A shadow had fallen upon her eventful life, one that would never again be lifted.
“Will you have no pity for me?” she implored. “Have you come here with the express intent of goading me to madness?”
“No—simply in order to have a straight talk with you—a chat between husband and wife.”
“Well, we have had it. Take the pearls and go. Get clear away before you are discovered. Bracondale may now be back at any moment,” she added in fear of his sudden return.
“I’m in no great hurry, I assure you,” was his reply, as he seated himself upon the arm of a chair.
“Give me the letter, Ralph. Do—if you please.”
He laughed in her face, his hands stuck in his jacket pockets, as was his habit.
She looked around her with an expression of terror and despair. She listened, for she fancied she heard a footstep.
They both listened, but no other sound could be distinguished.
“A false alarm,” remarked the man. Then, suddenly rising from where he was seated, he placed his hand in his breast pocket, and, drawing out his wallet, took therefrom the well-worn letter.