IDRIS MEETS A RIVAL
Observing a shiver on the part of Lorelie, due to the chilly air, Idris
rose to put into effect a plan that had suddenly occurred to him.
Charming as the situation was to himself, he had no wish to prolong it
at the expense of discomfort to his companion.
"'Ye gods, I grow a talker.' I do wrong to sit here inactive. The
air is becoming cold. Since no boat has hove in sight it is time we
tried to attract one. Some of this timber, piled upon the rocks at the
entrance of our cave, and set alight, will 'contrive a double debt to
pay'--of giving warmth to yourself, and of serving as a signal-fire to
the coast-guard of Ormsby."
Collecting a supply of logs and planks, Idris proceeded to form them
into a little pyramid upon the boulders outside the mouth of the
cavern. He applied a lighted match to the pile, and within a few
minutes a glorious bonfire was blazing upon the rock, challenging the
pale light of the moon, and flinging a ruddy glow over the breast of
the heaving waters around.
"Now, Mademoiselle Rivière, if you will sit in this nook here, you will
be both sheltered from the wind and warmed by the fire."
Lorelie accepted the suggestion: and, as her ankle was still painful,
she permitted Idris to assist her to the assigned spot, where she sat,
pleased with the cheerful warmth.
"This blaze ought surely to be seen and understood as a signal of
distress," said Idris.
As he stared at the distant moonlit cliff behind which the town of
Ormsby lay hidden, he suddenly became aware that Lorelie was speaking.
"Idris! Idris!"
He turned quickly with a curious feeling. Surely she was not addressing
him by his Christian name? Let his name sound ever so silvery as it
came from her lips, still, this mode of address in a friendship so
recently formed as theirs, was a familiarity which jarred upon him.
"Idris! Idris!" she repeated.
"Yes, _Mademoiselle_ Rivière," he replied, with a cold and significant
emphasis upon the second word.
But he found her eyes fixed, not upon him, but upon the flames. He
followed the direction of her gaze and beheld a surprising sight.
There, burning in the fire, was a thick piece of planking, and on the
part of it not yet consumed were five black-painted letters, forming in
their arrangement the word:--
"I-D-R-I-S!"
His own name! Yes: there it was, plain to be seen on the plank, the
black characters shining out clearly through the yellow flame.
Lorelie had simply been murmuring the word as it caught her eyes,
without any intention of addressing him by it.
How came his name to be inscribed on this piece of timber? If the
materials composing the fire were driftwood picked up from the beach
(and he did not doubt that such was the origin of the timber in the
cave), then this plank was probably a relic of a sunken vessel, the
word _Idris_ forming its name.
Was there any connection between himself and this lost barque other
than mere identity of name?
His active mind, eager to give an affirmative to this question,
immediately devised a theory. Captain Rochefort, on flying from
Brittany with Eric Marville, would be compelled by considerations of
safety either to disguise and rename the yacht in which the flight had
been effected, or, what was more probable, dispose of the _Nemesis_
in some way, and purchase another vessel. That Captain Rochefort had
so acted, naming his new barque after the son of his escaped friend,
became Idris' firm conviction: for, lost to reason in his excitement,
he overlooked the possibility that other yacht-owners might have a
partiality for the same name.
The plank now burning before his eyes had come from the figure-head of
the yacht in which his father and Captain Rochefort had cruised about,
after disposing of the _Nemesis_.
What more likely than that, on discovering the meaning of the Norse
runes (a copy of which had been made by Rochefort while the altar-ring
was in his possession), the two friends, in a spirit of adventure,
should steer their yacht's course to Ormsby, the site of the supposed
treasure? And here off this coast their vessel had foundered.
This conclusion, if correct, would seem almost to justify the idea that
it was impossible to escape from the malign influence of Odin's ring.
Desire for its possession had led Eric Marville into a mischance that
had doomed him to a prison-life: he had escaped from the convict's
cell, and had wrested the secret from the runic ring, only to meet with
a watery grave in sight of the very treasure-hill that he had come to
explore!
But, stay! had Eric Marville and Captain Rochefort perished in the
fierce currents of Ormsby Race, or had one, or both, been washed ashore
alive? Was the removal of the Viking's treasure due to one of them, or
to the joint action of the two?
So occupied was Idris with these thoughts that he had almost forgotten
the presence of Lorelie, but now, on glancing at her, he noticed that
her face wore a grave, not to say startled, expression, obviously due
to the name that had been so strangely presented to her view. The
discovery seemed to disquiet her as much as it disquieted himself.
Then in a moment it occurred to him that the dead in Saint Oswald's
Churchyard, whose grave she was decking with a marble cross, were men
who had perished in the sinking of this same vessel, _The Idris_.
Lorelie could explain the mystery, if she chose. He resolved to
question her.
"Mademoiselle Rivière," he began, in an earnest tone, "I believe it is
within your power to throw some light upon a matter that, to me, is
one almost of life and death. Pardon me, if I presume too much on our
very recent friendship. To come to the point, I beg, nay, I entreat of
you, to tell me all you know concerning the vessel whose timbers we see
burning before us, the yacht _Idris_, that went down in Ormsby Race on
the night of the thirteenth of October, 1876."
Swift surprise stole over Lorelie's face.
"And why should you think that _I_ know anything of that lost vessel?"
"Ah! mademoiselle, you are not erecting a costly memorial over the
grave of men of whom you know nothing."
Lorelie was silent for a few moments, as if reflecting how to answer an
obviously embarrassing question.
"It is true," she said at last. "I will admit that I _do_ know
something of that lost vessel, and that I have taken a deep interest in
it."
"The vessel carried some one dear to you?"
"Really, Mr. Breakspear, you are very curious," she cried, with a flash
of her bright eyes. "Before answering I must know the motive for this
catechism."
"I have reason to believe," answered Idris, "that there was on board
one, Eric Marville by name."
"And what," asked Lorelie--and at the chilling fall in her voice
Idris started--"what is Eric Marville to you, that you should take an
interest in his fate?"
For a moment Idris hesitated, loth to tell the woman whom he loved that
he was the son of a fugitive convict. Then he resolved to be frank,
believing that if she were a true woman she would not despise him for a
misfortune not of his own causing.
"Eric Marville," he answered humbly, "is my father's name."
At these words Lorelie Rivière shrank back in the Hermit's Seat,
staring at Idris, her face white, her hand lifted to her side.
"Your father?" she gasped. "You Eric Marville's son--_you_?"
"The same, mademoiselle."
"No, no. It cannot be. You have said that your name is Breakspear."
"For obvious reasons I have thought proper to assume my mother's maiden
name."
"Eric Marville's son!" she repeated wildly. "Impossible! I will not
believe it." Her wildness suddenly gave way to an air of disdain, and
she exclaimed: "Why do you seek to impose upon me? Idris Marville was
burned to death at Paris seven years ago."
"Not so," replied Idris, with a smile, as he proceeded to give his
reasons for permitting himself to be advertised as dead.
As Lorelie became gradually convinced of his identity a look of dismay
came over her face. She shrank from him, and glanced down upon the sea,
as if tempted to plunge beneath its surface.
"To think that you, you of all persons," she murmured in a tone of awe,
"should have saved my life!"
"Then by that fact, mademoiselle, I entreat you to tell me whether my
father perished in that shipwreck. You doubtless know something of his
sad history?"
"I ought to know," she returned, "seeing that my real name is Lorelie
Rochefort."
"What do you say?" cried Idris in amazement. "You are the daughter of
Captain Noel Rochefort?"
She inclined her head in assent.
"Then we shall be the best of friends, as our fathers were before us."
"You speak without knowledge," she replied, with a curious dry laugh.
"Did not Captain Rochefort prove his friendship by aiding my father to
escape?"
"At my mother's urging: he would not otherwise have moved in the
matter."
"Why was Madame Rochefort so anxious to see my father free?"
"You must not ask me that," replied Lorelie quickly, and looking
alarmed the moment afterwards, as if betrayed into a rash statement.
This was certainly a strange answer, and Idris pondered over it in the
silence that followed. There seemed no other explanation of her words
than that there had existed a guilty love-intrigue between Madame
Rochefort and Eric Marville. Was it possible that Lorelie herself was
the offspring of----? With a shiver he put the suspicion aside. No: he
would not think _that_!
"Is Captain Rochefort still living?"
"It is extremely unlikely."
"He went down with the yacht _Idris_?"
"In all probability."
"He was not among the bodies washed ashore?"
"They were bruised and swollen beyond recognition."
"Was my father on board the yacht the night it sank?"
"So far as I have been able to gather he was not."
"Not?" said Idris, in a tone of joy. "Then he may still be living. May
I ask, mademoiselle, how you have learned this?"
"From my father's last letter to my mother, with whom he kept up a
correspondence during his cruise. The letter is dated 'The yacht
_Idris_. In Ormsby Roads, October 13th, 1876. 7 P. M.,' and
the postscript is something to this effect, 'Marville is going ashore,
leaving me aboard. He will not return till the morrow. I am despatching
this letter to the post by the sailor who rows Marville ashore.' Those
are the last words my mother received. That same night, four hours
after the letter was written, the _Idris_ went down."
"And you cannot tell me whether my father is living to-day?"
"I know nothing more of Eric Marville since the night of the wreck."
"You have preserved all your father's letters?"
"Naturally."
Idris here ventured on a very bold request.
"Would it be asking too much to let me see this correspondence, or at
least, some part of it?"
"Not if you were to give me a diamond for each word it contained," she
said firmly.
"At least, mademoiselle," he continued more humbly, "you will give me
the purport of those passages that relate to my father?"
"That would be to compromise myself."
"Whatever secrets those letters contain shall be respected by me."
"Not so," said Lorelie sadly. "Mr. Breakspear, Idris Marville, or
whatever name you will, I believe you to be a man of honour----"
"Then why not trust me?"
"Because you would consider yourself justified in breaking your pledge
of secrecy. I dare not trust you. No oath could be binding in such a
case as this. You would proclaim aloud to the world the contents of
those letters."
In spite of her words, Idris, with justifiable curiosity, continued to
press her with questions relative to his father's movements after the
flight from Quilaix, but to all his interrogations Lorelie remained
coldly mute.
"And you will tell me nothing more than you have told?" he said at last.
His sorrowful tone seemed to touch her to the quick. The icy expression
faded from her face and gave way to one of warmth and tenderness. Her
eyes became luminous with tears, but, as if desirous of resisting his
pleading, she averted her head and hid her face in her hands.
"Do not question me further," she entreated. "Not to answer is painful,
but to answer would be more painful still. O, why did you reveal
your true name? I shall never be happy again. If I had but known you
twelve months ago, all would have been well, but now--now it is too
late. In revealing what you wish, nay, what you ought to know, I
should be injuring the interests of, not myself, for that would matter
little, but the interests of others. You do not understand--how should
you?--but some day you will learn my meaning, and then--and then----"
her voice faltered, "how the world will despise me! you more than all
others. Mr. Breakspear, if you knew my real character you would have
left me lying on the sand to be overwhelmed by the tide. I would that
you had!"
Though Idris knew not what meaning to affix to this speech, it did not
abate in one degree his love for her: nay, her very air of humiliation,
plaintive and touching, served only to enhance her attractiveness. When
he recalled the heroic look upon her face in the presence of death, and
the clasping of her hands in prayer upon her deliverance, he could not
bring himself to think ill of her. Her mysterious self-accusations must
be the result of some delusion: or, if something _did_ attach to her
that the world would call guilt, he did not doubt that justification
would be found for it.
"Mademoiselle," he replied, with a grave smile, "you seem to regard
me in the light of an enemy, when my chief desire is to occupy a high
place in your friendship." He would have said "heart" had he dared.
"Since the subject of the yacht is painful to you, I will not refer to
it again in your presence."
"Then my reticence will not make an enemy of you?" asked Lorelie,
raising her beautiful eyes with a yearning in them that moved him
strangely.
"Certainly not, mademoiselle. Let me know that you do not despise me on
account of my father's guilt, or supposed guilt, and I am content."
"Despise you? Oh, no! How can you say that? Mr. Breakspear," she
continued, with a faltering voice, "if--if there be one circumstance
more than another that enlists my sympathies in your behalf, it
is--the--the event of which you speak."
The pitying look in her eyes caused Idris' blood to course like liquid
fire through his veins. Had she been the guiltiest woman living that
glance would have palliated all and have made him her slave forever.
There is no knowing what he might have said or done at this moment had
he not been checked by a sudden exclamation from her. Looking in the
direction indicated by her he saw a boat rowed by seven of the Ormsby
fishermen coming over the waves towards them in gallant style.
"Our imprisonment is drawing to an end," said Idris, adding to himself,
"the more's the pity."
The sight of the approaching boat seemed to put an end to Lorelie's
emotion. She began to regain something of her former sweet self.
By her own unaided efforts she rose to her feet, and leaning against
the rock, waved her handkerchief as an encouragement to the rowers. A
cheer broke from the men as soon as they recognized her; for, by reason
of her liberality to the poor of Ormsby, Mademoiselle Rivière had
become, at least among the lower orders of the town, a favourite second
only to Beatrice Ravengar herself.
Ere long the boat's side grated against the rock, and Lorelie, assisted
by Idris on the one hand, and by a gallant fisherman on the other, was
lifted down from point to point, and finally lodged in the bow of the
rocking boat, Idris taking his seat beside her.
The still-flaming timbers of the fire having been extinguished by the
easy process of tossing them into the sea, the men pushed off, and the
Hermit's Cave rapidly receded from view.
In answer to the questioning of her rescuers Lorelie gave an account of
the circumstances which had led to the enforced captivity of herself
and Idris, adding:--
"We owe you something more substantial than thanks for responding so
quickly to our fire-signal."
"Lord bless you!" responded one of the crew gallantly, "to rescue such
a bonny bird we would row fifty miles."
They created quite a sensation as they drew near the beach of Ormsby,
where a miscellaneous crowd was assembled; for the news had been spread
abroad by Lorelie's frightened maid that her mistress had been missing
since the morning, and, accordingly, it had been conjectured that the
strange light visible at the foot of the distant cliff might have
some connection with her disappearance. And when it was seen that the
approaching boat contained the missing lady there arose an outburst of
cheering and a waving of hats, that drew the colour to her hitherto
pale cheek.
Among the first to meet the boat at the water's edge was Godfrey; and
on learning that Lorelie had hurt her foot, nothing less would satisfy
him than an immediate inspection of her ankle.
"The case may be more serious than you think it," said he.
So Lorelie, escorted by Idris and Godfrey, repaired, under smiling
protest, to the parlour of a cottage fronting the beach, where, after
due examination, the surgeon pronounced the injury to be nothing more
serious than a sprain.
"Still, you must not set your foot to the ground just yet," he added.
"We will procure a carriage to take you home."
Scarcely had he said this when the rattle of wheels was heard outside.
A vehicle of some sort had drawn up in front of the cottage. A minute
afterwards the parlour door opened giving entrance to Viscount Walden.
His acknowledgment of the surgeon was limited to, "Ah! Godfrey:" of
Idris he took no notice at all. Walking up to Lorelie he smiled in a
manner which showed that they were no strangers to each other, and
Godfrey, recalling the viscount's utterances in the crypt of Ravenhall,
"I hope Lorelie will be satisfied," looked on at their meeting with
considerable interest, wondering whether there really were some guilty
secret between them.
"Mademoiselle Rivière, I am delighted to meet you in England," said
Ivar. "Passing along the road outside and observing the crowd in front
of this cottage I stopped my carriage to ascertain the cause. Imagine
my surprise on learning that _you_ were within. Welcome to Ormsby! You
find our climate a little trying, I expect, after the sunny air and the
blue skies of the Riviera? You have sprained your ankle, I understand,
and find a difficulty in walking. If you desire a carriage to convey
you home, mine is at your service."
Ivar's proposal to carry off Lorelie in his own carriage roused all
Idris' jealousy, of which he had the ordinary mortal's share. It was
not very agreeable to hear Lorelie assenting, and to observe that she
smiled upon Ivar as pleasantly as she had smiled upon himself.
With a motion of her hand she directed the viscount's attention to
Idris.
"Lord Walden, Mr.----"
"Breakspear," interposed Idris quickly, fearing lest she should
inadvertently pronounce the name of Marville.
Lorelie gave him a sympathetic glance, which assured him that his
secret was quite safe in her keeping.
"Lord Walden," she continued, "Mr. Breakspear, a gentleman to whom I
owe my life."
In some surprise Ivar turned to survey the saviour of Mademoiselle
Rivière, and beheld a man of about thirty years, with fine dark eyes
and an athletic figure--a man evidently of good birth; his countenance
expressive of a spirit that showed if he should set his mind upon
accomplishing an object, say of winning a woman's love, he would
succeed, or make it go extremely ill with those who endeavoured to
thwart him: and, noting all this, Ivar, who was of a mean nature, took
secret umbrage.
Idris was about to offer his hand, but observing that the viscount was
stiffly bowing with his hands behind him, he thought he could not do
better than imitate the other's example.
For a moment the two men eyed each other, both apparently animated by a
spirit of defiance, the cause of which was patent enough to Godfrey in
the person of the charming woman sitting between them.
Idris, mindful of the fact that he was the son of an escaped convict,
while Ivar was the descendant of a line of belted earls, felt bitterly
the contrast between their respective positions.
"How this fellow would sneer, if he knew the truth!" was his thought.
"Lord save us!" the woman, who owned the cottage, whispered to Godfrey.
"How like they are! The same proud face upon each!"
The surgeon glanced from one to the other, and was compelled to admit
that there certainly _was_ a resemblance in features between the two
men, a resemblance which would have been the stronger, had not Idris
been dark, and Ivar fair.
While Lorelie gave a brief account of her rescue, Ivar listened with
impatience, evidently of opinion that Fortune, while permitting Idris
to save Mademoiselle Rivière, might at least have had the good sense to
drown him afterwards.
"At the next Parish Council," said Lorelie to Godfrey, "you must call
attention to the 'Stairs of David.'"
"The ladder ought certainly to be seen to," said Idris, "but for my
part, mademoiselle," he added, bowing to Lorelie, "I shall never regret
the instability of that structure."
Ivar, who had refrained from speech both during Lorelie's story and at
its close, now offered his arm to help her to the carriage. A shade of
vexation passed over her face at the viscount's obvious indifference to
Idris' services on her behalf.
"My ankle is still weak," she said, turning to Idris. "Mr. Breakspear,
may I ask for your help, too?"
Idris responded with a cheerfulness that became the more cheerful as he
noticed Ivar's scowl.
Thus escorted Lorelie passed into the moonlit air without, and reached
the brougham. Idris held the door while she stepped in. The viscount
followed, shutting the door with a loud slam, that said as plainly as
words, "No more shall enter here."
Lorelie looked more vexed than ever at this discourtesy towards Godfrey
and Idris: but as the carriage was not hers it was out of her power to
offer them a seat.
However, as if desirous of sweetening the parting, she extended her
little hand through the carriage-window, accompanying her action with a
gracious smile.
"Good-night, Mr. Breakspear," she murmured, softly. "I shall never
forget the debt I owe you."
"Drive on," cried Ivar, brusquely, to the coachman. "The Cedars, North
Road."
The horses dashed off, and as the brougham turned the corner of the
road, Idris caught a glimpse of Lorelie, bending forward at the
carriage-window, with her face turned in his direction.
He lifted his hat, and the next moment she was lost to view.
"Idris," said Godfrey, "you love that young lady."
"And you must have a heart of stone not to love her, too."
"Humph! it would be rather awkward if all men were to desire the same
woman. Isn't one rival enough for you?"
Truth to tell, Idris had been much disquieted by the readiness with
which Lorelie had surrendered herself to the will of Viscount Walden.
It seemed almost as if some secret understanding existed between them.
Godfrey, though he refrained from saying so, had no doubt whatever on
the point.
"All things being equal," he continued, "I believe the lady would
favour you: but, you see, a prospective coronet is a very powerful
attraction, and I fear the coronet will gain the day."
Idris repudiated this forecast, vigorously anathematizing the name of
Viscount Walden, after which his thoughts turned to a theme, almost
equal in interest to his love for Lorelie, namely, his father's fate.
"He was not on the yacht when it sank, so Mademoiselle Rivière
declares: then what became of him? I did right to come to Ormsby, it
seems, since it was in this neighbourhood that he was last heard of.
But, alas! that was twenty-two years ago. Is he living to-day, and
shall I ever find him?"