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!
For a moment he forgot his present position: the 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?"