"I cannot think," he said to himself, "why she does not send."
At that moment he heard a sharp ring at the door bell.
"That is the messenger," he said to himself, triumphantly, "and it is quite time, too."
But it was a man's heavy footstep that mounted the stairs, and when Allan Lyster looked anxiously at the door, he was astonished to see Lord Atherton enter, carrying a thick riding whip in his hand.
He sprang obsequiously from his chair.
"I am delighted to see you, my lord," he began, but one look at that white, stern face froze the words on his lips. Lord Atherton waved his hand.
"I want those letters, sir!" he cried, in a voice of thunder—"those letters that you have, holding as a sword over the head of my wife!"
"What if I refuse to give them?" replied Allan.
"Then I shall take them from you. I have read this precious epistle, in which you threaten to show them to me. Now bring them here."
"I am not accustomed, my lord, to this treatment."