"Don't you be in a flurry, miss," said Keren-Happuch coolly; "he ain't
so very bad. Here, you'll soon see."
She rushed into the bedroom, and returned with a basin, sponge, and
towel, which, to her surprise and annoyance, were taken from her hand;
and she saw Cornel, with deft manipulation, bathe the cut, examine it,
and then take from her pocket a little case, out of which she drew a
pair of scissors and a leaf of adhesive plaster. A minute later she had
closely clipped away a little of the hair, pressed the cut together, and
cleverly strapped it up.
"Hold this handkerchief pressed to it tightly, while I bathe his
temples," said Cornel; and, as the little maid obeyed, she watched with
wide open eyes the pulse felt and the temples bathed before a few drops
from a stoppered bottle were added to a wine-glass full of water, and
gently poured between the insensible man's lips.
"Lor', if she ain't one o' them female doctors," thought Keren-Happuch.
"Wonder what she's give him to drink?"
There was a singular look of dislike condensed into a frown on the
girl's brows as she watched Cornel, and a jealous scowl or two as she
saw her take Armstrong's hand and kneel by his side, waiting for some
signs of returning animation; but at last it seemed as if the girl could
not keep her tongue quiet.
"I say," she whispered, "are you a doctor, miss?"
"No: my brother is a medical man, though, and I have been often to a
hospital and helped him as a nurse."
"Oh, then you know what's right. But oughtn't he to have some
beef-tea?"
Cornel shook her head, and Keren-Happuch was silent for a few minutes,
but she could refrain no longer.
"You're the 'Merican lady he was engaged to, aren't you?"
Cornel bowed.
"I thought you was. I've took him your letters with Bosting on 'em,
lots o' times."
Cornel sighed.
"You're going to marry him, ain't you?"
"No."
"Then it's all off?"
"Yes."
Keren-Happuch looked relieved. The scowl disappeared from her
countenance, and she smiled at Cornel.
"Don't you take on about it, miss. It ain't worth it. I allers liked
Mr. Dale, and he makes me feel as if I'd do anything for him, and I
allus have done as much as missus'd let me; but it's no use to worry
about artisses; they're all like Mr. Dale--all them as we've had here."
Cornel looked at her indignantly.
"Oh, it ain't my fault, miss. I never wanted him to have ladies come to
see him. I've gone down into the kitchen along with our old cat, and
had many a good cry about it. Not as he ever thought anything about
me."
Cornel looked at the girl in wonder and horror.
"But he was allus kind to me, and never called me names, and made fun of
me like the others did. On'y Mirandy, and I didn't mind that. Them
others teased me orful, you know. Men ain't much good; but you can't
help liking of 'em."
"Hush!" whispered Cornel; "he is coming to." For there was a quivering
about Dale's lips, and then his eyes opened wildly, to gaze vacantly
upward for some moments before memory reasserted itself, and he gave a
sudden start and looked sharply round.
Cornel suppressed a sigh.
"Not for me," she said to herself; and she was right. The look was not
for her.
She knew it directly, for he turned to her, caught her wrist, and said
excitedly--
"Gone?"
"Yes; they are gone."
"But Lady Dellatoria--gone--with him?"
The words seemed as if they would choke her, but Cornel spoke out quite
plainly, and without a tremor in her voice, though there was a terrible
compression at her breast.
"Yes," she said calmly, though every word she uttered caused her a pang;
"she has gone back with her husband."
Armstrong lay perfectly still for a few minutes, thinking deeply. Then,
as if resolved what to do, he said sharply--
"Help me up."
Cornel bent over him, but he turned from her.
"No, no, not you: Miranda."
The girl eagerly helped him to rise, and he leaned upon her as she
guided him to a chair.
"Thanks," he said huskily. "Now, you wait there."
The girl stopped at the place he had pointed out, watching Armstrong as
he signed to Cornel to approach, and held out his hand.
She took it mechanically, and held it fast.
"Thank you for what you have done," he said.
"Now go and forget me. You see I am hopelessly gone. It was to be, and
it is of no use to fight against fate. Now go back to your brother."
"And leave you--sick?"
"Yes; even if I were dying. God bless you, dear! Think of me as I used
to be."
"Armstrong!" she cried, with her hands extended toward him. But he
waved her off.
"No, no. I am a scoundrel, but not black enough for that. Go back to
your brother."
"Go?"
"Yes; I insist. You cannot forgive me now."
She could bear no more. Her chin sank upon her breast, and with one
low, heart-wrung sigh, she went quickly from the room.
"Thank Heaven! that's over," muttered Armstrong. "Now for the end, and
the quicker the better. Life is not worth living, after all."
He looked sharply round to where Keren-Happuch stood, wiping her eyes
upon her apron.
"Here, girl!" he cried.
"Yes, Mr. Dale, sir."
"Go at once to Mr. Leronde's rooms--you know--in Poland Street, and ask
him to come on here at once."
"But are you fit to leave, sir?"
"Yes, yes. Go quickly."
The girl hurried off on her mission, leaving the artist thinking.
"He would challenge me if I did not challenge him. I suppose it ought
to come from me after the blow, for me to prove that I am not `un
lache,' as our French friends term it. A duel! What a mockery! Well,
better so. Let him shoot me, and have done with it. There is not room
here for us both. Poor Cornel! It will be like making some expiation.
It will leave her free. She can deal more tenderly with my memory as
dead than she could with me living still. I should be a blight upon her
pure young life. Ah! if we had never met."
He lay back feverish and excited, for the blow had had terrible effect,
and there were minutes when he was half-delirious, and had hard work to
control his thoughts.
For he was wandering away now with Cornel, who had forgiven him because
Valentina was dead. Then it was Cornel who was dead, and he was with
the Contessa far away in some glorious land of flowers, fruit, and
sunshine; but the fruit was bitter, the flowers gave forth the scent of
poison, and the sun beat down heavily upon his head, scorching his
throbbing brain.
He woke up from a dream crowded with strange fancies, and uttered an
ejaculation of satisfaction, for his brain was clear again, and the
young Frenchman was standing before him, waiting to know why he had been
fetched.