She did so, and sent them.  Just as she was folding the paper that enclosed them a grand inspiration came to her—­an impulse to go to her husband and tell him all.

He would find some means of saving her, she was quite sure of that.  Then the more cowardly, the weaker part of her nature, rose in rebellion.  She dared not, for, if she did, he would never love her again.  So she sent the thousand pounds, and then there was an interval of peace.  Yet not peace for her; the sword was suspended over her head, and any moment it might fall.  She grew thin, restless and nervous; her husband and all her friends wondered what ailed her; her manner changed, even her beautiful face seemed to grow restless and pale.

Then came the demand for a second thousand.  Having tasted the luxury of spending what he liked and living without work, Allan Lyster was entranced with his triumph.  He had taken rooms in a very expensive and fashionable locality, he bought a horse, and set up a private cab, with a smart little tiger.  He entered one of the fashionable clubs, and people began to say that he had had money left him.  If any one of the gentlemen who met him and touched his hand, had but known that he was trading on a woman’s secret, they would have thrashed him with less remorse of conscience than if they were punishing a mad dog.

Then the third thousand was asked for, and Lady Atherton was at a loss where or how to get it; her husband had already rallied her about the large sums of money she spent, and she was obliged to have recourse to means she disliked for procuring it.

CHAPTER XIII.

There came a day when Lady Atherton could no longer meet the demands made upon her; the estate near Hanton was to be sold, and her husband wished to purchase it.

“A little economy for one year,” he said to his wife, “and we shall do it easily.  You will not mind being careful for one year, Marion?”

She told him, what was perfectly true, that she would deprive herself of anything on earth for his sake.  He laughed.

“There will not be much privation needed, for one who has spent three thousand pounds in six months.  I shall have to give my little wife some lessons in economy.”

It was hard, for on her own self she had not spent one shilling.  Another time she was greatly distressed what to say—­her husband complained of her dress.

“Marion,” he said, “it seems absurd to say, but, my darling, you are positively shabby—­that is, for one in your position.  How is it?”

She did not tell him that she could not purchase more dresses, or, rather, would not until Madame Elise was paid.  Her face flushed, and Lord Atherton smiled.

“You need not carry economy too far,” he said; “it is very good of you to take so great an interest in me, Marion, but you must not go to these extremes.  You had five hundred pounds yesterday; go and get some pretty, elegant dresses suitable for Lady Atherton.”