CHAPTER XX
FINALE
"The earl dead!" murmured Beatrice in a tone of awe. "Death! _That_ was no part of Lorelie's design." And, after a brief pause, she added, "It is the judgment of God."
Awe-struck by the terrible ending of the play the whispering guests began a hurried departure. Idris, however, at Godfrey's suggestion, remained behind.
The body of Olave Ravengar, _un_-lawful Earl of Ormsby, was carried to the chamber usually assigned to the lying-in-state of the dead lords of Ravenhall.
Having attended to this duty Ivar, passing through the entrance-hall, suddenly caught sight of Idris in conversation with Godfrey.
For a moment he stared superciliously at his rival.
"Impostor!" he muttered, with affected indignation. "John! Roger!" he continued, addressing two tall footmen who stood near, "put this fellow outside the park gates."
"Perhaps," said Godfrey, quietly, "as your title is at present in question, it will be well to wait till it be legally ascertained whether you have the right to give orders here."
Ivar scowled, first at the speaker, then at the throng of mute and immovable servants, who showed little disposition to acknowledge his authority.
His mind reverted to Lorelie, the author of this, his downfall: had she chosen to keep his secret he might have retained his usurped rank. She should suffer for this: she at least was his, if Ravenhall were not, and he would exercise his authority by applying a horsewhip to her shoulders. It would be a pleasure to hear her screams! Yes: he would do it, though his father were lying dead in the house. There was an additional pleasure in the thought that by subjecting Lorelie to indignity and humiliation he would be mortifying Idris.
"Where is Lady Walden?" he demanded, turning upon one of the servants. "I must," he continued, with an ugly smile at Idris, "I must have a word with her."
"Your wife--she repudiates the title of Lady Walden--is now at Wave Crest," replied Godfrey. "I am desired by her to state that you will never see her again."
"Indeed?" sneered Ivar, haughtily. "She shall return. A wife's place is by her husband's side."
"That sentiment comes with an ill grace from an adulterer who once offered his wife poison to drink," responded Godfrey.
Ivar grew white to the very lips.
"What do you mean?" he muttered. "O, I see! Some wild accusation of Lorelie's. Honourable gentlemen, ye are!" he continued, with an assumption of dignity that sat somewhat awkwardly upon him. "Honourable gentlemen, to corrupt a wife, and use her as a tool against her husband! This stage-play of to-night, this hypnotizing of my father's mind, this forcing him to utter whatever you wish, has been very finely arranged on the part of you all. It is a plot to deprive me of my rights. You shall hear what my solicitor has to say on the matter. It is one thing to claim an estate, and another to make good the claim."
"Quite so," replied Godfrey, who acted as spokesman for Idris, since the latter was too much bewildered by the novelty and strangeness of his position to say anything: "quite so. And therefore we have invited your solicitor to an interview with us to-morrow morning at ten o'clock in the library, when I trust you will be present, for we shall offer you abundant proofs of our position."
On the following morning Ivar repaired to the library, where he found the late earl's solicitor in company with Idris and Godfrey.
Ivar was well aware that Idris was the rightful heir of Ravenhall. His only hope was that the other might find it impossible to prove the legitimacy of his title. But in this he was quickly doomed to disappointment.
With a face that grew darker and darker he listened to the evidence that had been accumulated by the joint labours of Lorelie and Beatrice. The prior and secret marriage of the old earl, Urien Ravengar, with the village maiden, Agnes Marville: the birth of a child named Eric, together with Idris' legitimate filiation to the latter, were all clearly set forth.
The lawyer was at first disposed to be sceptical, but became fully convinced in the end.
"I fear it is of no use to dispute the evidence," he whispered to Ivar. "Contest the claim and you're sure to lose. Better to appeal to the generosity of your newfound cousin and heir, and try to come to some monetary arrangement with him."
Ivar sat for a few minutes in moody silence. Then, looking up and scowling at Idris, he muttered:--
"If I've got to give up Ravenhall, I may as well go at once. I won't be beholden to that fellow for a roof."
"Surely you will remain till your father's funeral shall have taken place?" said Idris.
"Damn the funeral!" muttered the late viscount, savagely. "What good shall I do myself by waiting for it? Will it bring the governor back to life? I'll not stay here to be pitied, and jeered at, as the discoroneted viscount. You killed my father by your wiles. You yourselves can now bury him."
And with these words he passed through the doorway and was gone: and even the coroner's summons failed to secure his attendance at the inquest held upon the body of the earl. Lorelie was present, and, after giving her evidence, quietly withdrew, accompanied by Beatrice.
But when Idris, a few hours later, called at Wave Crest, he was met on the threshold by Beatrice with the tidings that Lorelie had left Ormsby.
"Where has she gone?"
"Indeed I do not know," replied Beatrice, who looked the picture of grief. "She would not tell me her destination or plans. I did my best to persuade her to stay, but in vain."
* * * * * *
A year after Lorelie's disappearance there occurred in a society-paper a paragraph relative to an event which, however melancholy in itself, could scarcely be viewed by Idris with any other feeling than that of satisfaction. This event was the death of Ivar, who was said to have been carried off by fever in an obscure lodging in London. Inquiries on the part of Idris proved that the story was true: and he found, moreover, that Ivar, in his last hours, had been nursed by a lady whose description answered to that of Lorelie.
The forgiving and generous disposition evinced by this act did but endear her the more to Idris.
But where was she? He was certain that she loved him. Why then did she continue to hide herself?
All attempts on his part to trace her failed completely: and a haunting fear seized him that she had retired for life to the seclusion of a French convent.
Two years went by, and Idris had almost given up the hope of ever seeing her again, when, passing one afternoon by the Church of St. Oswald, he heard the sound of its organ.
Attracted, partly by the music, partly by the thought that it was in this church that he had first set eyes upon Lorelie, he entered the Ravengar Chantry, and sat down to listen.
Something in the style of the music caused a strange suspicion to steal over him. He rose, walked quietly forward, and gazed up at the organ-loft.
The musician was Lorelie!
Screening himself from view he waited till she had finished her playing: waited till she had dismissed her attendant-boy, and then quietly intercepted her as she was passing through the Ravengar Chantry.
She started, and seemed almost dismayed at seeing him.
"I--I did not know you were at Ormsby," she murmured. "I thought you were on the Continent."
"Lorelie, where have you been so long?"
"I have been living in the south of France for the past two years. A few days ago a longing came upon me to see Ormsby once more, and----"
She ceased speaking, and her eyes drooped as Idris gently held her by the wrists.
"And now that you _are_ here," he said, "do you think that I shall ever let you go again? Lorelie, you know how much I love you. Why, then, have you avoided me? But for you I should not now possess a coronet: is it not fair that you should share it?"
"No: Idris, this must not be," she murmured, gently essaying to free herself. "There is one who loves you better than I--one more deserving of your love."
"And who is that?"
"Beatrice."
"And is it on her account that you have absented yourself so long, willing to sacrifice your own happiness to hers? Lorelie, you are too generous. Beatrice is indeed a charming and pretty maiden, and had I never seen you I might perhaps have loved her. I had the conceit that she might be growing fond of me, so I took steps to cure her of the fancy."
"How?" asked Lorelie, with wondering eyes.
"By showing her that there are much finer fellows than myself in existence. With Godfrey's consent I took her to London. At Ormsby I was a hero in her eyes, for there were few here with whom she might measure me: but in London it was different. 'Pretty Miss Ravengar' became quite an attraction in Society. Eligible young men surrounded her, eager for a glance and a smile: and--well--to make my story short, next spring we shall have to address our little Trixie as Lady St. Cyril. She will have half the Viking's treasure as her dowry. And so, you see, my sweet countess----"
Their lips drew near and met in one long, clinging kiss.
In the circle of Idris' arms Lorelie found a refuge from all her past troubles. Fair and clear before her the future lay like a sunny sparkling lake with one barque gliding over it: Idris was the steersman, and she had nothing to do but to lie back on silken pillows, still and happy, and float wherever he chose to direct.
THE END
_By the Author of "The Viking's Skull"_
THE SHADOW OF THE CZAR
By JOHN R. CARLING
Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50. _Fifth Edition_
"An engrossing romance of the sturdy, wholesome sort, in which the action is never allowed to drag," (_St. Louis Globe-Democrat_) best describes this popular novel. "The Shadow of the Czar" is a stirring story of the romantic attachment of a dashing English officer for Princess Barbara, of the old Polish Principality of Czernova, and the conspiracy of the Duke of Bora, aided by Russia, to dispossess the Princess of her throne.
It is not an historical novel--the author makes his own events after the manner of Anthony Hope, and the _Boston Herald_ is of the opinion that it "excels in interest Anthony Hope's best efforts." "Rarely do we find a story in which more happens, or in which the incidents present themselves with more suddenness and with greater surprise," says the New York Sun.
"Mr. Carling has a surprising faculty of making it appear that things ought to have happened as he says they did, and as long as the book is being read he even succeeds in making it appear that they did happen so," says the _St. Louis Star_.
"The Shadow of the Czar" fairly captivated two countries. In England the _Newcastle Daily Journal_ says it "transcends in interest 'The Prisoner of Zenda.'"
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS BOSTON, MASS.
_A Stirring Tale of the Plains_
THE RAINBOW CHASERS
By JOHN H. WHITSON
Author of "Barbara, A Woman of the West," etc.
Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50
Full of the atmosphere of the West, with a cowboy, land speculator, and lover for its hero, Mr. Whitson's new novel, without being in the least a copy, has many of the attractions of Mr. Wister's hero, "The Virginian."
"The Rainbow Chasers" is a virile American novel and treats of the elemental forces of Western life and the results of the great fever of speculation in land. The prairies and forests of the West are the scenes which the author has chosen for a novel which is full of interest and strength.
The characters of the story are vigorous men, men with red blood in their veins, men of action who build up new communities.
_A New Romance by the Author of "The Shadow of the Czar"_
THE VIKING'S SKULL
By JOHN R. CARLING, author of "The Shadow of the Czar," etc. Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50
Mr. Carling has written a spirited story of love and adventure, with an ingeniously constructed plot, which tells how Idris Marville, true Earl of Ormsby, recovered a treasure hidden by one of his progenitors,--a Viking of the Ninth Century,--and how he cleared the memory of his father, who had been wrongfully convicted of murder. There are many powerful scenes in the book and abundant love interest. The whole story is exceptionally strong, dramatic, vivid, and interest-compelling.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS BOSTON, MASS.
_The Story of a Man's Triumph over the Flesh_
THE WOOD-CARVER OF 'LYMPUS
By MARY E. WALLER, author of "A Daughter of the Rich," etc. Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50
The hero of Miss Waller's new story is one of the most powerful and original characters portrayed in recent fiction. Hugh Armstrong, used to a busy out-of-door life, in felling a tree meets with an accident and loses the use of his limbs. At first he finds it impossible to adjust himself to his shut-in life, but a friend suggests wood-carving to him. Through work and love a great change comes over him, and the author has portrayed to us in a powerful manner Armstrong's salvation. The scenes are laid in the Green Mountains of Vermont.
_A New Novel of Present-Day Virginia Life_
WHERE THE TIDE COMES IN
By LUCY MEACHAM THRUSTON, author of "Mistress Brent," "A Girl of Virginia," etc. Illustrated.
12mo. $1.50
In her new story Mrs. Thruston portrays a heroine as charming as her delightful "Girl of Virginia." The scenes of the novel are laid at Norfolk and Portsmouth, and the vicissitudes of the Southern vegetable farmer, who depends on the irrepressible negro, are strongly pictured. The novel is a genuine love-story with a touch of politics, and the Southern atmosphere is delightfully unhackneyed.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS BOSTON, MASS.
_The Story of an American Woman's Summer Abroad_
A WOMAN'S WILL
By ANNE WARNER. Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50
A brilliant and entertaining love-story is this, narrated almost wholly in dialogue, the hero being a German of rank, and a famous violin player and composer, and the heroine, an American widow, whose marriage had been an unhappy one. The charm of the story is in the skilfully drawn characters, the bright dialogue, and the realistic painting of the scenes in which the events take place, Munich, Zurich, and Lucerne.
_A Tale of Norway in the Tenth Century_
THE NORTH STAR
By M. E. HENRY-RUFFIN. Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50
This Viking romance is a tale of love and adventure with King Olaf Tryggveson for the hero. The story opens with a scene at a fair in Ireland, where Olaf meets a beautiful Irish princess, and later changes to Norway, where Olaf returns to be received as King. Such history and legend as have come to us of that time furnish fertile imagination a frame for stirring incident and rapid action.
_By the Author of "The God of Things"_
THE EFFENDI
By FLORENCE BROOKS WHITEHOUSE. With illustrations 12mo. $1.50
The Prologue of this engrossing romance of the Soudan deals with the siege of Khartoum and the death of the hero, Gordon, and the Epilogue with the retribution which England exacted from the Arab hordes. Between the two is placed a dramatic story of love and adventure.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., PUBLISHERS BOSTON, MASS.