"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." "But you have at home," he urged. "What other jewels have you got?" "Nothing of great value here. The Bracondale jewels are at Bracondale," she replied slowly, after a few seconds' deliberation. "I have nothing much here, except----" And she drew herself up short. "Except what?" he asked sharply. "Nothing." "Oh, yes, you have," he said, in a hard voice. "Now tell me. What have you got of real value?" "I tell you I have nothing." "That's a lie," he declared. "You've got something you don't want to part with--something you value very much."