The Tiger Lily

“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.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

Two Women’s Love

A woman – with the fierce lurid look of a tigress in her dark eyes, and in her action as lithe and elastic, she paced up and down her bedroom hour after hour. Now she threw herself upon a couch in utter exhaustion, but anon she sprang up again to resume the hurried walk to and fro.

At times she went to the door to open it and listen, for it was secured only by the locks and bolts of the Grundy Patent – Dellatoria, in spite of his newly awakened jealous rage, feeling that his wife would join with him in keeping the servants in ignorance of their terrible rupture.

But all was still downstairs; and at last, enforcing an outward appearance of composure, Valentina changed her dress, bathed her burning eyes with spirit-scented water, and descended to her boudoir, where she turned down the lamp beneath its rose-coloured shade, and rang the bell, before seating herself in a lounge with her back half turned from the door.

“Pretty well time,” said the butler, who had been heading the discussion below stairs regarding the meaning of what had taken place. “There, cook, you may dish up.”

The footman presented himself at the door.

“Your ladyship rang?”

“Yes. Where is your master?”

“In the lib’ry, my lady.”

“Alone?”

“No, my lady. Colonel Varesti and Baron Gratz are with him again.”

“That will do.”

“Yes, my lady.”

The man hesitated at the door.

“Well?”

“Does your ladyship wish the dinner to be served?”

“No: wait till your master orders it. I am unwell. Give me that flacon of salts.”

The man handed the large cut-glass bottle, and went down.

The aspect of languor passed away in an instant, and Valentina sprang from the seat.

“I might have known it,” she panted. “He is no coward when he is roused, despicable as he is at other times. Those men. It means a meeting. They will fight, and – ”

She clapped her hands to her forehead as in imagination she saw Armstrong lying bleeding at her husband’s feet. Strong and brave as he was, she doubted the artist’s ability to stand before a man like the Conte, who had often boasted to her of his skill with the small sword, and ability as a marksman.

“And I have wasted all this time.”

Then, after a few moments’ thought, divining that the inevitable meeting would take place abroad, she went up at once to her bedroom and locked herself in.

Her brain was still misty and confused by the intense excitement through which she had passed, for upon reaching home, and savagely dismissing Lady Grayson, the Conte had turned upon her furiously. The passion of his southern nature had been aroused, and a mad jealousy developed itself respecting the woman whom of late he had utterly neglected.

In a few moments her mind was quite made up, and, taking a small dressing bag, she rapidly emptied into it the whole of the costly contents of her jewel-cases, unlocked a small cabinet, and took from it what money she possessed, and then hastily dressed for going out.

A very few minutes sufficed for this, and, after pausing for a few moments to collect herself, she took up the bag, and, unlocking the door, passed out silently on to the thickly carpeted landing, descended to the hall, where she paused again as she heard a low buzz of voices in the library, and then walked quickly to the door, passed out, and hurried up the wide street, breathing freely as she felt that she had been unobserved.

Not quite. Ladies in large establishments live beneath the observation of many eyes. Valentina had no sooner begun to descend the wide stairs than a white cap was thrust out from the door of a neighbouring room, and the eyes beneath it were immediately after looking down the great staircase, while a pair of ears twitched as they listened till the front door was heard to close.

The next minute the wearer of the cap was in the bed and dressing rooms, gazing at the empty jewel-cases, noting the absence of the bag, cloak, and bonnet, even to the veil; and then came the low ejaculation of the one word, “Well!”

The Abigail ran down the backstairs and made her way into the hall, just in time to meet the butler returning from ushering out the Conte’s two friends, who had been closeted with him, consulting as to what proceedings should be taken, as there had been no appearance put in by the other side.

The butler heard the lady’s-maids hurried communication, nodded sagely, and said oracularly that he wasn’t a bit surprised; then coughed to clear his voice, waved the maid away, closed the baize door after her, and entered the library to repeat what he had heard.

The Conte did not even change countenance.

“Stop all tattling amongst the servants,” he said. “Her ladyship is not well – a strange seizure to-day. It must be past the dinner hour.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Let it be served at once.”

The butler bowed, and went out solemnly.

The moment he was alone, a sharp grating sound was heard, and a strange look came over the Conte’s face as he hastily opened a cabinet, took something from a drawer, and placed it in his breast pocket. Then, hurrying upstairs, he satisfied himself of the truth of all he had heard, and descended, took his hat from the stand and went out quietly, unheard, even by the servants.