Idris accompanied her, nominally3 as her escort, in reality consumed with the longing4 to meet Lorelie again. True wisdom told him that he was but tormenting5 himself in thus seeing her, that the better way was to avoid her altogether: but he found this latter course impossible: he despised himself for his weakness, yet as the moth6 is attracted by the light so was Idris attracted by the fascinating personality of Viscountess Walden.
On arriving at The Cedars7 Beatrice was received in a manner so gracious and winning that her misgivings were immediately put to flight.
"We are cousins, you and I," said Lorelie, kissing her affectionately, "and must ever be good friends."
Beatrice, quick to read character, could tell that the other was really desirous of her friendship: and as she recalled her unjust suspicion she felt full of a guilty shame, and was almost tempted8 to fall upon her knees, confess her fault, and beg for pardon.
Aware of the circumstances under which Lorelie and Idris had last parted, Beatrice viewed their greeting of each other with an interest that was almost painful to her, and the viscountess knowing that she was watched, extended to Idris the dignified9 courtesy that she might[Pg 210] have extended to a stranger, though all the time she was inwardly tormented10 lest Idris should think her unduly11 cold. None but herself knew how her heart was pulsating12 beneath her calm exterior13. She was not to be blamed, she argued, for the feeling that had sprung up self-originated within her breast. Action and tongue may be controlled: thought never. So long, then, as she controlled her words and action, what more was required of her? What more? A secret voice seemed to say, "Never to see Idris again!"
They sat on the veranda14 conversing15 on various topics, and as Beatrice listened to the charming words and the sweet laugh of the viscountess, and contemplated16 her brilliant beauty, she no longer wondered that Idris should have fallen in love with her.
During the course of the conversation some details of Lorelie's history became revealed.
She was now twenty-three years of age, and had been born at Nantes in the same year in which her father, Captain Rochefort, had aided Eric Marville to escape from the Breton prison. Her father she had never known, nor had he ever been seen again by Madame Rochefort after his flight in the yacht Nemesis17.
When Lorelie was sixteen years of age her mother died, leaving to her an income sufficient with economy for her maintenance. Henceforward she had led a solitary18 independent life, content with her books and music. In her twenty-first year she met Lord Walden at Monaco.
They were married privately19, and while the earl supposed his son to be carrying on the course of study requisite20 for the diplomatic profession, that son was in reality quietly celebrating his honeymoon21 on the Riviera.
After a few months of wedded22 life Lorelie suddenly conceived the purpose of visiting Ormsby, though her[Pg 211] husband was opposed to the idea. By preconcerted arrangement she took up her residence at The Cedars, some weeks prior to Ivar's home-coming, lest their coincident arrival should give rise to suspicion.
And here she remained, concealing23 her rightful name and rank in compliance25 with Ivar's wish, and waiting till a favourable26 opportunity should arrive for making the marriage known to the stern old earl.
Secret contempt stole over Idris at the course pursued by the viscount. A man might be very well content to brave his father's anger and the loss of an estate, however splendid, for such a wife as Lorelie. By some subtle process of telepathy his thoughts communicated themselves to her, and knowing that he would not have hesitated at such sacrifice, the viscountess trembled and durst not meet his glance, lest he should read in her eyes more than he ought. Contrary to the proverb the third person on this occasion was not de trop. Lorelie felt grateful for the presence of Beatrice, and clung to her as to a protecting angel.
"May I add one to this pleasant trio?" said a new voice, breaking in upon them: and, looking up, Idris caught the suspicious glance of the man whom he was striving not to hate—Lorelie's husband!
Lord Walden coldly acknowledged Idris' presence, smiled at Beatrice, and still keeping up the pretence27 of being merely a personal friend of Lorelie's, was addressing her as "Mademoiselle Rivière," when Beatrice intervened with, "Why disguise the truth, Cousin Ivar? We know that there is no Mademoiselle Rivière now."
"Ah! then that makes it much more pleasant for all concerned."
But though he spoke29 thus, there was on his face a look that showed he was not over-pleased to learn that the truth had become known.
[Pg 212]
"You may rely upon our secrecy," added Beatrice, thinking to put him at his ease.
"I trust so," replied Ivar, coldly.
He took a seat beside Lorelie, and proceeded to roll a cigarette, remarking as he did so, "You do not object?"
Lorelie assented30 with a smile that evoked31 the jealousy32 of the foolish Idris. If a woman may not smile upon her husband, upon whom may she smile?
Concluding that he and Beatrice were better away, Idris now arose, but Lorelie opposed their departure.
"Going after so short a stay?" she remonstrated33. "Now you are here you must remain for the evening, and—and Mr. Breakspear as well," she added, glancing at Idris.
Her manner was so persuasive34 that the two visitors lacked courage to refuse the invitation. Thinking, however, that the viscount and his wife might wish to exchange confidences, Idris offered his arm to Beatrice and invited her to a stroll through the grounds that surrounded the villa35.
As Beatrice withdrew leaning on the arm of Idris and blushing at some compliment of his, Lorelie glanced after them with a touch of envy in her eyes. Her days for receiving such attentions were over: her husband had ceased to be her lover. She could not avoid contrasting the appearance of the two men—Ivar's pallid37 face and languid air with Idris' healthful bronzed complexion38 and splendid physique. There was a difference of ten years in their ages: and though Ivar was scarcely past twenty, his face bore signs of dissipation—signs which his wife perceived with surprise and sorrow.
No sooner were Idris and Beatrice out of earshot than Ivar turned a frowning countenance40 upon his wife.
"Why have you told them of our marriage?"
"It was necessary, Ivar."
[Pg 213]
As she recalled the occasion of its disclosure a faint colour tinged41 her cheek; and Ivar, though not usually a quick-witted person, immediately suspected the cause.
"Necessitated42 by that fellow's making love to you, I presume?" he said, eyeing her keenly.
"Free! that's a good word."
"So long as I am supposed to be unmarried," she continued, correcting her expression, "so long shall I be liable to receive attentions from other men. You can easily remedy this by making our marriage known."
"O, harping44 on that string again," said Ivar impatiently. "It's out of the question—at present. The governor would never forgive me for marrying a woman of no family, especially," he added, with something like a sneer45, "especially a woman who admits that there is a shadow on her name."
There was a flash of resentment46 in the eyes that were turned suddenly upon him.
"You can bear me witness it was before our marriage and not after that I confessed to having a secret."
"You would not tell me its nature."
"No: nor ever shall," replied Lorelie, with a hardening of her features. "You were willing to take me as I was, and to ask no questions as to my past. You promised never to refer to my secret. But—how often have you reproached me with it?"
Ivar smoked on in moody47 silence. It was true he had given no thought to her secret in his first glow of passion. A slave to sensuality he had married Lorelie for her beauty, not knowing who or whence she was, ignorant even that her true name was Rochefort. Now that her beauty was beginning to pall36 upon him, a fact he took little pains to disguise, this secret that darkened her past[Pg 214] began to trouble him. What answer was he to give to the editors of "Debrett" and "Burke," when interrogated48 as to his wife's family?
"Ivar," Lorelie continued earnestly, "your visits here are beginning to be noticed. My character is becoming exposed to suspicions. You will let the world know that I am your wife, will you not?"
No true man could have resisted the appealing glance of her eyes, the pleading tone of her soft voice; but Ivar, being no true man, was proof against both.
"Impossible, at present," he frowned. "I have raised you from comparative poverty to affluence49; I have surrounded you with luxury, and, by heaven! you little know at what cost, and at what risk to myself! I have made you my wife: be content with that. You will be a countess some day; think of your future triumph over those who slight you now. If people talk, you must put up with it, or go away from Ormsby. It was against my wish that you came here. But your vanity is such that you must feast your eyes daily upon your future heritage of Ravenhall."
"It was neither the desire to see the Ravengar lands, nor the wish even to be near you, that drew me to Ormsby, but a very different motive50."
"It is a part of the secret of my life. But, being here, here I remain. And, Ivar, I must be acknowledged," she added firmly.
"Of course: you are burning to exhibit yourself as Viscountess Walden; to shine in ancestral diamonds; to reign52 at Ravenhall; to be queen of the county-side; to be courted and admired at fêtes and balls."
"No, Ivar, no; I care nothing for these things, but much for the name of wife. To think that I must plead[Pg 215] with my own husband to redeem53 my name from reproach! What have you to fear from your father's anger? As you are his legitimate54 and only son he cannot deprive you of the title, even if he would; as to the Ravengar estate, that is entailed55, and must therefore descend56 to you. Of what, then, are you afraid?"
"It is true that the original estate, the estate of the first earl, is entailed; but since his day the Ravengar lands have more than doubled. These later acquisitions the governor can dispose of as he will. If I offend him he may make them over to some one else, to Beatrice for example, since she is a great favourite of his."
"That's a temptation with me to reveal our marriage," said Lorelie with a smile. "One half of the Ravengar estate would form a pretty dowry for her and Mr. Breakspear."
"Her and Breakspear?" Ivar repeated. "Is it your wish, then, that he should marry Beatrice? That fellow may have saved your life," he added darkly, "but it doesn't follow that you must seek to reward him with the hand of my cousin."
"Events are shaping themselves that way," Lorelie remarked quietly, with a glance at the distant Beatrice, who was laughing gaily57 while Idris bent58 over her. "And really it can be no concern of yours whom she marries."
"She is a Ravengar," replied Ivar, loftily. "There is the family name to be considered. Pray, who is this insolent59 Breakspear, that first makes love to you, and now aspires60 to Beatrice?"
"Mr. Idris Breakspear——" began Lorelie, and then she stopped, surprised at the look upon Ivar's face.
"Idris!" said the viscount quickly. "Is his name Idris?"
"Yes, why?"
[Pg 216]
"O, nothing. It's an uncommon61 name, that's all." With a half-laugh, he added, more to himself than to Lorelie: "Idris Breakspear. Humph! Now if it were Idris Marville!"
It was now Lorelie's turn to be surprised. Till this moment she had been unaware62 that the name of Idris Marville was known to her husband.
"But, Ivar," she answered quietly, "Marville, and not Breakspear, happens to be his true name."
Lord Walden stopped short in his smoking, took the cigarette from his lips, and stared open-mouthed at Lorelie with a look very much like fear upon his face.
"What do you say?" he muttered hoarsely63. "Idris Marville. But, bah!" he continued, an expression of relief clearing his features: "that can't be the fellow I have in mind. My Idris Marville died at Paris seven years ago."
"And so did he—in the newspapers. For a reason of his own he let the world think that he had perished in a hotel-fire."
At this statement Ivar's agitation64 became extreme. The cigarette dropped from his fingers; his face became livid.
"Why should his being alive trouble you?" asked Lorelie, looking in wonder at her husband.
For some moments Ivar hesitated, and when at last his answer came, Lorelie intuitively felt that he was not stating the true cause of his disquietude.
"You would marry that fellow to Beatrice?" he said, moistening his dry white lips. "Why he is the son of a—a—felon65: his father was tried for murder at Nantes, and found guilty."
"Have you made a point of studying the bygone criminal trials of France? If not, how have you learned this?"
[Pg 217]
"I heard the story from—from my father," replied Ivar slowly, as if reluctant to make the admission.
At this Lorelie gave a very palpable start. A curious light came into her eyes. She seemed as if struck by some new and surprising idea.
"And how came he to learn it?"
"He was in Brittany at the time of the trial, and could not avoid hearing all about it. The crime created, as newspapers say, a great sensation. For weeks the people of Nantes talked of little else."
"Your father's ten years' absence from Ravenhall was spent in Brittany, then?"
"A portion of the time," replied Ivar, evidently uneasy under his wife's catechism.
"And so this murder-trial," observed Lorelie, with a thoughtful air, "this trial which took place so far back as twenty-seven years ago—that is before you and I were born—has formed a topic of conversation between yourself and your father. What necessity led him to talk of the matter to you?"
"What has brought that fellow to Ormsby?" he said, nodding his head in the direction of Idris.
"He is trying to discover his father; for he believes, rightly or wrongly, that Eric Marville is still alive. He has traced him to this neighbourhood," she added, her eyes attentive67 to every variation in Ivar's countenance.
"And here he may end his quest," said the viscount, "for Eric Marville was shipwrecked off this coast and drowned many years ago. At least, that is my father's statement," he added in some confusion, and looking like a man who has been unwittingly betrayed into a rash statement.
"What was the name of the vessel70 in which Eric [Pg 218]Marville went down?" asked Lorelie, speaking as if she had never before heard of it.
"The—The Idris," returned the viscount, giving the name with obvious reluctance71.
There was on Lorelie's face a smile that somehow made Ivar feel as if he had walked into a net prepared for him.
"Twenty-two years ago."
"Twenty-two years ago," murmured Lorelie, with the air of one making a mental calculation, "will take us back to 1876."
"October the thirteenth, 1876, if you wish for the exact date."
"And was it not on this same night of October the thirteenth, 1876, that your father the earl walked into Ravenhall after a mysterious absence of ten years?"
"What of that?"
"O nothing! Mere28 coincidence, of course. And so," continued Lorelie, with a retrospective air, "and so the foundering72 of the yacht Idris is another of the little matters about which your father has conversed73 with you. Strange that a peer of the realm should take such interest in the fate of an escaped felon!" She paused, as if expecting Ivar to make some reply, but he did not speak. "Well," she went on, "I will make the confession74 that I, too, take an interest—a strong interest—in this Eric Marville; nay75, I will go so far as to say that to discover what ultimately became of him is one of the objects that has led me to Ormsby. And in pursuance of this object I have had the good fortune to obtain from its present editor a copy of The Ormsby Weekly Times, dated October 20th, 1876, in which paper there is given an account both of the foundering of the yacht and also of[Pg 219] the inquest upon the bodies that were washed ashore76. Now, as the coroner was unable to ascertain77 either the name of the vessel, or the names of any of the men aboard, is it not a little curious that the earl should know that the yacht was called Idris, and that it carried on board one Eric Marville? How comes your father to know more than could be elicited78 in the coroner's court?"
"Well, I must controvert81 your father on one point. Eric Marville was not drowned. I have proof that he was on shore at the time the yacht sank."
The viscount was obviously startled by this statement.
"Oh! then what became of him?"
"Have I not said that I am trying to find out?"
"No one has heard of him by the name Marville, of course. He would not be likely to adhere to a name that would suggest reminiscences of the felon from Valàgenêt. He perhaps resumed his old family name."
"His old family name," repeated Ivar. "What is your reason for supposing that Marville was not his true name?"
"Because it does not appear among the list of names in the peerage."
"The peerage?"
"Do you not know that Marville claimed to be a peer of the realm?"
The viscount smiled, but it was obvious that he was ill at ease.
"Felon in Brittany; peer in Britain. A likely story that! Odd that the detectives and journalists did not discover the fact at the time of his trial."
"It is odd, as you say, Ivar. He certainly kept his[Pg 220] secret well. I do not think he revealed it even to his wife."
"Which proves his lack of a coronet. It is not likely that he would conceal24 from his wife the fact that he was heir to a peerage."
"He doubtless had his reasons. Having perhaps quarrelled with his family he may have left England forever, determined82 to begin life anew in another land, and to hide his identity under an assumed name. An imperial archduke of Austria has done the like in our time, and so successfully, too, as to baffle all endeavours to trace him."
"And, pray, to what peerage did this Marville lay claim?"
"I do not know."
"I do not know."
"What was its rank? A baronage: a viscountship: a——"
"I do not know."
Ivar seemed rather pleased than otherwise with Lorelie's want of knowledge.
"Where, when, and under what circumstances, then, did Eric Marville claim to be a peer?"
"So far as I am aware he referred to it but once, and then to no more than one person, a French military officer, now dead. 'I am heir to a peerage and could take my rank to-morrow, if I chose,' were his words."
"And that's all the evidence you have?"
"All the evidence I have, Ivar."
"Marville was boasting, beyond a doubt. Does that fellow," he continued, glancing at Idris' distant figure, "know of his father's claim to a peerage?"
"He has not the least inkling of it."
[Pg 221]
"Why so?"
"It's one thing to claim a peerage, but quite another thing to prove one's claim. Why fill the fellow with false hopes? Be guided by me, and refrain from telling him of his father's pretensions85."
"Very well, Ivar," responded Lorelie, quietly, "I will be guided by you. As your wife it is my duty to do nothing to the detriment86 of your future interests."
"My interests?" muttered the viscount. "I don't understand you."
"I think you do," she said gravely. "But," she added, rising to her feet, "I am neglecting my visitors," and so saying she moved off in the direction of Idris and Beatrice, who were slowly pacing to and fro on one side of the lawn.
"Not even the coronet to console me now!" she murmured darkly. "A fitting punishment this for my long and guilty silence! Justice, justice, now thy scourge88 is coming upon me!"
Ivar did not follow his wife, but sat motionless for some moments, staring after her in blank dismay, and completely confounded by the startling hints that she had let fall.
"Idris Marville not dead," he muttered, removing with his handkerchief the cold moisture that glistened89 on his forehead. "That fellow he! Living here at Ormsby—in the same house with Beatrice! And Lorelie suspects! Suspects? She knows. By God! supposing she tells him! But, bah! she will not—she dare not—declare it; she stands to lose too much." He recalled her words to the effect that she would do nothing detrimental90 to his interests. The meaning of this assurance was obvious, and Ivar breathed more freely. "She'll keep the secret for her own sake. She'll not be so mad as to cut her own[Pg 222] throat. In marrying her I've stopped her mouth. But if she had known as much a year ago as she knows to-day——!"
The smile had returned to Lorelie's lips by the time she reached Idris and Beatrice, and at her invitation they repaired to the drawing-room. Lord Walden, with a black feeling of hatred91 in his heart against both his wife and Idris, slowly followed without speaking, and flung himself on a distant ottoman as if desiring no companionship but his own.
Idris, thus ignored by the viscount, could but ignore him in turn. He had never beheld92 a more sullen80 and a more ungracious clown than Lorelie's husband, and he much regretted that he had not followed his first impulse to depart.
The drawing-room was a handsome apartment, containing many evidences of taste and wealth. Lorelie took a pride in pointing out her treasures.
"My father," she remarked, observing Beatrice's eyes set upon a portrait in oils representing a handsome man in the uniform of a French military officer.
Idris viewed with interest the likeness93 of the man who for about the space of a minute had flashed across his childhood's days.
"A man who will ever command my respect," he murmured, "since in rescuing my father from prison he was forced by that act to become an exile from his native land."
An expression of pain passed over Lorelie's face.
"Mr. Breakspear, you do not know what you are saying."
And he wondered, as he had often wondered, why reference to this matter should trouble her. She had no[Pg 223] cause to be ashamed of her father's deed. Captain Rochefort's act in favour of a friend whom he believed to be innocent was, from Idris' point of view, a gallant95 and romantic enterprise, and in the judgment96 of most persons would deserve condonation97, if not approval.
After the portrait of Captain Rochefort, what most interested Beatrice was an antique vase standing98 upon the carved mantel. It was of gold, set with precious stones, and the interior was concealed99 from view by a tight-fitting lid.
"What a pretty vase!" she said, and with Lorelie's sanction she lifted it from the mantel. As she did so a cold tremor100 passed over her. She placed the urn39 upon the table, and in a moment the feeling was gone. She took up the vase again, and the unpleasant sensation returned. Was this due to something exhaled101 from the interior of the urn? She drew a deep breath through her nostrils102, but failed to detect any odour.
"The lid fits very tightly," she said, addressing Lorelie. "How do you remove it?"
"It is secured by a hidden spring," replied the viscountess. "If you can discover the secret, you will be doing me a favour, for I have never been able to open it myself."
"Then you do not know what treasure it may contain," smiled Beatrice. "Attar of roses, spices from Arabia, pearls from the Orient, may lurk104 within." She shook the urn, and a faint sound accompanied the movement. "Listen! there is certainly something inside."
"I am full of curiosity myself to know what it is," said Lorelie, "I have spent hours in trying to discover the spring."
"Then it is useless for me to try."
[Pg 224]
But though Beatrice spoke thus, she nevertheless made the attempt, toying with the vase and pressing various figures sculptured upon the sides. All to no purpose. The jewels sparkled like wicked eyes, seeming to mock her endeavours. The sound caused by the shaking of the urn was like the collision of paper pellets, shavings of wood, or of some other substance equally light. And all the time while handling the vase Beatrice was conscious of a strange feeling of repulsion. What caused it she could not tell: the fact was certain: the reason inexplicable105.
"Is this vase an heirloom?" she asked, desirous of learning whence Lorelie had obtained it, and yet not liking106 to appear too curious.
The viscountess hesitated a moment, evidently adverse107 to replying, and then stooped over Beatrice and kissed her.
"Will you think me discourteous108, Beatrice, if—if I do not tell you how I came by it?"
While speaking she glanced aside at Ivar who, from his position on the couch, was watching the scene with so perturbed109 an air that Idris was led to believe there was some strange secret connected with this vase—a secret known to both husband and wife. Great as was his love for Lorelie, Idris was compelled to admit that she was very mysterious in some of her ways.
Then a strange thing happened.
Idris, keenly attentive to all that was passing, observed a curious expression stealing over Beatrice's face. Once before he had seen this expression, namely, at the time when she gave her opinion on the piece of steel taken from the Viking's skull110. The pupils of her eyes were contracted, and set with a bright fixity of gaze upon the jewelled urn. The rigidity112 of her figure indicated a cataleptic state.
[Pg 225]
Her lips parted, and in a voice strangely unlike her own, she said:—
"The ashes of the dead!"
At this Lorelie gave a faint cry and drew away the vase, glancing again at Ivar. Then, with her hands she closed the eyes of Beatrice, and shook her gently. Beatrice opened her eyes again, and looked around with the surprised air of one aroused suddenly from sleep.
"Do you know what you have been saying?" Lorelie asked.
"No—what?"
"Have I been self-hypnotized again?"
"Again?" repeated Lorelie. "Do you often fall into this state?"
"Occasionally—when gazing too long at some bright object: and then the object seems to whisper its history to me, or rather, as Godfrey more sensibly remarks, my mind begins to weave all kinds of fancies around it."
"Why, you must be a clairvoyante," said Lorelie, studying the other intently. "'The ashes of the dead?' Yes, this may be a crematory vase. What do you say, Ivar?" she added, turning to the viscount.
"Of course Beatrice knows," was his reply, "for is she not a daughter of the gods, a descendant of a Norse prophetess? But, Beatrice, I think that the blood of Hilda the Alruna must have become so diluted114 during the course of ten centuries that your claim to the hereditary115 gift of intuition is a little laughable."
"I am not aware of having made any such claim," replied Beatrice, quietly.
"And such claim, if made, would be justified," retorted Idris, roused by Lord Walden's sneering116 air, "for Miss Ravengar has given me previous proof of possessing remarkable117 intuitive powers."
[Pg 226]
"Let us say no more on the matter," said Lorelie, gently.
She restored the urn to its place on the mantelpiece, and, desirous of removing the somewhat unpleasant impression created by the incident, immediately started a conversation on other topics.
The talk turned presently upon literature, and Idris, remembering that Lorelie was an author, said:—
"Lady Walden, will you not give us a reading from your play?"
"O, yes, do!" cried Beatrice, impulsively118.
Lorelie hesitated. The drama written by her had been a work of time and patience: it was as near perfection as she would ever be able to bring it: she had poured her noblest feelings into the work. But she knew that what seems good to the author often seems bad to the critic: that the thoughts, supposed to be original, prove to be merely echoes of what others have said before in far better language: that the line that separates eloquence119 from bombast120 is easily passable on the wrong side.
These were the motives121 disposing Lorelie to keep her tragedy to herself. The person who should have been the first to give encouragement on this occasion was mute; for Ivar maintained an air of indifference122.
"Deserves kicking," was Idris' secret comment, as he became conscious of a suggestion of humiliation123 in Lorelie's manner, due to her husband's want of appreciation124. "And," he added to himself, "I should very much like to do the kicking."
Moved at last by the solicitations of her two visitors Lorelie produced the manuscript of her play and prepared to read some portions of it.
"This drama of mine, 'The Fatal Skull'," she began, "derives125 its name from the central incident in it—an incident of early Italian history. Alboin, King of the [Pg 227]Lombards, had become enamoured of Rosamond, the beautiful daughter of Cunimund, King of the Gepids. Both father and daughter, however, rejected the suit, for Lombards and Gepids had long been at feud126. Embassies having failed, Alboin resolved to attain127 his object by force, and, accordingly, entered the territories of Cunimund with an army. In the battle that followed, the Gepid king was slain128, his forces put to the rout129, and his daughter Rosamond became the prize and the reluctant bride of the conqueror130 Alboin."
"How dreadful," murmured Beatrice, "to be compelled to marry the man who had slain her father!"
"The sequel is more dreadful," returned Lorelie. "The death of Cunimund was not sufficient to satiate the hatred of Alboin; the skull of the fallen king, fashioned into a drinking cup, became the most treasured ornament131 of his sideboard.
"Feasting one day with his companions-in-arms, Alboin called for the skull of Cunimund. 'The cup of victory'—to quote the words of Gibbon—'was accepted with horrid132 applause by the circle of the Lombard chiefs. "Fill it again with wine," exclaimed the inhuman133 conqueror, "fill it to the brim; carry this goblet134 to the queen, and request in my name that she would rejoice with her father." In an agony of grief and rage, Rosamond had strength to utter, "Let the will of my lord be obeyed," and, touching135 it with her lips, pronounced a silent imprecation that the insult should be washed away in the blood of Alboin.'"
"And did she kill her husband?" asked Beatrice.
"Yes, with the help of his armour-bearer Helmichis."
Having thus set forth136 the argument, Lorelie, unfolding her manuscript, began to read certain scenes from her play. The reading of them was a revelation both to Idris and Beatrice: there was a masculine vigour137 in the lines:[Pg 228] the thoughts were as noble as they were original, and graced by many poetic138 images and by passages of exquisite139 beauty.
Charmed by the melody of Lorelie's voice, charmed still more by the lovely face set in a frame of dark hair, Idris sat entranced, with something more than admiration140 in his eyes. And as Beatrice observed his rapt attitude, his accelerated breathing, she trembled uneasily; not for herself, but for Lorelie. In the near future, when the young viscountess should have come to learn the worthlessness of her husband, and to experience the misery141 of existence with him, would she have sufficient strength and purity of soul to resist the temptation of flying to the arms of Idris? Their meeting with each other was a foolish playing with fire, and could have but one ending. Beatrice ceased to listen to the reading of the play, and grew miserable142 with her own thoughts.
"Lady Walden," said Idris, when she had finished her recital143, "your drama is a work of real genius."
His praise was sweeter to Lorelie than the praise of a thousand other critics, and her cheek flushed with triumph.
"You certainly ought to have it put upon the stage," he continued.
"Yes," chimed in Ivar: for even his sullen nature had been moved to admiration: "you must not hide your light under a bushel. If one is a genius, let the world know it."
"If this play should ever be acted," said Lorelie, "then let me take the chief part in it. Who more fit to play the r?le of Rosamond than the creator of Rosamond?"
"Well, whenever you desire to begin rehearsals," said Idris, jocularly, "Miss Ravengar can supply you with one item of stage property in the shape of a real skull."
[Pg 229]
"But you would not drink from a real skull?" said Beatrice.
"It would add to the effect," smiled Lorelie.
"Drink from a real skull? Ah, how horrid!" exclaimed Beatrice.
In reciting the words of the wronged and indignant Queen, Lorelie had caught the genuine spirit of the character: and now, inspired by the idea of becoming its exponent144 upon the stage, she rose to her feet, her eyes sparkling as with the light of future triumph.
As she stood upon the hearth145 in statuesque pose, she seemed to be the very queen of tragedy, to be breathing, as it were, the air of vengeance146; a spirit so contrary to her usual sweet self that Idris did not like to witness its assumption, however suitable it may have been to the character of the fierce Rosamond.
"I can see the eyes of the theatre riveted147 upon me," she murmured, picturing to herself the future representation of her drama, "as I enter the banqueting-hall of the Lombard chiefs, and advance to drink from the fatal cup! How the audience will thrill as they watch! How awful the silence as Rosamond places her lips to her father's skull!"
She illustrated148 her words by taking the antique vase from the mantel and going through the action of drinking from it, shuddering150 as she did so; though whether her shudder149 was mere simulation, or a real thing occasioned by the supposed nature of its contents was more than Idris could tell.
"And when the hour for vengeance came, I would rise to the height of the occasion, and strike down Alboin—so!"
Drawing from her hair a long and gleaming hairpin151 shaped like a stiletto, she went through the motion of stabbing an imaginary figure.
[Pg 230]
"'Die!'" she exclaimed, in an exultant152 tone, and quoting the words of her play. "'This Rosamond sends.'"
There was a weird153 roll of her glittering eyes as she flung out her left hand tightly clenched154: a swiftness and ferocity in the downward stroke of the stiletto in her right, so suggestive of real murder that Idris glanced at her feet, almost expecting to see a human figure lying there.
Beatrice gave a cry of genuine terror. Ivar looked on with evident admiration.
For a few seconds Lorelie maintained a rigid111 bending pose, her eyes dilated155 with terror, staring at the hearth as if she beheld something there. Then, with a motion startling in its suddenness, she recovered her erect156 attitude, and reeled backward with her lifted hand clenched upon her brow. The stiletto dropped from her limp fingers, and the peculiar157 ringing sound produced by its contact with the tiled hearth was fresh in Idris' ears for many days afterwards.
"'A-a-ah!'" she cried in a long-drawn thrilling sibilant whisper, which, nevertheless, penetrated158 to every corner of the apartment, and again quoting from her play. "'Ah! He moves! His eyes open! That look of reproach! I dare not,'" she went on, gasping159 for breath, "'I dare not strike again! Helmichis, do thou strike for me.'"
With averted160 face she staggered back and dropped upon a couch, apparently161 exhausted162 by real or simulated emotion.
"Bravo! bravo!" cried Ivar, clapping his hands. "The divine Sarah couldn't do it better. By heaven! we ought to have this play staged, with you in the r?le of Rosamond. You'd be the talk of London."
As for Idris, the diablerie of Lorelie's manner had given him a sensation very much akin2 to horror.
[Pg 231]
"What have I been witnessing?" he murmured. "A piece of acting163 merely, or a reminiscence of a real tragedy?"
Beatrice, deadly white, and with her eyes closed, lay back upon an ottoman silent and motionless.
"What do you say?" said Lorelie, coming quickly forward in response to a remark from Idris.
"I think Miss Ravengar has fainted," he repeated.
"Egad! Lorelie," said Ivar, amused. "There's a tribute to your acting, if you like."
Lady Walden instantly busied herself in applying restoratives to the swooning Beatrice.
"I am sorry to have frightened you," she said in gentle tones to Beatrice when the latter had recovered. "It was very absurd of me to act so."
But Lorelie's tenderness met with no response from Beatrice, whose eyes were full of a wild haunting horror. She shrank from Lorelie's touch; she avoided her glance; her whole manner showed that she was anxious for nothing so much as to get away from her presence.
"I—I think I'll go home now," she said, glancing at Idris. "Godfrey will be waiting for us. We promised to return early."
"The walk through the fresh air will do you good," remarked Idris, who was himself desirous of withdrawing.
It was in vain that Lorelie pressed her visitors to stay. Beatrice declared that she must go, and within the space of a few minutes she had taken a very abrupt164 leave of her hostess.
That night Idris' sleep was broken by troubled dreams, in all of which a woman's image mingled165, always in the act of striking down some shadowy foe166; but the venue167 was changed from the elegant apartment at The Cedars to the grey stone interior of Ormfell!
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1
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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nominally
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| 在名义上，表面地； 应名儿 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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moth
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| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
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cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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8
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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unduly
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| adv.过度地，不适当地 | |
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pulsating
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| adj.搏动的，脉冲的v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的现在分词 )；跳动；脉动；受（激情）震动 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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19
privately
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| adv.以私人的身份，悄悄地，私下地 | |
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20
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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21
honeymoon
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| n.蜜月（假期）；vi.度蜜月 | |
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22
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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30
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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evoked
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| [医]诱发的 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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33
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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34
persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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37
pallid
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| adj.苍白的，呆板的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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40
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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41
tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
necessitated
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
evading
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| 逃避( evade的现在分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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44
harping
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| n.反复述说 | |
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45
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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46
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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47
moody
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| adj.心情不稳的，易怒的，喜怒无常的 | |
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48
interrogated
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| v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 )；审问；（在计算机或其他机器上）查询 | |
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49
affluence
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| n.充裕，富足 | |
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50
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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51
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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52
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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53
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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54
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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55
entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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56
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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57
gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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58
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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59
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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60
aspires
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| v.渴望，追求( aspire的第三人称单数 ) | |
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61
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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62
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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63
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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64
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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65
felon
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| n.重罪犯；adj.残忍的 | |
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66
waived
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| v.宣布放弃( waive的过去式和过去分词 )；搁置；推迟；放弃（权利、要求等） | |
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67
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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68
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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69
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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70
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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71
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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72
foundering
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| v.创始人( founder的现在分词 ) | |
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73
conversed
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的过去式 ) | |
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74
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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75
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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76
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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77
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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78
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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80
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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81
controvert
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| v.否定；否认 | |
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82
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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83
dormant
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| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
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pate
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| n.头顶；光顶 | |
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85
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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86
detriment
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| n.损害；损害物，造成损害的根源 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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88
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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89
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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90
detrimental
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| adj.损害的，造成伤害的 | |
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91
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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92
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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93
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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94
allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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95
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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96
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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97
condonation
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| n.容忍，宽恕，原谅 | |
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98
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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99
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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100
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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101
exhaled
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| v.呼出，发散出( exhale的过去式和过去分词 )；吐出（肺中的空气、烟等），呼气 | |
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102
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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103
morbidly
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| adv.病态地 | |
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104
lurk
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| n.潜伏，潜行；v.潜藏，潜伏，埋伏 | |
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105
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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106
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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107
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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108
discourteous
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| adj.不恭的，不敬的 | |
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109
perturbed
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| adj.烦燥不安的v.使（某人）烦恼，不安( perturb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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110
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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111
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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112
rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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113
funereal
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| adj.悲哀的；送葬的 | |
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114
diluted
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| 无力的，冲淡的 | |
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115
hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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116
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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117
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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118
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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119
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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120
bombast
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| n.高调，夸大之辞 | |
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121
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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122
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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123
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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124
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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125
derives
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| v.得到( derive的第三人称单数 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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126
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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127
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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128
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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129
rout
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| n.溃退，溃败；v.击溃，打垮 | |
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conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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131
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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133
inhuman
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| adj.残忍的，不人道的，无人性的 | |
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134
goblet
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| n.高脚酒杯 | |
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135
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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136
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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137
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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140
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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141
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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144
exponent
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| n.倡导者，拥护者；代表人物；指数，幂 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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hairpin
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| n.簪,束发夹，夹发针 | |
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exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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153
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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158
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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161
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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162
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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163
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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165
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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166
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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167
venue
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| n.犯罪地点，审判地，管辖地，发生地点，集合地点 | |
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