for more than an hour after the departure of idris and beatrice, lorelie remained where they had left her. she had sunk into a deep reverie, which, judged by the expression of her face, was of a painful character.
"whence did ivar obtain that vase?" she murmured. "he has always refused to tell. 'take it, and ask no questions,' has always been his answer. "'that urn,'" she continued, repeating idris' words, "'formed a part of the treasure that led to a murder. whoever gave you the urn was either the assassin, or obtained it through the agency of the assassin.' ivar gave it to me, but he was not the assassin. no! the deed was wrought by the hand of one who escaped from the wreck of the idris. let me read those letters again in the light of the new knowledge acquired to-day."
she rose, and from a drawer in a cabinet took a packet of letters.
"what would idris breakspear give to read these!" she murmured. "but the day is not far distant when i must put them into his hands; and then," she faltered, "and then—how great will be his contempt for me!"
carrying the letters to the table she sat down and untied the thread that bound them.
the first one was written in a woman's hand; and the envelope containing it bore the words, "to my daughter lorelie."
madame rochefort had, when dying, given this letter[pg 246] to lorelie with the injunction that it was not to be read till after its writer had been laid in the grave.
"dearest lorelie," it ran, "it may be that the disclosure contained in this letter will cause you to view the memory of your mother with feelings of shame, if not of contempt: but leave the judgment of my conduct, or, if you should so term it, my sin, to that higher tribunal before which i now stand, and be not too quick to condemn, since no woman can rightly judge me unless she herself has stood in a similar position to mine.
"you will surmise by these words that i have some strange confession to make, and such in truth is the case.
"you, my daughter, in common with the rest of the world, have hitherto regarded eric marville as a murderer, and your father, noel rochefort, as a man of stainless honour. learn now the truth that these opinions must be reversed: it was your father, and not eric marville, that murdered henri duchesne. and for twenty years i have kept this guilty secret locked within my breast, shielding my husband's reputation to the injury of another's.
"let me tell the tale, and that in as few words as possible, for it is a melancholy reminiscence; why should i linger over it?
"i married your father in 1869.
"during the first year of our wedded life we lived at nantes, your father's regiment having been stationed there.
"our circle of friends included, besides others, the englishman, eric marville; and the gascon, henri duchesne. the latter, some years before, had been a suitor for my hand; and to my uneasiness i discovered that though he himself was now married, he had not abandoned his passion for me. i remained deaf to his advances. thereupon his love turned to hatred, and, desirous of evoking my husband's suspicion and jealousy,[pg 247] he had the baseness to boast among his friends that he had found in me an easy conquest. though full of secret fury your father hesitated to send a challenge, since duchesne was deadly with pistol and sword: to face him in duel was to face certain death.
"your father was a corsican and took a corsican's way of avenging himself.
"one memorable summer night i was sitting alone in the upper room of our house, which overlooked the place graslin, awaiting the return of your father from the armorique club. the hour was late. all was quiet in the square below. i opened the window and looked out upon the moonlit night. a footstep upon the pavement attracted my attention, and stepping forwards i looked downwards over the rail of the veranda. henri duchesne was standing below: he looked up, saw me, and kissed his hand. at that moment, from the shadow of the doorway, there leaped a man whose fingers immediately twined themselves around duchesne's throat. though taken by surprise he instantly recovered himself, and drew forth a dagger, the recent gift, as i afterwards learned, of eric marville.
"i tried to call for help, but found myself dumb with horror. mutely i leaned against the rail of the veranda watching the silent and savage death-grapple taking place beneath my very feet. the dagger changed hands: a swift stroke, and duchesne lay stretched upon the pavement.
"the whole affair did not last more than a minute. i recoiled from the veranda, cold and trembling. though i had not seen his face i knew only too well who it was that had wrought the deed.
"i staggered to a sofa and fainted.
"when i awoke, your father was sitting beside me.
"'it was a dream,' i murmured.
[pg 248]
"'it was no dream, thérèse, but reality, nor do i regret the deed. he sought your dishonour. he deserved to die. it was an act of justice.'
"'let us fly from nantes before you are discovered,' i said.
"'unwise! stationed here with my regiment, and living close to the scene of the deed, i dare not fly. suspicion would fall upon me at once.'
"next day we heard that eric marville had been arrested for the murder. 'have no fear on his account,' said your father to me. 'he did not commit the deed: how, then, can they prove that he did?' the trial drew nigh, and to my dismay i learned that i, as being present in the house at the time of the murder, was cited to give evidence. your father, anticipating every kind of question that could be put, instructed me what to say, and for many days continued drilling me in the answers i was to give. when the time came for me to take my place in court i stood up and swore an oath—heaven forgive the falsehood!—that i was asleep at the time of the murder, and heard nothing whatever of the scuffle.
"the trial ended: the prisoner was found guilty, and condemned to the guillotine. never shall i forget madame marville's cry of agony when the sentence was pronounced. how often in the dead of night have i started from sleep with that cry ringing in my ears!
"from the tribunal i returned home heart-broken by the black wickedness of which i had been guilty. if marville died, what was i but his murderess?
"'noel,' i said, that same night, 'you will not let the innocent suffer?'
"'what would you have me do?' was his reply. 'walk to the guillotine instead of him? upon my word, you are an affectionate wife!'
"i shuddered, for he spoke truth. i could prove the[pg 249] innocence of eric marville only at the price of noel's death.
"was it for the wife to bring her husband to the guillotine?
"how i preserved my reason at this time i do not know. it came somewhat as a relief to learn that marville's sentence was changed to imprisonment for life.
"'if you may not prove his innocence,' i said, 'there is one thing you can do for him. aid him to escape from prison to some far-off land, where he may live in happiness with his wife and child.'
"'ah! i might do that,' your father replied. the notion seemed to appeal to his spirit of daring and adventure. 'that's a devilish good idea of yours, thérèse. there would be a dash of excitement in it! only,' he added, gloomily, stopping in his walk, 'it will mean the utter ruin of my career. it is whispered that the ministry intend to appoint me to the next colonial governorship. i should like to see the fellow free, but his rescue must be left to others. it cannot be done by me. i should have to escape with him, and become exiled from france forever. no! no! it's impossible.'
"but i would not let the idea sleep. i gave him no rest, continually urging him to the work of rescue, even threatening to reveal the truth in connection with the murder, till at last, wearied by my importunities, he matured a plan for marville's rescue. the result you know. after an imprisonment of five years eric marville escaped from valàgenêt prison, and was hurried on board the yacht nemesis that was waiting for him in quilaix bay. your father went with him; as a law-breaker he could not remain in france. i would have accompanied their flight, but the hour of your birth was drawing near. it had been arranged, therefore, that i should join them at a later date. alas! i never set eyes upon your father[pg 250] again. he corresponded with me at irregular intervals, but after a lapse of eighteen months his letters ceased. the yacht in which he was cruising from place to place foundered off the english coast, and i have no reason to believe that he escaped a watery grave.
"if thus certain of his death, why, you may ask, did i not immediately make known the truth concerning the murder?
"fear for myself, love for you, were the motives prompting me to concealment.
"i was an accessory after the fact, a perjurer likewise, and therefore amenable to the law. you were a babe of eighteen months, pretty and charming, the light of my life. to proclaim the truth meant imprisonment for me, separation from you; and withal, disgrace upon our common name. i could not bear the thought of this, and, therefore, deaf to the voice of justice, i continued to keep the truth hidden.
"but now, assured by the physician that i have not many days to live, i dare not die without making you the confidante of my guilty secret.
"this letter, signed with my name, together with your father's correspondence, which is contained in my private desk, will afford sufficient evidence of the innocence of eric marville.
"to you, then, my daughter, i leave the duty of clearing the memory of an injured man, hoping that you will be brave enough to face the consequent ignominy which must forever rest upon our name.
"thérèse rochefort."
lorelie laid down the letter with a sigh.
"but i was not brave enough," she murmured.
her father, noel rochefort, was credited with having destroyed a brilliant future by his chivalrous enterprise[pg 251] of rescuing from prison a friend whom he deemed to be innocent: and, as the daughter of such, lorelie, wherever she went, found herself an object of interest and sympathy, almost a heroine. must she now proclaim that her father, the supposed hero, was in reality a murderer, and one, too, so base that in order to save his own neck he would have seen an innocent man, and his friend, go to the guillotine?
she was sixteen years of age at the time of her mother's death, and lovely in face and figure; her friends flattered her vanity by averring that with her beauty and accomplishments she might win the love of a nobleman, or even of a prince! but what nobleman or prince would marry the daughter of a felon? therefore, she resolved to let the truth be hidden. if eric marville were still living he was free; let him rejoice in that fact: if dead, her attestation of his innocence would do him no good. true, she knew that marville had left a son, who must often have felt shame at the stigma resting on his name. but this son would now be twenty-three years of age; he had grown up, she cynically argued, accustomed to the feeling, whereas in her case the knowledge had come upon her with a sudden and overwhelming shock. she pictured the pitying looks of her friends, the gibes of the malicious (for her beauty had made for her many enemies), and she shrank from facing the new situation. no: let the unknown idris marville bear the disgrace that of right belonged to her. and when, a month or two later, she learned from the newspapers that this same idris marville had perished in a fire at paris, she felt a sense of relief.
but retribution was to follow!
the day came when her life was in such danger that she must have perished but for the providential help of a certain stranger; and when that stranger proved to be[pg 252] none other than the idris marville whom she was wronging by her guilty silence, her feeling of remorse was so great that she was almost tempted to leap from the rock into the sea. to withhold the truth was pain, yet to declare it would be to earn idris' contempt. every kindly word, every pleasant look on his part, had gone to her heart like so many thrusts of steel.
the irony of fate! she had married viscount walden in the expectation of succeeding to a coronet, and now the belief was gradually forming in her mind that idris was the rightful heir of ravenhall: beatrice ravengar, and not herself, was destined to be the countess of ormsby.
o, if at the age of sixteen, and following the dictates of justice, she had tried to find idris marville, and finding, had given him her mother's written confession, how different her life might have been! idris would perhaps have been attracted by her then as he had been seven years later. but now? she was united to a husband whom she felt to be worthless: a husband who had ceased to care for her: a husband whose title of right belonged to idris.
"i am justly punished," she murmured, bitterly.
the remaining contents of the packet drawn by lorelie from the escritoire consisted of the correspondence mentioned by madame rochefort in her inculpatory letter.
arranging these missives according to the order of time in which they were written lorelie took up the first, which dealt with the events that followed upon the flight from quilaix.
"the pelayo hotel, pajares.
25th april, 1875.
"the newspapers will already have told you how [pg 253]admirably the rescue was planned and carried out, so i need not dwell upon that point.
"there was, however, one awkward hitch in the arrangement—the death of mrs. marville: but i am not to blame for that. had eric listened to me it would not have happened; my intention was to proceed direct to the yacht: he would turn aside to take his wife with him: now he has no wife.
"eric marville is free, and i hope you are satisfied.
"the superscription of this letter will show you that we are no longer on board the nemesis.
"'what is pajares?' you may ask. a mere hamlet on the northern slope of the asturian sierras, so high up as to be almost in the clouds: and the building dignified with the name of hotel is but a miserable log posada.
"how we come to be here is soon told.
"to fly from quilaix to the open sea was an easy task: the difficulty was to attain dry land again in safety; for, as our romantic escapade would form the chief topic in all the newspapers, it was pretty certain that at every port a watch would be kept for our yacht. we feared putting into harbour. but land we must—somewhere. we could not cruise forever on the open main. how to land without detection was the problem.
"chance decided our course of action. we lay becalmed in a wild rocky bay off the asturian coast. anchoring a mile from land we swept the shore with the glass: there was neither village nor human dwelling visible, not a living creature in sight. it was the very spot for our purpose; and, as if to favour us still more, a mist came on. marville proposed that we should go ashore in the boat, and get rid of the tell-tale yacht by scuttling it there and then. i was compelled to agree to this plan, for i could devise none better. it went to my heart to[pg 254] watch the beautiful nemesis sinking out of sight forever, but it would have gone to my heart still more to be captured by a french cruiser, and provided with a cell at valàgenêt.
"fortunately, the sea was as smooth as glass and the wind still as we rowed off, otherwise enveloped in a fog on an ironbound coast we might have fared ill. we ran the boat ashore in safety, destroyed it immediately afterwards, and paid off our crew, who were as glad as ourselves to be quit of the yacht, for they, too, as fellow-conspirators in the rescue-plot, were amenable to justice.
"we dispersed: and since the crew went eastward, marville and i turned our faces westward, and walking all night as chance directed, found ourselves at early dawn at gijon, where we rested. we assumed the character of pedestrian tourists. from gijon we moved on to oviedo, and thence to the mountain-hamlet of pajares, where i write this.
"i have found marville far from being a pleasant companion: the death of his wife has gloomed his spirits, and has poisoned the pleasure he might otherwise derive from his newly-acquired freedom.
"his talk, on the few occasions when he does talk, turns mainly upon that accident, and upon the look of horror which his boy gave him. 'he will never want to see me again,' he mutters moodily.
"i was not sorry when he proposed that we should part. he saw that his gloom was an ill-match for my cheerful nature. with his love of mountaineering he resolved to cross the sierras, and to penetrate into leon. he set off without a guide. from the door of the posada i watched him ascending the mountain-path, his solitary black form outlined against the white snow. he dwindled to a speck, and that was the last i saw of him. shall we ever see each other again? he forgot to make[pg 255] arrangements for a future meeting, and i didn't remind him of the point.
"he has done me irreparable injury. for him i have wrecked a brilliant military career, lost a colonial governorship, and made myself an exile forever from la belle france. why should i confess the deed to him? haven't i made the fellow sufficient atonement?"
lorelie took up another letter, which was dated more than a twelvemonth after the first.
"h?tel d'angleterre,
salerno,
10th may, 1876.
"i verily believe that the continual mention of an absent evil has the power of causing that evil to appear. in every one of your letters you have alluded, despite my forbiddance, to eric marville and his innocence. your persistency in this respect seems to have raised him up again from the things of the past—a past i was beginning to forget.
"you can guess what is coming.
"i have met with eric marville. more than a year has passed since i parted from him in the village inn of pajares, hoping never more to set eyes upon him: and now his disturbing presence is with me again. 'disturbing?' you say. yes. you know the aphorism, 'we hate those whom we have injured;' and i suppose i have injured him: you so often say it in your letters that i have come at last to believe it.
"what folly led me to campania? i might have foreseen our meeting; for, prior to the rescue, did not i transfer his banking account under an assumed name to messrs. stradella, of naples?
"but to our meeting.
[pg 256]
"yesterday i made an excursion to paestum, and, fortunately, had the place to myself. not one tourist was there. solitary and charmed i wandered for a whole day among the magnificent ruins of the past.
"amid the stillness of a lovely twilight i sat down at the base of a marble column belonging to the temple of neptune. the whole circle of the sky, from the wine-dark sea before me to the peaks of the cypress-clad mountains behind, was flushed with the deep violet hues to be seen only in this southern clime.
"i smoked a cigar and drank in the pure air of peace. it was a time disposing one to turn poet, monk, or somebody equally moral. i had almost forgotten that night at nantes.
"suddenly my eye caught sight of a shadow. i looked up; and there was eric marville watching me with an expression that made me feel uneasy, i could not tell why.
"on seeing that i had noticed him he came forward. he did not offer his hand, but smiled mysteriously, almost exultantly, so it seemed to me, and took a seat opposite me on a fallen pillar.
"at first we talked commonplaces. presently he remarked:
"'i am going yachting among the fiords of norway. you must accompany me.'
"his manner implied that he was master and i servant! why should he desire me for his compagnon de voyage, seeing that, as matters are at present, we are so unlike each other, he gloomy, i gay?
"'there is a fine yacht for sale at naples. the price is moderate. i propose that we divide it between us.'
"do you believe, thérèse, that man is a free agent, with full control over his own actions? of course you answer 'yes'; your father-confessor has preached the[pg 257] doctrine a hundred times. i answer 'no'! how, otherwise, can i account for my conduct? i hate the fellow; i do not wish to go yachting; i have a presentiment that ill will come of it. nevertheless, i have given him my promise. explain that, if you can."
"the h?tel crocelle, naples,
2d june, 1876.
"the transfer of the yacht is complete. it is as pretty a vessel as one could desire. over it my first open variance with marville arose. i say 'open,' because, secretly, we have been in a state of hostility to each other since the day of our meeting at paestum.
"marville was desirous of changing the name of our new-bought yacht. i suggested lorelie, after the little daughter whom i trust one day to see; he wished it to be called idris, after his child. the spin of a coin decided the point in his favour. the crew are all english, and have given proof of it. when marville ordered the new name to be painted, they begged him not to rechristen the vessel, declaring that to do so would bring ill-luck. marville treated their opinion with contempt. he rolled up his shirt-sleeves, slung a plank over the side, and set to work himself, painting the name idris as if to the manner born. two of the crew deserted in consequence. strange that english sailors, so bold in fight, should be so superstitious!"
"the yacht idris, gibraltar,
7th july, 1876.
"marville is a wretched companion. twelve months of freedom ought to have made him as bright and gay as in the old days, instead of which he is the same melancholy being who left me at pajares, with only one topic of conversation—his unjust conviction.
[pg 258]
"you ask me whether i shall ever tell him that it was i who slew duchesne? you might as well ask me whether i want my throat cut at once? that little affair at nantes was the beginning of a train of circumstances that ended in the death of his wife. he would hold me primarily responsible for this last unlucky accident. tell him the true story! i would as soon tell the minister of justice, who would at least see that i had a fair trial, whereas marville, in his present state of gloom, is incapable of listening to reason. yesterday, while toying with his knife at dinner, he muttered, 'i would that the assassin of duchesne were before me now!' you can guess how i felt at those words. i am in a trying situation. every day i have to listen to a new theory accounting for the cause of the murder, with remarks as to how an intelligent detective ought to set to work. it is not enough for me to smoke in silence; he wants to hear theories from me on the matter, and becomes angry because i have none to give. i wish to god he would talk of something else besides the one everlasting theme! i feel that i shall be betraying myself some day.
"you remember the silver altar-ring engraved with runic letters, the ring that he entrusted to my secret keeping on the morning of his arrest? after his trial i handed the relic to his wife, but scarcely knowing why, i made a copy of the runic inscription. this copy happened to be among my papers on board the nemesis, and, believe me, when leaving the sinking yacht, marville betrayed more concern over this wretched piece of writing than over anything else on board.
"it seems that he has been studying my transcript during the past year, trying to extract some meaning from it: and though failing hitherto, he still perseveres.
"he talks oddly at times, and i am beginning to [pg 259]believe that his mind is unhinged. he declared to-day that he is the rightful heir to a peerage, and could take his rank to-morrow if he chose. of course i believe this!"
"the yacht idris, penzance,
12th july, 1876.
"if you perceive a difference in my penmanship ascribe it to my trembling hand. i am in a state of nervous fear. the strangest, the most inexplicable, the weirdest event of my life, happened yesterday. i was cleansing my hands in a bowl of water. marville was standing beside me. suddenly he observed in a very strange tone, 'do your hands always redden the water like that?'
"i glance downwards. the water in the basin—believe me or not, as you will—was as crimson as blood! my god! it looked for all the world like the water in which i washed my hands that night!
"i could see by the mirror that my face had turned as white as chalk. my agitation was too obvious to escape marville's notice. he smiled strangely, and turned away. what does it mean? can it be that he suspects me of—that? i have not yet recovered from the shock, though it happened twenty-four hours ago, nor have i washed my hands since then. my god! if it should happen again! i never expected to feel regret for the death of duchesne; nevertheless, i do. it has reduced me to a devilishly nervous state of mind. i suppose moralists would say that i am suffering retribution.
"one of the sailors declares that he heard me talking in my sleep. i must keep my cabin-door locked at night. if i should babble of that, and wake to find marville sitting by my bedside with an awful smile and with glassy eyes fixed on me!"
[pg 260]
"the yacht idris, trondheim,
10th september, 1876.
"i verily believe that marville is mad! he pretends that he has deciphered the runic inscription. it relates to the buried treasure of an old norse viking—which treasure, he avers, still exists in the spot where it was hidden, a thousand years ago, the site being some point on the eastern coast of england. a short run across the north sea will bring us to the place. he is bent on finding it. is it not clear that he is mad?
"hitherto i have taken charge of the yacht. now he has assumed the command, heedless of my mild protests. the crew do not like this change of masters. his seamanship is of the wildest character. he delights to sport with reefs and eddies, with winds and storms. thank heaven! we are going no farther north, or he would take a diabolical pleasure in steering us all into the ma?lstrom in order to demonstrate how cleverly he could get us out again. this may be all very well for him, who is in love with death, but for my part i prefer to live.
"he has exchanged his former melancholy mood for one of reckless mirth. he drinks: talks loudly: laughs: and promises to divide his imaginary treasure among the crew. 'to obtain it,' he says, 'we shall have to penetrate to the chamber of the dead, for its hiding-place is the tomb. but the ancient curse must be fulfilled; and you,' he added, turning to me, 'shall be our protesilaus.'
"my classics have grown rusty. who the devil was protesilaus?"
"the yacht idris, bergen,
7th october, 1876.
"i have discovered who protesilaus was—a greek hero who sacrificed his life to procure the safety of his[pg 261] friends. curious! what does marville mean by calling me protesilaus?
"a strange occurrence took place last night. a subdued wailing was heard among the shrouds. the thick fog prevented us from discovering the origin of the sound. fear fell on the crew, and none of them would ascend the rigging to ascertain the cause. they muttered that it was a ghost, and that it foreboded ill to all on board. marville laughed at them for a pack of fools! of course it was nothing but the moaning of some seabird, but, for all that, in my then state of mind it was sufficiently disquieting.
"i retired to rest, but only to lie awake all night with that eerie sound playing around the vessel. the sailors have lost all cheerfulness, and believe themselves to be living on a doomed ship. 'what vessel ever did well, after she was re-named?' asked one. i confess that i myself am affected by the general gloom, but when i expressed to marville my intention of remaining at bergen till his return from the treasure-search, he cried, 'no, no! you, of all persons, must not leave us.' why not? i thought of protesilaus again.
"the more i consider his moody watchful manner towards me of late, the more convinced i grow that he suspects me of the killing of duchesne. he has lured me on board this yacht with the object of torturing my conscience; by perpetually dwelling upon the crime he hopes to entrap me into a confession. so far he has failed, but my position is a terrible one. i feel intuitively that he is maturing some scheme of vengeance.
"'why do i not escape?' you may ask. impossible! the sailors, i believe, have orders to watch me. if i go ashore he accompanies me, ostensibly from friendship, in reality to keep guard over me. his dreadful smile fascinates me, and chains me to him. i seem to have lost all[pg 262] freedom of will and action, and to have fallen completely under the spell of some weird being from another world. i feel that ere long he will draw the secret from me.
"when i behold my reflection in the glass i cannot refrain from the thought, 'can that be the once brilliant and handsome rochefort?' i look ten years older—grey, haggard. i should be quite safe in returning to france, for no one would recognize me now.
"if there be a tribunal above to which one is responsible for the deeds done on earth, i trust that the remorse i have suffered of late will be taken into account."
"the yacht idris. in ormsby roads,
13th october, 1876, 7 p.m.
"we are anchored off the english coast in front of a little town called ormsby-on-sea. to the right of the town and about a mile from the shore rise the towers of some old castle, embowered in a woodland vale, and forming a pretty feature in the landscape. marville seems to take a great interest in this edifice; all this morning he has been studying it through the telescope.
"'haven't seen the place for ten years,' he muttered, 'wonder if he is still alive.'
"i asked him the name of the place. a scowl was my only answer. he hasn't improved in amiability since we left bergen. in the dictatorial spirit assumed by him of late he will not permit any of us to land. he himself is going ashore for some purpose which he refuses to disclose. he will not return to the yacht till to-morrow. i am dispatching this letter to the post by the sailor who is to row marville ashore—a sailor whom i can trust.—farewell!"
"the last letter we ever received from him," murmured lorelie, laying down the missive.
[pg 263]
the tone of the final letters conveyed an impression terrible in its suggestiveness to her mind now that by means of her hypnotic experiment she had become aware of the tragedy that had taken place within the interior of ormfell.
"the idris went down on the evening of october 13th," she murmured, "and late that same night olave ravengar returned to ravenhall after an absence of ten years. is this a coincidence, or is the present earl the same person as eric marville? did my father go down with the yacht, or did he escape the sea only to fall within the interior of ormfell by the hand of the man whom he had wronged?"
