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.