The Tiger Lily

“The true, honest gentleman you have always said he was, Armstrong. I have come from him now.”

“The cowardly hound!” muttered Dale.

“No; your truest and best friend. He wrote to me for your sake and mine, Armstrong, and I have come.”

“What for? – to treat me with scorn and contempt?” he cried angrily, snatching at a chance to speak; “to tell me that all is over between us? Why have you not brought your brother with you, to horsewhip me and add his insults to your upbraidings?”

“Michael is here,” – Dale started, and looked with a coward’s glance at the door – “he is in London, but it was not his duty to come to the man who is my betrothed. I came alone to ask you – if it is all true?”

He drew a hoarse breath, and then forced himself to speak brutally, to hide the shame and agony he felt.

“Yes,” he said roughly; “it is all true.”

She winced as if he had struck her, and there was silence for a few moments before she spoke again, and then in a curiously changed voice, from her agony of heart.

“No, no,” she whispered at last; “it cannot be true. It is a strange dream. I cannot – I will not believe it.”

He strove again and again to speak, but no words would come. He tried to speak gently and ask her to forgive him, but in vain; and at last, even more brutally than before, he cried —

“I tell you it is true! If you knew all this, how could you come?”

There was a pause before Cornel spoke again, and then she drew herself up with an imperious gesture, and her words came firmly and full of defiance of the world.

“I came because I heard the man I loved was beaten down and wounded in the fight of life, and I said – ‘What is it to me? – he loved me very dearly, and if he has been met by a strange temptation, and has fallen, my place is there. I will go to him, and remind him of the past, and point out again the forward way.’ Armstrong, that is why I have come.”

He groaned, and his voice was softened now, and half-choked by the agony and despair at his heart.

“Go back,” he said, “and forget me, Cornel; I am not the man you thought. I left you strong in my belief in self, ready for the fight, but your knight of truth and honour has turned out to be only a sorry pawn. I don’t ask you to forgive me: I only say, for your own sake, go, and forget that such a villain ever lived.”

“Then it is all true?” she said sternly.

“I don’t know what Joe Pacey has said,” he cried bitterly, as he gazed in the sweet womanly face before him, “but I make the only reparation that I can. I speak frankly, Cornel dear, and tell you that the worst he could say of me would not exceed the truth. Utterly unworthy – utterly base – I am not fit to touch your hand.”

As he spoke now in his excitement, he took a step toward her, and she drew back.

“Yes!” he cried bitterly; “you are right. Shrink from me and go.”

“No,” she said, after another pause, “I will not shrink from you; I will not upbraid; I will only say to you, Tear these scales from your eyes, and see, as Armstrong Dale, my old playfellow – brother – lover – used to see. Break from the entanglement, like the man you always were, and be yourself again.”

“No!” he groaned, “I am no longer master of myself. For God’s sake, go!”

“And leave you to this – caught in these toils, to struggle wildly for a time, and for what? – a life of misery and repentance? It is not true; you are too strong for this. Armstrong, for your own sake – for all at home – one brave effort. Pluck her from your heart.”

He looked at her sadly for a few moments, and then shook his head.

“Impossible!” he groaned. “It is too late.”

“No!” she cried excitedly; “even on the very edge there is time to drag you away. Armstrong – I cannot bear it – come with me, dearest. You loved me once; you made me care for you and think of you as all the world to me. This woman – she cannot love you as I do, dear. For I do love you with all my poor heart. Don’t quite break it, dear, for I forgive you everything, only come back with me now. Do you not hear me? I forgive you everything, and you will come.”

She staggered toward him with her arms open to clasp him to her breast, but he shrank away with a groan of despair.

“No,” he said; “it is too late – too late!”

She heaved a piteous sigh, and her hands fell to her sides. Then, with her head bent, she walked slowly to the door, passed out, and he heard her steps descending. A few moments later there were voices in the hall, followed by the heavy closing of the door, which seemed to shut him for ever from all that was good and true, alone with his despair as he turned to his canvas, where he gazed upon the form he had created, apparently the only memory of a mad passion which had crushed him to the earth.

Chapter Eighteen.

Gage of Battle

“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?”