What to do? Leronde a prisoner; Pacey threatening legal steps. He must
go somehow. The only way open appeared to be this; he must leave London
at once, telegraphing to the Conte that he had gone on, and would meet
him and his friends at the principal hotel in Ostend.
Armstrong, after much mental struggling, had come to this decision, when
there was a knock at the door.
"Too late," he muttered. Then aloud, "Come in!" and Keren-Happuch
entered.
"If you please, sir, there's--"
"I know," he said shortly. "Show them up."
"Please, sir, it ain't them; it's her."
"What?" he cried, starting. "Whom do you mean?"
"Her in the thick veil, sir, as come before."
"Great Heavens!" panted Armstrong; and his brain seemed to reel. "No.
I cannot--I will not see her."
"'M I to tell her so, sir?" cried the girl joyfully, "and send her
away?"
"Yes. I'll go no farther," he muttered. "Send her away at once."
The girl turned to the door, but, when she twisted the handle, it moved
in her hand, the door was pushed against her, and as she gave way, the
closely veiled and cloaked figure walked slowly into the room.
Armstrong turned savagely upon Keren-Happuch. "Go!" he said sharply.
"I knowed it," muttered the girl as she went out. "Men can't keep to
their words, and it's very hard on us poor girls."
Armstrong stood facing his visitor as the door closed, and then the
giddiness came over him again. He staggered to a chair, dropped into
it, and his head fell upon his hand.
"How could you be so mad!" he groaned. "Go back to your husband; we
must never meet again. Woman, you have been a curse to me and ruined my
poor life. But there, I will not reproach you." He closed his eyes,
for his senses nearly left him, and his visitor stood gazing sadly down
at him not a yard away.
"I suppose you will despise me," he groaned, "but I cannot help that.
You will think that I ought to hold to you now, and save you from your
husband's anger. But I can do nothing. Broken, conscience-stricken, if
ever poor wretch was in despair it is I. There, for God's sake, go back
to him. He will forgive you, as I ask you to forgive me now."
He paused, and then went on as if she had just spoken something which
coincided with his thoughts.
"You will despise me and think me weak, but I am near the end, and I do
not shrink from speaking and telling you that I go to meet your husband
with the knowledge that I have broken the heart of as pure and true a
woman as ever breathed."
A low, pitiful sigh came from behind the veil.
"Don't, for Heaven's sake, don't, now. It is all over; the mad comedy
is played out--all but the last scene. Try and forget it all, and go
with the knowledge that his life is safe for me, for I will not raise my
hand against him--that I swear."
He uttered a low moan, for the place seemed strange to him, and his
words far distant, as if they were spoken by some one else. Incipient
delirium was creeping in to assault his brain, and in another minute he
would have been quite insensible; but a hand was laid upon his shoulder,
and the touch electrified him, making him spring wildly from his seat
with a cry.
"No, no," he cried passionately, and with his eyes flashing; "slave to
you no more; I tell you, woman, all is over between us. For the few
hours left to me, let me be in peace."
The veil was slowly drawn aside, and he clapped his hands to his temples
and bent forward, gazing at his visitor.
"Cornel!" he muttered--"Cornel!--No, no! It is a dream."
He shook his head, and passed his hand across his eyes, to try and sweep
away the mist that was gathering in his brain.
"No, no," he muttered again, in a low tone; "a dream--a dream."
"No," came softly to his ears, "it is not a dream, Armstrong. It is I--
Cornel."
"Why have you come?" he cried, roused by her words, and staggering up to
grasp the mantelpiece and save himself from falling.
"To try and save you," she said sadly. "Armstrong, you are going to
fight this man?"
He was silent. The dreamy feeling was coming back.
"You do not deny it. Armstrong--brother--companion of my childhood--you
must not, you shall not do this wicked thing. Think of it. Your life
against his. The shame--the horror of the deed."
He laughed softly.
"I have sinned enough," he said. "He will not fall."
"Will the sin be less if you let him, in your despair, take his enemy's
life? This is madness. Armstrong, you cannot--you shall not go."
He was silent.
"What am I to say to you again?" she pleaded. "You are like stone.
Must I humble myself to you once more, and cast off all a woman's
modesty and dignity? Armstrong, weak, doting as it is, I tell you I
forgive you, dear--only promise me that you will not go."
He passed his hand across his eyes as he clung to the shelf to keep
himself from falling, and said, in a low, dreamy voice--
"An insult to you--a degradation to me to take your pardon. No!
Cornel, and once more, no. Now, if you have any feeling for me, leave
me to myself, for I have much to do."
"You will prepare to go?"
He remained stubbornly silent, with his eyes half-closed.
"Then," she cried passionately, as she saw him sway gently to and fro,
as if prior to falling helpless upon the floor, "I will save you in
spite of all. You shall not give away your life like this. You are
weak, half-delirious, and cannot command even your thoughts. You shall
not go."
He opened his eyes widely, and it was as if it took some moments for him
to grasp her words. Then, with a little laugh, he said softly--
"How will you stop me?"
"I would sooner see you dead."
"Well, then--dead--dead--at rest. Why not! You are mistress of all his
secrets--all his drugs. Why not? I have injured you; kill me now--at
once."
"Are you really mad, Armstrong?" she said, looking at him wonderingly.
"Yes--I suppose so--my head swims. I can't--can't think. But it is
time to go."
"Go?--go where?" she cried excitedly.
He uttered a low laugh and shook his head, as if to clear it again, but
the vertigo increased.
She started and looked wildly round with her eyes flashing; and a
strangely set look of determination came over her face, as she took a
step to a table upon which stood a carafe of water and a glass, which
she rapidly filled. Then, going toward him again, she hesitated once
more, and her whole manner changed.
"Armstrong!" she cried, but he did not hear her; "Armstrong!"
She shook him, and he sprang up, fully roused now.
"Ah!" he muttered. "Giddy from the blow."
He took a step or two aside, and caught the back of a chair.
"You are going!" she said mockingly.
He looked at her sharply.
"You will not go," she said. "It is all a braggart's boast, to hide the
cowardice in your heart."
"What!" he cried wildly.
"A man who is going to fight does not tell his friends for fear they
should stop him."
"No," he groaned. "I'm not myself. What have I said?"
"Coward's words," she cried, "to frighten a weak girl. You bade me
poison you to end your miserable life."
"I--I said that?" he cried. "Well, why not?"
"Why not?" she said, gazing at him fixedly, "why not? Look, then."
He bent forward wondering, as he struggled with the fit that was coming
on again, while she took a bottle from the little satchel hanging from
her wrist, snatched out the stopper, and poured a portion of its
contents into the glass.
"There!" she cried triumphantly. "The test. Poison--one of our
strongest drugs. Are you brave enough to drink?"
He took a step forward, seized the glass, tottered for a moment, and let
a little splash over the side on to the floor. Then, drawing himself
up, he placed the vessel to his lips, and drained it--the last drop
seeming to scald his throat, and making him drop the tumbler, and clap
his hands to his lips.
Then, half turning round, he thrust out his hands again, as if feeling,
like one suddenly struck blind, for something to save himself from
falling. A little later, he lurched suddenly, his legs gave way beneath
him, and he sank heavily upon the floor.