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 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."