dressed, but that's only bluff. I've got only a few pounds in the world." "I see," she said. "You intend to blackmail me. But I warn you that if those are your tactics, I shall simply tell Bracondale what I know concerning Richard Harborne." "You will--will you!" he cried, fiercely, advancing towards her threateningly. "By Heaven, if you breathe a word about that, I--_I'll kill you_!" And in his eyes shone a bright, murderous light--a light that she had seen there once before--on the night of her departure. She recognised how determined he was, and drew back in fear. Then, placing his hand in his jacket pocket, he drew forth a small leather wallet, much worn, and from it took a soiled, crumpled but carefully-preserved letter, which he opened and presented for her inspection. "Do you recognise this?" he asked, with a sinister grin. She drew back and held her breath. "I'll read it," he said with a triumphant laugh. "I kept it as a souvenir. The man you call husband will no doubt be very pleased to see it." Then he read the words: "_In spite of my love for you, Ralph, I cannot suffer longer. Certain hidden things in your life frighten me. Farewell. Forget me._--JEAN." For a few seconds she was silent. Her face was white as paper. 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."