She was terrified almost out of her senses. To many women it would have
occurred to sell or pledge their jewels, to change diamonds for paste.
She thought of none of these things. Lord Ridsdale had gone to Paris,
she could not ask him, and Lady Atherton was at her wits' end.

She learned, however, that she was too fearful, that he was trading on
her alarm, that he could not bring an action against her, because at the
time that promise had been given she was a ward and not of age. She
wrote and told him that his threat was in vain.

It was the answer to that question that drove her from home a fugitive,
that exiled her from all she loved, that drove her mad with terror.

He wrote to her and admitted that her argument was perfectly just, that
perhaps in strict legal bounds he could not maintain such an action;
but the shame and exposure for her, he told her, would be none the less.

"If you persist in your refusal," he wrote, "I shall go at once to Lord
Atherton. I will show him those letters, and ask him in justice to give
me some share of the fortune he has deprived me of. I shall read every
word to him, and tell him all that took place; he may judge between us."

The letter fell from her nerveless hands, and Marion, Lady Atherton,
fell on her knees with a cry of despair. She was powerless to help
herself, she could do nothing, she could get no more money; and even if
she could of what avail? If she sent this, in a few weeks or months at
the farthest, he would renew his demand, and she could not do more. The
sword must fall, as well now as in a year's time; besides, the suspense
was killing her. The long strain upon her nerves began to tell at last.