An agreement had been made between them that some little time should
elapse before Allan put his long-cherished scheme into execution.
Nothing, Adelaide assured him, could have answered his purpose better
than Marion's marriage with the wealthy Lord Atherton.
"You will be able to get what you like from her, Allan. I am told she
worships her husband. Those letters will be worth a fortune, after all.
Now see what it is to have a clever sister."
They allowed her, poor child, some short dream of happiness; she was
lulled into perfect security when the blow fell. As Lady Atherton of
Leigh her position was second to none. Her husband owned half the
county; she was queen of the whole of it. She was beloved, popular and
admired; her husband worshiped her; her friends held her in highest
honor and esteem. To Lord and Lady Ridsdale she had grown dear as a
child of their own. She was at the height of human felicity; there was
nothing on earth left for her to desire. Sometimes, when she heard of
the misery resulting from very unequal or loveless marriages, she would
raise her beautiful face to heaven and thank God that she had been
preserved from the snares of her youth. She heard quite accidentally
from some one, who had been purchasing a picture, that Allan Lyster was
abroad, and she decided, in her own most generous mind, that when he
returned he should have an order that would please him. But he did not
return, and from her old friend, Adelaide, she had heard no single word
since her marriage.
There were great rejoicings when her little son and heir was born; the
only fear was lest the child should be absolutely killed by the great
amount of affection and caresses heaped upon it. Lord Atherton's
happiness was complete, Lord and Lady Ridsdale were delighted with the
beautiful princely boy, and his mother absolutely worshiped him.
It was when the little heir of Leigh was about a year old that the blow
fell on his beautiful mother. She was seated one morning in her
luxurious dressing-room, a scene of splendid confusion and brilliant
coloring that would have enchanted an artist, herself more lovely than
ever, for the promise of her girlhood had developed into magnificent
womanhood. Jewels of great value lay on the toilet-table, costly dresses
were lying about. The nurse had just been in with baby, and nothing
would please baby but playing with his mamma's beautiful golden-brown
hair. Of course his wish must be gratified. The diamond arrow that
fastened the heavy coils was withdrawn, and the glorious wealth of hair,
in all its shining abundance, fell in picturesque disorder. Then Lord
Atherton entered to ask his wife some question about the day's
proceedings, and he told her she looked so lovely he would not let the
beautiful hair be touched. My lord withdrew, leaving his wife's face
flushed with pleasure at his praises. Then came the maid, and she
brought in her hands some letters that had just arrived. Lady Atherton
laid them down carelessly; there was nothing, she thought, that could
possibly interest her.
Presently she took up the letters, and then all her indifference
vanished, the love light died from her eyes, the smile from her lips.
She knew the handwriting. One of those notes was from Allan Lyster.
She hastily opened it, and, as she read, all the color faded from her
sweet face. The folly and sin of her ignorant girlhood were finding her
out.
"I have but just returned from abroad," he wrote, "where I have been for
more than two years, and I am completely overwhelmed by the intelligence
that awaited me. You are married, Marion! You, who promised so
faithfully to be my wife. You, whose letters to me contain that promise
given over and over again. It is too late to ask what this treachery
means. I have by me the letter you wrote, asking for your freedom, and I
have the copy of mine absolutely refusing it. I told you then that I
should hold you to your promise, and you have disregarded my words.
"Marion, I must have compensation. It is useless talking to one like you
of love. You throw aside the poor artist for the rich lord. You must pay
me in your own coin, in what you value most--money. You have wronged me
as your promised husband. I had some right to your fortune, as your
duped and deserted lover. That right still remains. I claim some portion
of what ought to have been all mine.
"I am in immediate and urgent want of a thousand pounds. That is very
little for one who ought, as your husband, to be at this moment the
master of Hanton Hall and its rich domain. However, for a time, that
will content me; when I want another I will come to you for it. I will
not call at your house; you can send me a check, bank note, or what you
will.
"I do not wish to seem harsh, but it is better to tell you at once that
if you refuse any money request of mine at any time I shall immediately
commence proceedings against you. I shall bring an action for breach of
promise of marriage, and all England will cry shame on the false,
mercenary woman who abandoned a poor lover, to whom her troth was
plighted, in order to marry a rich lord. All England shall despise you.
For your child's sake, I counsel you to avoid an exposure."
She read those terrible words over and over again. Suddenly the whole
plot grew clear to her. It was for this they had schemed and plotted.
Not for love of her, but to make money out of her, to trade upon her
weakness and folly, stain her character, her fair name, her happiness,
the love of her husband and child, the esteem of her friends. All lay in
their hands. They could, if they would, make her name, that noble name
which her husband bore so proudly, a subject of jest all over the world.
She could fancy the papers, their paragraphs, their remarks, their
comments. She could almost see the heading:
"Action for Breach of Promise against Lady Atherton." How the Radicals,
who hated her husband for his politics, would rejoice! Even in the years
to come, when her child grew to man's estate, it would be as a black
mark against him that his mother had been the subject of such vulgar
jest. Her husband would never bear it. He would leave her, she was sure.
Ah! better pay a thousand pounds over and over again than go through all
this.
Yet it seemed a large sum; not that she cared for it, but how could she
get it without her husband's knowledge? By her own wish, all money
affairs had been left in his hands; he would wonder when he looked at
her check book why she had drawn so large a sum; better write out checks
of a hundred pounds each.
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.