nt 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 migh