"A portion of the time," replied Ivar, evidently uneasy under his wife's catechism.
"And so this murder-trial," observed Lorelie, with a thoughtful air, "this trial which took place so far back as twenty-seven years ago—that is before you and I were born—has formed a topic of conversation between yourself and your father. What necessity led him to talk of the matter to you?"
But Ivar waived this question by asking one.
"What has brought that fellow to Ormsby?" he said, nodding his head in the direction of Idris.
"He is trying to discover his father; for he believes, rightly or wrongly, that Eric Marville is still alive. He has traced him to this neighbourhood," she added, her eyes attentive to every variation in Ivar's countenance.
"And here he may end his quest," said the viscount, "for Eric Marville was shipwrecked off this coast and drowned many years ago. At least, that is my father's statement," he added in some confusion, and looking like a man who has been unwittingly betrayed into a rash statement.
"What was the name of the vessel in which Eric Marville went down?" asked Lorelie, speaking as if she had never before heard of it.
"The—The Idris," returned the viscount, giving the name with obvious reluctance.
There was on Lorelie's face a smile that somehow made Ivar feel as if he had walked into a net prepared for him.
"And how long ago is it since this vessel was wrecked?"