"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."