While he was occupied with these uneasy reflections a footman appeared, carrying on a silver salver a letter addressed to the viscount.
Ivar gave a start when he perceived the handwriting on the envelope, and ere opening it cast a glance at the distant Lorelie.
The note was a sweet-scented one, signed "Lilias Winter," and contained a request for a subscription to a local charity, at least so the simple-minded would have read it, but to Ivar it conveyed a very different meaning. Interpreted by a prearranged code the note signified that on the part of the sender circumstances were favourable that night for receiving a visit from the viscount. For Ivar, with a perversity of taste, not uncommon in the immoral, found more pleasure in carrying on an intrigue with a widow of forty than in cultivating the society of his fair young wife.
A few days previously, when ignorant of the existence of Idris, the viscount would have laughed in Lorelie's face had she reproached him with this amour.
Now he suddenly became conscious that this intrigue was no laughing matter.
His succession to the title and estates depended on his wife's good will. Any act on his part tending to provoke her might end in his ruin. When the handsome widow, who had entertained hopes herself of one day becoming Viscountess Walden, should learn of Ivar's marriage, disappointment and jealousy might prompt her to reveal this amour to Lorelie. And then——? Ill usage from her husband Lorelie might tolerate, but infidelity, never! Goaded by such an outrage she would fling his interests to the winds, and make it known that Idris was the rightful heir of Ravenhall.
"No help for it," muttered Ivar. "I must tell the governor at once, and tell him all without disguise; that Idris Marville is not only alive, but dwelling here to-day at Ormsby; that Lorelie suspects who he is, and that Lilias will have to be bribed into silence, otherwise she will create a scandal of which Lorelie will avail herself to our confusion and ruin. Breakspear at present is ignorant of his lineage; something must be done to prevent him from ever learning it—but what?"
* * * * * *
The lights in the library at Ravenhall burned till a late hour that night, or rather they were continued till far into the morning.