The Tiger Lily

“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.

Chapter Nineteen.