"You, Mr. Pacey? Where is my brother?"
"Gone back to the hotel. Left me to wait till you came out.--Seen him?
Bah! I needn't have asked that."
Cornel was silent for a few moments as she walked on side by side with
her strange-looking companion.
"Why did my brother go back to the hotel?"
"To cool himself."
Cornel looked round wonderingly.
"Temper," said Pacey shortly. "Said he couldn't contain himself; that
he was mad to let you come to see Armstrong; and at last I persuaded him
to go back, and said I'd see you safely to the hotel."
"And do you think I was doing wrong to go, Mr. Pacey?" she said, turning
upon him her candid eyes.
"No: I stood out here feeling more religious than I have these twenty
years. Ah! you don't understand. Never mind. Tell me you've brought
him to his senses."
Corners brow contracted, and she shook her head.
"Oh, but you should have done, my dear," cried Pacey angrily. "You've
been too hard upon him. Try and forgive him just a little bit. It's
life and death, ruin and destruction to as fine a lad as ever stepped."
"Yes," said Cornel piteously.
"Then you shouldn't have been so stern with him, you know. He has been
a blackguard; he deserves something. I am more bitter with him than
ever, but, my dear--don't flinch because I speak so familiarly: I'm old
enough to be your father--I say, if there is to be no forgiveness,
there'll be very few of us men in heaven, I'm afraid, for we're a bad
lot, my child, a very bad lot, though I don't think it's all our fault."
Cornel looked up at him again, with her nether lip quivering.
"That's right," said Pacey; "I don't know much about women, but that
means being sorry for him just a little. Now, look here: don't you
think you and I might go back together, and I leave you with him five
minutes while you bring him to his knees, and then promise to forgive
him some day?"
Pacey stopped short to say this, and took a half turn to go back. To
his surprise, Cornel placed her hand upon his arm.
"Take me out of this busy street," she whispered, "or I shall break
down. You do not know how I pleaded to him and offered him
forgiveness."
"You did?"
"Yes," in a faint whisper, "I offered to forgive everything if he would
come away."
"And he wouldn't? You tell me he wouldn't?"
"No!" in the faintest of whispers.
"Oh!" ejaculated Pacey, as he hurried her along. "That settles it then.
You offered to forgive him, and he refused? Then you've had an escape,
my dear. He is not worthy of another thought. There, let me take you
back to your brother. I thought better of him, and that the sight of
the sweetest, truest little woman who ever breathed would bring him to
his senses--make a man of him again. There, I'm very sorry--no, I'm
not, for I've done my duty by him, and you've done yours."
"No, we have not," said Cornel, growing firmer once more. "There is
much to do yet. This lady--this Contessa?"
"Well, what about her?" said Pacey, frowning.
"You told me that she is very beautiful."
"Yes, and so is some poison--clear as crystal."
"You know, then, where she lives?"
"Oh yes, I know where she lives," growled Pacey savagely.
"Take me to her."
Pacey shook himself free, and literally glared at the plainly dressed
girl at his side.
"I wish you would take me to her, Mr. Pacey. I must see her at once."
"You? You see her? That tiger lily of a woman! No, that won't do at
all."
"Mr. Pacey, I must see her. I have failed with Armstrong, but something
tells me that I may succeed with her."
"But do you know what sort of a woman she is?"
"A lady of title, beautiful and rich."
"Oh yes; but, my dear child, you who are as fresh as a little
lily-of-the-valley, what could you say to her? Why, she is a heartless
woman of fashion, proud as a female Lucifer, and you would only be
exposing yourself to insult."
"She would injure herself more than me," replied Cornel. Then, after
they had walked a few yards in silence, she turned to her companion.
"Mr. Pacey, you are Armstrong's most trusted friend?"
"I was once, but that's over now."
"No; true friends do not leave those they love when they are in their
sorest need. I must--I will save Armstrong from this woman's toils. He
has ceased to love me, but I cannot, when a word might save him, keep
back that word. Take me to this lady's home."
"But, my dear Miss Thorpe--"
"I have known you for over a year, Mr. Pacey, though we only met to-day
for the first time."
"Yes; and I've known you, my dear," said Pacey, "though he never half
did you justice."
"Then I am Cornel Thorpe to you. Now listen: we must save him."
"But--"
"What is this lady's name?"
"The Contessa Dellatoria."
"Take me to her at once."
"And she could not master him?" muttered Pacey. "She masters me."
He was already walking her on fast towards Portland Place, where fortune
favoured the mission, for a carriage and pair passed them, driven
rapidly, as they were close to the house, and Pacey told his companion
that the fashionably dressed lady leaning back was the Contessa, with
the effect of making Cornel hasten her pace after quitting Pacey's arm;
while, resigning himself to the inevitable, he advanced more slowly,
watching the scene before him as the carriage stopped. The footman ran
up and gave a thundering knock and heavy peal, with the result that the
door was thrown open at once, two more servants waiting to receive their
lady.
By the time the steps were rattled down, and Valentina had alighted,
Cornel was at her side, pale and trembling, in her simple, plainly cut
black dress, cloak, and bonnet with its thin silk veil.
"Can I speak to you, madam?" she said faintly. The Contessa turned upon
her in wonder, and Cornel shrank for the moment from the beautiful,
magnificently dressed woman.
"Speak to me?" she said haughtily, as her eyes swept over the American
girl. Then, as she walked towards the door, "Who are you? what are
you--a hospital nurse?"
"Sometimes," said Cornel, fighting hard to be firm.
"Oh, I see: then you want a subscription for your charity. This is
neither the time nor the place." The Contessa swept on, but Cornel was
at her side again before she could reach the door.
"No, no, madam, you are mistaken," she cried in a low voice. "I wish
to--I must see you."
Valentina's eyes dilated a little, and she looked wonderingly at the
speaker.
"I--I have a message for you. I must speak to you. Take me to your
room, for Heaven's sake."
A policeman was approaching, and the butler stepped out, saying
significantly--
"Shall I speak to the young person, my lady?" No answer was vouchsafed,
for just then Cornel caught the Contessa by the arm and whispered--
"You must see me, madam. It is life or death to one you know--one whom,
I believe, you would not injure."
"Hush! Who cure you?"
"A stranger from a distant land, madam." Valentina started, and the
rich blood flushed to her cheeks.
"I landed from America yesterday. Pray hear me. Your future depends
upon it, and--perhaps--my life."
The Contessa made a sign to Cornel to follow, and entered the door; and
a minute after, as Pacey passed slowly by, he ground his teeth when he
heard the coachman say to the footman, who was crossing the pavement
with a shawl over one arm, and a basket containing a carriage clock,
scent bottle, card case, and Court Guide--
"I say, Dicky, what game do you call that?"
"Last noo dodge for raising the wind," said the footman, and he went in
and closed the door.
"A hurricane, I should say," muttered Pacey. "Poor little girl, can she
face the storm?--I don't know though--there's a strength in her that
masters me."
Meanwhile Lady Dellatoria led the way to the boudoir, held aside the
portiere, and signed to Cornel to enter. Then following, the great
velvet curtain was dropped, and they stood face to face, scanning each
other's features, and measuring the one whom a natural instinct taught
each to consider the great enemy of her life. Cornel's heart sank as
she stood thus in the presence of her beautiful rival. For the moment,
she was ready to sink into one of the luxurious lounges, and sob for
very despair as she felt how unlikely it was that Armstrong could still
care for the simple homely girl who had come across the wide ocean to
save him--him, a willing victim to one who gazed at her with such
contempt, and who at last broke the silence.
"Well," she said, "I have granted your request. Why do you not speak?"
"I was thinking, madam, how beautiful you are."
Valentina smiled faintly, and raised her eyebrows. It was such an old
compliment paid to her.
"You wished to speak to me about some one I know. Have you brought a
message? Who are you?"
"I am the poor American girl to whom Armstrong Dale plighted his troth
before he left us to make his name and fame."
The Contessa's eyes were slightly veiled. It was no message then from
him, and she avoided the searching eyes, so full of innocence and truth,
that gazed at her, as she said huskily--
"Well, what is that to me?"
Cornel looked at her wonderingly, asking herself whether there was a
mistake; but growing confident, she went on--
"This, madam: my lover--I speak to you in the homely fashion of our
people--my lover came here to England, and his success was beyond my
wildest dreams. We wrote to each other, and we were happy in the
expectation of our future, till he saw you, and then--all was changed."
"Is this the beginning of some romance? But, of course--your
love-story."
"Yes, madam, and no romance. But I do not come to speak angrily to
you--I do not heap reproaches upon your head. I come to you simply as
one woman in suffering should appeal to another."
The Contessa made a contemptuous gesture.
"In my simple, faithful love for the man pledged to be my husband--the
man who has sinned against me in what is but a base love for you--I am
ready to forgive him, and look upon the past as dead. And now I come as
a suppliant to you, asking you to set him free, that he may sin no
more."
"What! How dare you?" cried the Contessa. "Such words to me!"
"From his promised wife, madam! Yes: I dare tell you, because, with all
your wealth and beauty, even your power over his weakness, I am stronger
in my right. You have blinded him--turned him from the path of duty--
you are the destroyer of his future."
"Absurd, girl! This Mr. Dale, the artist employed by my husband--surely
in his vanity he has not dared--"
She ceased speaking, and shrank from Cornel's clear, candid gaze.
"No, madam, he has not dared--he has not spoken. He does not know that
I have taken this step."
"Most unwisely."
"No, madam, I know that I am acting wisely--in his interest and yours."
"My good girl, this is insufferable. If you were not a stranger to our
customs in England, I would not listen to you."
"There is no custom, madam, in a woman's love, here or in America.
Heart speaks to heart. He is my promised husband: give him back to me.
I plead to you for your own sake as well as mine."
"This is mere romance."
"Again I say no, madam, but the truth. Think of your peril, too."
"Silence!"
"I will not be silent," said Cornel firmly. "You love him: I see it in
your quivering lips, and the blood that comes and goes in your cheek.
You hate me, madam, as a rival. Well, let me prove your love for him."
"Will you be silent, girl?" cried the Contessa hastily.
"No; I must speak now. You would not have listened to me so long had I
not spoken truth. You love him--you dare not deny it. Well, I love him
too, and I tell you that your love came like a blight upon his life."
"Woman, will you--"
"No; I will not be silent," said Cornel firmly: "but even if I ceased to
speak, my words would ring in your ears. It is not love that holds him
to you, or you to him, but a blind mad passion, the destroyer of you
both. Call it love if you will, but prove that love by giving him up to
return to his old, peaceful life."
"And your arms?" whispered the Contessa maliciously.
"Ah! The proof!" cried Cornel. "No one but a spiteful rival could have
spoken that. But your love is not as mine. I will not ask you to give
him back to me, but to set him free before some horror descends upon you
both. Your husband--"
"Hush!"
Valentina gave a quick look round, and Cornel flushed in her eagerness
as she exclaimed--
"The shadow over both your lives! You know it. Now, madam, prove your
love by freeing him from such a risk. How can you call it love that
threatens him with danger and disgrace!"
"And if I tell you that you, a foolish, jealous girl, are conjuring up
all this in your excited brain--that I have listened to you patiently--
and that I will hear no more?"
"I will tell you that your love for Armstrong is a mockery and snare,
that you throw down the guage, and that I will save him from you yet."
"And how? Bring some false charge against him to my husband? Set about
some lying slander on my name?"
"Bring you to public shame--bring disgrace upon the head of the man I
love? No, madam. You refuse my offer?--No: you will hear me. Give him
up, as I will for his sake--woman--sister--am I to plead in vain?"
The Contessa pointed to the door.
"Yes," said Cornel quietly. "I will go, but I will save him yet."
"Then it is war," muttered the Contessa, whose eyes contracted as she
stood listening as if expecting a return; "and you will save him? Yes:
to take to your heart? Not yet."
She hurried to the window as the faint sound of the closing door was
heard, and held aside the curtain, so as to gaze down the wide place,
and see Cornel take Pacey's arm, and, as if weak and suffering, walk
slowly away.
"Bah! What is she to me, with her pitiful schoolgirl love?--`Save him
yet!'"
She crossed the room and rang. Then, throwing herself into a lounge,
she waited till the servant entered.
"Is your master in?"
"No, my lady. Lady Grayson called. Gone to the Academy, I think."
"That will do."
Left alone, Valentina sprang to her feet, and pressed her temples.
The next minute, with a smile upon her lip, and an intense look as of a
set purpose in her eye, she went slowly from the room.