But when Idris, a few hours later, called at Wave Crest, he was met on the threshold by Beatrice with the tidings that Lorelie had left Ormsby.
"Where has she gone?"
"Indeed I do not know," replied Beatrice, who looked the picture of grief. "She would not tell me her destination or plans. I did my best to persuade her to stay, but in vain."
* * * * * *
A year after Lorelie's disappearance there occurred in a society-paper a paragraph relative to an event which, however melancholy in itself, could scarcely be viewed by Idris with any other feeling than that of satisfaction. This event was the death of Ivar, who was said to have been carried off by fever in an obscure lodging in London. Inquiries on the part of Idris proved that the story was true: and he found, moreover, that Ivar, in his last hours, had been nursed by a lady whose description answered to that of Lorelie.
The forgiving and generous disposition evinced by this act did but endear her the more to Idris.
But where was she? He was certain that she loved him. Why then did she continue to hide herself?
All attempts on his part to trace her failed completely: and a haunting fear seized him that she had retired for life to the seclusion of a French convent.
Two years went by, and Idris had almost given up the hope of ever seeing her again, when, passing one afternoon by the Church of St. Oswald, he heard the sound of its organ.
Attracted, partly by the music, partly by the thought that it was in this church that he had first set eyes upon Lorelie, he entered the Ravengar Chantry, and sat down to listen.