viscount walden's twenty-first birthday was drawing near, and ravenhall was making grand preparations for the occasion. invitations were issued to the local magnates and their families—invitations eagerly accepted, for everybody was curious to see both the earl, who had so long secluded himself from society, and the new viscountess, whose secret marriage had invested her with a romantic interest. entertainment of various kinds was provided, for the earl's guests, as well as for the tenantry of his estates, the day to terminate in a grand ball, preceded by the performance of a poetic drama, written by lady walden, and entitled the fatal skull, a drama in which the authoress herself was to take the leading r?le. the other dramatis person? were drawn from a select circle of ormsby society, and their frequent rehearsals filled ravenhall with a mirth and a gaiety not known in that gloomy mansion for many years. lorelie took upon herself the office of stage-directress, and flung herself heart and soul into the work. she was ably seconded by beatrice ravengar, who, to the surprise of everybody in ormsby, had left her brother godfrey in order to be the companion of the new viscountess. a number of carpenters and scene-shifters from london had transformed the great hall of the castle into a suitable stage and auditorium. scenic artists were busy at the canvas. money was freely lavished upon the appropriate theatrical costumes. a leading society-paper had asked for, and had obtained, the[pg 319] favour of having a reporter present to record the day's doings; in short, everything had been done to ensure success, and the amateur actors looked forward to the event with a pleasurable zest.
the great day came at last, as sunny and fair as could be desired. the earl moved about among his guests and tenantry with a dignified courtesy, bestowing 'nods and becks and wreathed smiles' on all sides, in a manner surprising to those who had hitherto regarded him as a sort of gloomy manfred.
ivar was on excellent terms with himself: he flirted with the ladies, and patronized the young men with a truly lordly air. a descendant of a noble house: heir to a splendid estate: husband of a wife whose loveliness and literary abilities were the theme of universal praise—what more could he desire? indifferent himself to lorelie's charms he was not displeased to witness the admiration they excited in others. she was a part of his property, as it were: it was but fitting that she should receive her tribute of praise along with the other items of the ravengar estate.
lady walden made an ideal hostess, and the guests whispered in secret that if the rumour were true that her own family was not of the highest, her beauty and sprightliness amply compensated for the deficiency. from her manner one would have thought her the happiest lady in the county. once only did she give evidence of the real feeling that lay masked beneath her pleasant exterior, and that was when the mayor of ormsby, standing upon the flight of steps leading up to the grand entrance of ravenhall, read a long address to ivar, congratulating him on the attainment of his majority, and expressing the hope that both the viscount and his lady might long live to enjoy their exalted rank. at this lorelie's lips curved for a moment into a bitter smile, and[pg 320] she cast a significant glance at beatrice, who was seldom absent from her side that day. to those who noted the smile it recurred with peculiar force upon the morrow.
with the coming of twilight beatrice stole away from the company to a private portion of the park, taking her course towards a little gateway in the western wall. near this gate was a wooden bench, and seating herself upon it she drew forth a telegram and glanced at the message it contained, which was singularly brief:—"will be at the place appointed by seven o'clock."
the sender of this telegram was punctual to the minute. st. oswald's church clock was chiming the hour when there came a knocking at the wicket-gate. instantly unlocking it beatrice threw it open, and stood face to face with idris breakspear.
she greeted him with an air which idris intuitively felt to be a foreboding of grave things.
"on the point of sailing for india," he observed, "i received a letter from miss ravengar bidding me return at once to ormsby. such a message cannot be ignored, and therefore i am here. and the question is, 'why am i here?'"
"i have not sent for you without cause. it is your duty to follow me, to ask no questions, but to await developments."
"and where are you taking me?" he asked, as she locked the gate.
"there!" exclaimed beatrice, appealing to an imaginary audience. "his first utterance is a defiance of my orders. however, i will answer that question. you are coming with me to ravenhall."
impressed by the oddity of her manner idris made no demur but offered his arm and accepted her guidance.
their way led by a private path amid dense shrubbery:[pg 321] now and again through a long-drawn vista in the trees idris caught a glimpse of the more distant portions of the park.
the dusk of a lovely summer's eve was descending upon the lordly terraces and verdant lawns of ravenhall. mellowed by the distance the music of a regimental band floated on the air. al fresco dancing was taking place beside the margin of a grey-gleaming lake. above was a sky of darkest blue: below, the myriad lanterns shining amid the dark foliage made the park appear like a scene from fairyland.
idris contemplated the picture with mixed feelings. if—and it was a very great "if," he admitted—lorelie was right in asserting that he himself was the true earl of ormsby, then all this fair estate was really his. well, he had resigned his claim in favour of lorelie, and would not go from his word. but not till this moment did he fully realize the extent of the sacrifice.
"it is a gala day, i perceive," he remarked. "i learned on my way from the station that lord walden has attained his majority. he has a splendid estate in futuro. he ought to be a proud man to-day."
"he is proud, ignorant that, like agamemnon, he is treading on purple to his doom."
idris was surprised at these words, surprised still more by the bitterness with which beatrice emphasized them. what did this speech portend?
"you have been living at ravenhall for the past two months, i understand?" he remarked, for want of something better to say.
"yes, as lorelie's companion. this is our last day here. lorelie and i take our departure to-night."
idris was more mystified than ever. beatrice smiled as if enjoying his perplexity.
they had now reached the western wing of the [pg 322]mansion, and beatrice, unlocking a small door, invited idris to enter.
"am i to be smuggled in?"
"yes, for this once, cousin idris."
"cousin idris," he repeated, emphasizing the first word.
"did i say 'cousin'?" she asked, with a simulation of innocence. "well, i won't withdraw the term. let it remain."
idris stared hard at her, trying to read her thoughts. if he were really a ravengar it might be that he was cousin to beatrice. was it possible that she and lorelie had obtained proofs of this? nay, could it be true that he was really entitled to the earldom? had he been summoned here by beatrice to take part in some plot by which the earl should be made to confess himself a usurper? full of wonder he silently followed his guide. they traversed several corridors and ascended two staircases without encountering any one, a fact which led idris to believe that beatrice had prearranged matters with a view to keeping his visit a secret. opening a door in an upper corridor beatrice drew him forward, remarking: "this is our destination."
idris, looking around, found himself in a dainty little chamber very like an opera-box in appearance, inasmuch as there was a sort of balcony on one side of it. silken draperies prevented him from seeing into what this balcony projected, but from below it there came the subdued murmur of voices.
"we are here," said beatrice, "to view lorelie's tragedy. it is to be acted to-night, and in this little place you and i will be able to witness the play unseen either by actors or audience."
stepping forward she cautiously put the curtains aside, an action which disclosed the fact that they were standing[pg 323] on an elevated balcony that projected into, and looked down upon, a grand gothic hall, brilliantly illuminated with electric light.
under the manipulation of carpenters and upholsterers the place had assumed a somewhat theatre-like aspect. the southern end of the hall was appropriated to the stage, which for the time being was hidden from view by the folds of a heavy curtain. the pavement of the body of the hall was covered with velvet carpeting. fauteuils, lounges, seats of every description, were disposed here and there: and these were now becoming occupied by a number of fashionably-dressed ladies and gentlemen, the time fixed for the beginning of the performance being close at hand.
"i daresay," said beatrice, "you are wondering whether it is reasonable on the part of lorelie and myself to stop your voyage and to summon you here merely to witness a play? the sequel will show. it is something more than a play that you are asked to witness: it is an experiment. if lorelie were to choose a motto for her drama it would be the words of hamlet:—
"'the play's the thing
wherein i'll catch the conscience of the king.'"
"i am altogether in the dark," said her companion, lugubriously.
"be patient, cousin idris, and you shall have light anon."
"cousin idris again! come, if we really are cousins, i shall exercise a cousin's privilege."
so saying he stole his arm around her, and turned her pretty face upward to his own. and beatrice, unable to escape, submitted her lips to his, laughing, yet feeling more disposed to cry, knowing full well that there was another whom he would much rather have kissed.
[pg 324]
she broke from his arms and essayed to hide her confusion in the study of a playbill printed on white satin. of the dramatis person?, four names only were familiar to idris.
rosamond (queen of the lombards) lady walden.
alboin (king of the lombards) lord walden.
cunimund (king of the gepid?) dr. g. rothwell.
paulinus (a bishop) the earl of ormsby.
"the earl among the actors?" cried idris in surprise.
"the play, as an experiment, would be a failure without him," returned beatrice, oracularly. "to persuade him to take part in it was a matter requiring very delicate handling on the part of lorelie and myself. but we have gained our end, you see."
at this juncture there arose the twanging of violin-strings, the puffing of wind instruments, and other sounds preliminary to orchestral music. then in a moment more the overture had begun.
idris, having drawn a velvet lounge to a point convenient for obtaining a clearer view of the stage, seated beatrice beside himself. they were almost screened from sight by the arrangement of the silken curtains, and by a profusion of flowers and fernery that decorated the exterior ledge of the balcony.
the overture was a really brilliant piece, but beatrice appeared to give little heed to it.
"there was once," she murmured, in a dreamy voice, "there was once a son, who at the age of seven years promised his mother on oath that when he became a man he would do his utmost to clear his father's name from a false charge. the son attained manhood; the opportunity came for proving his father's innocence, and what did the son do? nothing! absolutely nothing!"
[pg 325]
"would you have me darken lorelie's name?" asked idris, with a slight touch of anger in his voice.
but without heeding this interruption beatrice went on:—
"and therefore, as you have failed in your duty, lorelie herself will perform the act of justice to the dead. at this very hour two leading newspapers—the one in paris, the other in london—are setting up the type of an article entitled 'the story of an almost forgotten tragedy,' an article that will bear the signature of lorelie rochefort. to-morrow morning the world will learn that eric marville was innocent of the crime laid to his charge. and to-night, here, in this very hall, lorelie hopes to prove who eric marville really was: and her experiment, if it terminate as she expects, will depress her fortune in just the same proportion as it will raise yours.
"and this she does by way of making atonement to you for her guilty silence in the matter of eric marville's innocence. that silence was the only fault in a life otherwise noble and good; how good no one knows so well as myself. but see! the play is beginning."
as beatrice spoke, the music of the orchestra stopped with a sudden crash. the electric light was switched off, leaving the body of the hall in semi-darkness. the buzz of conversation ceased, and amid a death-like silence the curtain rose on the opening act of the tragedy of the fatal skull.
the first scene of this drama was styled on the playbill, "an audience-chamber in the palace of cunimund."
clad in barbaric splendour, and seated upon a canopied throne, was the royal cunimund, in the person of godfrey rothwell. on each side of him stood armed warriors and venerable counsellors, among the latter being the earl himself in his character of bishop paulinus, a[pg 326] r?le for which his grave and dignified bearing seemed naturally adapted.
idris gazed upon the earl with considerable interest, beholding him for the first time. this was the man whom lorelie—oddly enough now it seemed—had identified with his own father! she had been compelled to admit herself in error, but was there truth in her other theory that the earl was the author of the deed done in ormfell? he turned from the contemplation of this problem to listen to the words of the play.
the opening speech of king cunimund, addressed to his followers, showed that he had assembled them for the purpose of giving audience to a herald from the lombard king, alboin. the messenger being admitted, demanded, on behalf of his royal master, the hand of cunimund's daughter, the fair princess rosamond. from the herald's address alboin appeared to be a somewhat savage wooer, inasmuch as he was encamped with an army upon the frontier, prepared, in the event of refusal, to ravage the gepid kingdom with fire and sword.
"it is for rosamond herself to decide the question," was the just arbitrament of cunimund, when the herald had finished his oration.
so a messenger was despatched off the stage to bring in the princess. then, from the right wing, to the sound of music soft and sweet, lorelie entered in the character of rosamond, the limelight playing with enchanting effect over the curves of her graceful figure and over the silken sheen of her dress. in idris' eyes she had never looked more lovely, her natural beauty being enhanced by the attractions of art. and beatrice, watching his face, sighed, for she knew herself to be forgotten.
idris had hoped to receive a glance from lorelie on her entrance, but in this he was disappointed: her whole soul was evidently absorbed in the part she was playing.
[pg 327]
with a half-smile upon her lip rosamond listened while her father cunimund briefly explained the purpose for which she had been summoned. then, standing erect with girlish grace rosamond pleaded, in sweet and maidenly language, not to be given up to the will of a king well known for his savage character. there was something so pathetic and touching in her appeal as she stood alone facing the rough warriors, that tears rose to the eyes of many ladies in the audience. it seemed not to be acting, but nature itself.
tumultuous shouts from the gepid warriors applauded rosamond's decision, and the curtain descended upon an exciting tableau—the running to and fro of men, the buckling on of armour, and the giving of orders for the coming fray.
on turning to ascertain idris' opinion of the first act beatrice found him with a look of perplexity on his face.
"the earl! the earl!" he murmured. "am i dreaming, or have i seen him before? his attitude in raising his hand to his brow recalls a gesture on the part of some one i have known in far-off times. in his voice, too, there is something familiar: it is like the echo of one heard in my childhood."
beatrice gave a faint cry of surprise.
"lorelie was right, then, in her conjecture," she said. "yes: cousin idris, you have seen the earl before under very different circumstances from the present. patience! you shall learn where ere long."
quickly the curtain rose upon the second act.
the scene represented the interior of a church by night. lamps gleaming from lofty columns shed a solemn light around.
rosamond was present with her maidens and a few armed attendants. their words showed that the gepid[pg 328] army had suffered defeat. cunimund himself was dead—not killed in fair and open fight, but treacherously assassinated by the bishop paulinus, who had gone over to the lombard side in the midst of the battle, carrying with him the head of the fallen king, and securing by that gift the favour of alboin. the lombards were now marching upon the gepid capital, and rosamond was seeking to elude capture by taking sanctuary.
vain hope! from without came cries, the tramp of warriors, the clang of arms. torches gleamed through the windows of the church. rosamond's attendants tried to bar the door: their feeble efforts yielded to the superior force of the foe, and the lombards entered the church with alboin at their head, the r?le of that king being sustained by ivar. the sanctuary became the scene of an unequal combat. soon the sword glimmered in the grasp of the last defender, and the triumphant and savage alboin seized the lovely and shrinking form of rosamond.
not till alboin had sworn to accomplish his purpose, with or without marriage, did rosamond yield her reluctant assent to become his wife. the ceremony took place on the spot, paulinus himself, the traitor-bishop, performing the marriage-rite.
rosamond, half-fainting, was led by her attendant maidens to the altar, and holding alboin's hand, was forced to utter the words of the wedding-ritual amid the rude shouting of the lombard soldiery, one of whom carried the head of cunimund affixed to the point of a pike.
language fails to convey an adequate conception of the wild horror displayed by rosamond at this juncture in being mated to a man she loathed, and by an ecclesiastic whose hands were red with her father's blood. in an agony of grief and rage she mingled the holy words[pg 329] of the ritual with fierce "asides." she was no longer the sweet maiden of the first act, but a woman thirsting for vengeance.
it struck idris that the situation of rosamond offered an analogy to that of lorelie herself in being wedded to an uncongenial consort and living in daily communion with a man guilty of bloodshed. then slowly the belief came over him that this emotion on her part was not a piece of acting, but the real expression of her feelings. it was no mock princess that he beheld, breathing an imaginary hatred against stage-foes, but a wronged woman animated with a deadly purpose against her husband and her father-in-law. what had happened to transform lorelie's sweet and gracious nature to this dark and vengeful mood?
"as i live," muttered idris, when the curtain had descended upon the scene, "she is importing her own personal feelings into the piece. she hates the earl and ivar, and is laying some snare for them."
"you have hit it," replied beatrice. "this play is for their humiliation and ruin."
"how is it that her object did not reveal itself to them during the rehearsal?"
"because she did not act then in the same spirit as now: and, moreover, she will insert some words not in the printed edition of her play in order to mark their effect upon the earl. there will be no need to ask what words, or for what purpose uttered: you will know as soon as you hear. see!" exclaimed beatrice, in a voice trembling with suppressed excitement, "the third act is beginning."
as the curtain ascended again a murmur of admiration rose from the audience at the beauty of the tableau revealed to view. the scene represented the refectory of a palace, and was so arranged that the actual walls of the[pg 330] gothic hall in which the audience sat formed the wings and rear of the stage scenery, thus producing an effect more realistic than could have been attained by painted canvas. a spacious and splendid arched casement facing the audience made a part of this refectory; the scene had been purposely timed with regard to the moon's course, and it was no mock planet, but the real silver orb of night that shone through the panes of stained glass from a sky of darkest blue. the moonlight without contrasted curiously with the glow cast by the lamps pendent from the vaulted roof of the supposed banqueting hall.
a feast was taking place, given by king alboin to celebrate his victory over cunimund. historically speaking, the memorable and fatal banquet with which the name of rosamond is associated, happened several years after the defeat of the gepid king, but for the sake of dramatic effect lorelie had represented it as the immediate consequence of that defeat.
robed in purple, and with a jewelled diadem upon his head, sat alboin, and beside him, and now his chief counsellor, the traitor-bishop paulinus, whose episcopal attire was stiff with brocade and gems. disposed along the board with picturesque effect were the lombard chiefs and warriors, all arrayed in gleaming mail.
the royal table glittered with a profusion of plate. the shelves of a carved oaken sideboard were filled with a variety of golden and silver vessels. the stage twinkled with so many dazzling points of light that it became hurtful to gaze too long upon it. all the ravengar heirlooms were being paraded in this banqueting-scene, probably to impress the visitors with the extent of the ravengar wealth.
"are those jewels, and is that plate real?" muttered idris, examining them through a lorgnette.
"all genuine, and not stage-property. i was once[pg 331] promised," murmured beatrice in a dreamy manner, "i was once promised a moiety of that wealth.—i wonder, cousin idris, whether you will keep your word: for it is all yours, or soon will be."
idris did not catch the last part of her utterance, but he had heard enough to understand whence came all this display.
"the viking's treasure!" he cried in wonderment. "but that blue-gleaming cup that the earl is lifting to his lips!—that cannot be a sapphire: it must be coloured glass."
"it is a real gem, i assure you. isn't it a lovely thing? there cannot be its equal in the wide world. and think of it! ivar was on the point of selling it, and other rarities, but fortunately, lorelie stopped him in time. but i'll reserve that story."
the walls of the supposed banqueting hall were hung with tapestry, sufficient in length to drape both the wings and the background. this arras, decorated with figures in needlework, was obviously very ancient, apparently one of the ravengar heirlooms employed to give an air of antiquity to the refectory-scene.
it was somewhat difficult to obtain a clear view of this tapestry owing to the intervention of the banqueting-table and the picturesque figures grouped around it; but, bringing his lorgnette to bear upon such parts of it as were visible, idris observed that one of its needlework pictures was subscribed with the words:—"ormus hildam nubit."
"orm weds hilda," he muttered. "by heaven! that is the tapestry that once decorated the interior of the viking's tomb!"
"true," returned beatrice. "but—we are losing the words of the play."
this last was quite true. so occupied had idris been[pg 332] in contemplating the scenic effects, that he had not yet caught a word of the act then in progress.
fixing his attention upon the dialogue idris noticed that alboin (or ivar) was inviting his companions-in-arms to drink to their recent victory. while speaking he lifted on high his own goblet, a goblet of a very curious character, for it was fashioned from a human skull, supposedly that of the fallen cunimund. the upper portion of the cranium had been sawn off, and being attached to the lower part by silver hinges, formed the lid of the grim drinking-vessel.
"do you recognize the relic taken by you from ormfell?" asked beatrice.
"that cup is not the 'viking's' skull," returned idris decisively, as he surveyed it through his glasses. "its colour is white: mine was a yellowish-brown. now, notice the lid; it is lifted and turned towards us: it ought to contain a circular perforation, but there is none, you see. trust me, i know my relic too well to be deceived."
"you are quite right, cousin idris: the cup now in ivar's hands is not the 'viking's' skull; being merely the one used in the rehearsal. it would have been a betraying of her purpose had lorelie employed the real relic, but it will make its appearance soon."
she turned her attention to the dialogue again, and idris did the same, wondering what the end of it would be.
extending the skull-cup to a slave, ivar-alboin cried, in the words of history:—
"fill this goblet to the brim: carry it to the queen, and bid her in my name drink to the memory of her father."
the attendant poured wine into the cup and carried it off the stage for the purpose of presenting it to queen rosamond. and pre-informed by beatrice, idris knew[pg 333] that the goblet carried out would not be the same as that which would be brought in. lorelie would enter with the identical skull taken from ormfell. why should this be? he awaited the sequel with breathless interest, an interest that would have been far more intense had he known with what person godfrey had connected this same skull. but some things had been kept from the knowledge of idris, and this was one of them.
the advent of queen rosamond was heralded by music of a singular character. the softer and more melodious instrument ceased, and there arose a threnody drawn entirely from violin-chords and from the metallic wires of the harp—a threnody that was staccato, shivering, weird. the faint whisperings which had been going on here and there among the audience instantly ceased: every one sat spellbound, thrilled with awe by that unearthly music, as if it were a prelude to the entrance of death himself.
idris recognized the air as the requiem that was never heard except at the death of a ravengar. that it should now be played seemed suggestive of some coming tragedy. he learned from beatrice that this requiem had formed no part of the rehearsals: and, indeed, the wondering looks interchanged among the amateurs on the stage showed that it came upon them as a surprise. idris was not slow to mark the perturbed air of the earl-bishop. if it were lorelie's object to unnerve him, she had to some extent succeeded.
amid this eerie refrain queen rosamond slowly entered the banqueting hall, carrying in her hands the dread cup, the fatal skull of her father cunimund. the eyes of every one, both on and off the stage, were riveted upon her movements. she had exhibited splendid acting in the two previous scenes; was she now about to surpass herself?
[pg 334]
she was robed in a vesture of violet satin, embroidered with gold, that shimmered as she moved; and in her flowing raven hair there gleamed an ornament that gave idris a thrill of surprise, for he immediately recognized it as the stiletto hair-pin that had wrought the fatal deed in ormfell.
by aid of the lorgnette he surveyed the object she was carrying. yes: that golden-brown thing was indeed the 'viking's skull,' set in silver, and mounted as a cup—a cup in appearance only, for the cranium was perfect and entire, and had not been fashioned into a lid.
rosamond had entered through an arched door in the wall on the right-hand side of the stage. ivar-alboin's throne was on the extreme left, and therefore to reach him it was necessary to traverse the entire length of the stage.
slowly, very slowly, she advanced with silent and majestic tread, holding aloft the fatal skull.
to idris, the moment was one of thrilling interest. he felt that the crucial point of the experiment had come: the object for which lorelie had caused her play to be staged was now about to be disclosed.
not a word passed lorelie's lips as she moved forward, the ghostly tremolo music going on all the time. she looked neither to right nor left: she had eyes for one person only, and that was the earl, and him she regarded with the air of a triumphant accuser.
and the earl, observant of her manner, and always suspicious of her since that memorable night in the vault, dreading lest she should have divined his purpose in taking her there, grew troubled. it began to dawn upon him that lorelie had an ulterior purpose in staging her play, a purpose fraught with ill to himself. his eye rested on the skull she was carrying: he noted the difference, yet no inkling of her real aim entered his mind.[pg 335] he stared at her, trying to read her thoughts: she returned his gaze: their looks became a silent duel.
at last she reached the place where alboin sat. the shivering music came to an end, enabling her voice to be heard.
"ere i comply with my lord-king's request," she said, addressing ivar, and using the words of the play, "let me learn from whose skull i drink."
she set the relic upon the table, keeping one hand over the cranium. idris felt that she did this for the purpose of hiding the fatal perforation. but though her words were addressed to ivar, she did not for one moment remove her eyes from the earl's face.
"it is the skull of thy late sire, the royal cunimund."
"not so, husband mine," she cried, with a sudden change of voice that startled everybody present, actors and spectators alike, "not so! let us leave acting and be real.—tell me, my lord of ravenhall," she said, bending over the table and addressing the earl in a thrilling sibilant whisper that penetrated to every part of the hall, "tell me, whose skull is this?"
she withdrew her hand from the skull and pointed to the orifice in the cranium.
a strange gasp broke from the earl. he cast one glance of fear at lorelie, and then sat with parted lips and dilated eyes staring at the thing before him. lorelie's significant manner, his own guilty conscience, the circular perforation in the occiput, were sufficient to tell him whose skull it was. in one swift awful moment he realized that his secret was known to the woman whom he had most reason to fear, and he intuitively divined that she was about to make it known to all present. and then? he gasped for breath; his throat seemed to be compressed: he twitched at it with his fingers as if to loosen some tightly-drawn noose.
[pg 336]
he knew now why she had shewn such persistency in urging him to take part in the play. "only a minor part, a few words to utter, nothing more," had been her plea. he knew now why she had flattered, insisted, threatened: her motive was to surprise and confuse him: to entrap him into a confession by suddenly producing the skull before his eyes.
and she had nearly succeeded. sudden amazement had almost wrung the secret from him. he compressed his lips tightly: he must not speak, lest by some incautious word he should betray himself. silence! silence! there lay his safety. with such cunning had he overlaid all traces of the crime that it could not be proved except by his own confession.
the audience, after a glance at the play-book, looked at each other in bewilderment, wondering why the viscountess had departed from the written words of her drama. instead of playing as finely as heretofore, she had actually committed the gross blunder of addressing the bishop paulinus as, "my lord of ravenhall!"
receiving no answer to her question, for the earl sat silent and motionless, lorelie rested her hand upon the table, lightly shook the sleeve of her silken dress, and the next moment the runic altar-ring was sparkling on her wrist.
"by the sacred ring of odin, stolen by you from edith breakspear, i adjure you, speak! whose skull is this?"
something like a groan issued from the earl's lips. so, his theft of the ring was likewise known to this terrible woman!—a theft committed so long ago that it had almost faded from his memory: and, lo! here the deed was, starting up to confront him after a lapse of twenty-three years!
illustration
for a moment he forgot his present position: the[pg 337] stage, the lights, the audience, all were gone. he found himself again in that quiet twilight chamber at quilaix; again he saw the sad eyes, the pale face of the woman from whom he had taken the ring: again her solemn utterance sounded in his ears:—"if it should bring upon you the curse which it has brought upon me and mine, you will live to rue this day."
the voice of lorelie speaking again, roused him from his reverie.
"by this hoarded treasure, gained at the price of blood, i adjure you, speak! whose skull is this?"
mechanically his eyes wandered over the festal-board with its array of plate and jewels. the splendid parade of wealth made his present position only the more ghastly. like a spectre from the tomb nemesis arose to mock him amid the very riches which his guilt had purchased.
a silence had fallen both upon actors and audience. they had begun to catch a glimpse of the true meaning of this strange tableau. as motionless as statues they sat: they scarcely breathed: it would have required an earthquake or the conflagration of the hall itself to have moved them.
in silent despair the earl looked around upon the array of still faces set with earnest attention upon him, and then he turned again to the skull. all lifeless as it was, it was victor over him to-day. it seemed to be grinning at him in conscious mockery. powerless itself to speak it had found a mouthpiece, an avenger, in the person of lorelie.
why had he allowed this woman to leave the secret vault, where her life had been in his hands? he might have known that she would never rest till she had avenged herself upon him.
he looked into the depth of her dark blue eyes—eyes [pg 338]that were steeled to pity. "like for like," they seemed to say: she would show him the same mercy that he would have shown her, though in truth, lorelie thought not of herself, but of the dead eric marville, so cruelly wronged both by her father and herself: eric marville, who had generously refrained from claiming the peerage justly his in order that the present earl might enjoy it. and he had received his death-stroke from the hand of the very man whom he had benefited! was this a case for pity!
"by yon tapestry, silent witness of the deed, i adjure you, speak! whose skull is this?"
a portion of the arras within view of the earl was clutched from behind by an unseen hand, and was suddenly rent in twain from top to bottom with a sharp ripping sound: then came the fall of some dull body, (though nothing was seen by the audience), followed by a faint soughing like an expiring breath.
the earl shook convulsively. the very sounds that had accompanied the fall of his victim in ormfell!
with slow motion lorelie raised her hand to her head. the earl followed her action with his eyes, wondering what new terror was in store for him. drawing the broken stiletto pin from her hair she placed the fragment of the blade within the orifice of the skull, where it remained, the jewelled hilt projecting above, and glittering with weird effect.
"by the very stiletto that let out the life of your victim, i adjure you, speak! whose skull is this?"
she was determined to have her answer, and that openly.
in darkness and secrecy the deed had been wrought: amid brilliant light and before a crowd of hearers the truth should be proclaimed. like some struggling victim in the torture-chamber, who, doggedly [pg 339]speechless, is forced onward to the rack that will soon wring the confession from his reluctant lips, so the earl, in dumb agony, felt himself drawn onward to tell the dread secret of his life.
the jewelled hilt of the stiletto protruding from the skull exercized a fascination over him: he could not take his gaze from it: like a gleaming eye it seemed to be commanding him to admit his guilt.
idris, attentive to every variation in the face of the earl, saw that he was sinking into a cataleptic state. unable to obtain the required confession in any other way lorelie had resorted to her knowledge of hypnotism, and had found the earl powerless to resist her mesmeric influence.
"speak! whose skull is this?" she asked once more.
"my brother's."
the earl spoke like an automaton, in a tone, cold, mechanical, passionless—a tone he maintained throughout the whole of his subsequent answering.
a wave of surprise passed over the audience. till that moment it had not been known that urien ravengar, the preceding earl, had had more than one son.
"when did your brother die?"
"twenty-one years ago."
"in what place did he die?"
"in the interior of ormfell."
"how came he to die?"
"i killed him!"
at this answer a thrill pervaded the assembly. half-articulate screams arose from the ladies. from fair jewelled hands play-bills and books of the words slid to the floor. there they lay unheeded, being no longer required. the sham-tragedy was over: a new and [pg 340]unrehearsed drama of real life was taking place before their eyes, and the audience bent forward to watch and to listen.
ivar, with a troubled look, rose at this point and made an attempt to stay lorelie's action.
"let down the curtain," he cried to an attendant in the wings. "what devil's work is this?" he continued, turning fiercely upon his wife. "let it cease! restore my father to his normal state. you have mesmerized him, and, mistress of his mind, you are making him say whatever you wish. do you think that any one here believes him?"
one word from her, one imperious gesture, one flash of her eyes, was sufficient to quell ivar's opposition.
"malvazia!" she whispered, pointing to the sapphire cup.
the viscount shrank back, knowing that the hour of his fall and humiliation was at hand.
"let none intervene," said lorelie, addressing her audience with quiet dignity.
and during the remainder of the scene there was neither movement nor sound on the part of the spectators, not even from idris and ivar, the two persons most interested in the dialogue.
in cold measured tones lorelie proceeded with her merciless catechism.
"was he a younger brother?"
"my senior by three years."
"why was he not acknowledged by your father, the late earl?"
"he was the son of a secret marriage—a marriage with a village maiden named agnes marville."
"where can the record of this marriage be found?"
"in the parish church of oakhurst in kent."
"your father did not tell this agnes that he was a[pg 341] peer of the realm: and, as soon as a son was born, he deserted her: nay, more, while she was still living he made a second marriage, which, therefore, renders your own birth illegitimate. is not this so?"
"yes."
"when did the son of this agnes discover that he was the rightful heir of ravenhall?"
"on attaining manhood."
"what course did he take?"
"he wrote a letter to my father to the effect that as that father had repudiated him in infancy he on his part would accept the repudiation."
"and so, waiving his just rights, he went to live in brittany under the name of eric marville. why did you, too, leave england about the same time?"
"the letter written by eric fell into my hands and caused a quarrel between my father and myself."
"did you, when abroad, ever see your half-brother?"
"during his trial i stood among the spectators."
"did you not make yourself known to him?"
"no, for i hated him."
"did you show your hatred in any way?"
"i secretly promised his prosecuting counsel a large sum if he should secure a conviction."
"how long did you remain abroad?"
"ten years."
"and by a strange coincidence on the very night of your return to ravenhall your brother's yacht went down in ormsby race. you believed he had gone down with it, till——?"
"till he surprised me in ormfell as i was in the act of removing the treasure."
"let us hear what took place."
"we quarrelled. he had discovered the part i had played in the trial at nantes, and also that it was i who[pg 342] had taken the runic ring from his wife. he threatened to assert his claim to the earldom, and so i struck him down with a stiletto hair-pin, the only weapon i had upon me at the time."
"how did you dispose of the body?"
"i left it, covered with quicklime, in ormfell, so that, if ever discovered, it might be taken for the remains of some ancient warrior."
"did your brother have any children?"
"one son."
"who is, of course, the rightful earl of ormsby. by what name is this son known?"
"idris breakspear."
lorelie put no more questions. she had discovered what she wished. light had been cast on dark places and all was clear. she had made her atonement to idris: and, with a significant glance at the balcony where he sat, she waved her hand, and at that signal the curtain descended.
ere the amazed audience had time to exchange remarks the earl's voice was again heard, proceeding from the other side of the curtain.
"what do you say, ivar?" he cried, in wild staccato utterances. "i have accused myself ... of murder?... that my title ... and yours ... are invalid? it is false!... gentlemen, i am not responsible ... for my utterances.... this woman hates me.... she is a hypnotizer ... has taken my mind captive ... made me say ... whatever suits her purpose.... pay no heed to anything i have said ... in this state ... of——"
his utterance was checked by a fit of coughing, followed by a strange gasp, and then all was still.
the next moment one of the amateur actors appeared[pg 343] at the side of the stage-curtain and beckoned to godfrey, who, his part having ceased with the first act, had taken his place amongst the audience. the surgeon passed behind the curtain, then quickly reappeared.
"get the company away as quickly as can be managed," he whispered to the steward of ravenhall, "the earl is dead!"
