The Tiger Lily

Then a fresh thought struck him, and after keenly watching Cornel to see if she noticed the action, he crept on tip-toe – a miserably bent, decrepit-looking figure – to where the tinkling sound had been heard, picked up a little ivory-handled stiletto, examined its blade in the faint light, with his back to the group by the inner room door, and, catching up a piece of Moorish scarf, wiped it quickly, and hid the weapon in his breast pocket.

Then creeping on tip-toe to the studio door, he listened, his face full of abject fear, and hearing nothing, he turned the key.

He glanced toward Cornel, whose back was toward him, as she busily went on with her task, hiding too his wife’s face from him by her position.

Hesitating for a moment or two, he then drew a deep breath, and crossed softly to where the bag lay open with some of the glittering jewels still hanging to its edge: great strings of pearls, and a necklet of diamonds.

These he hurriedly thrust back, and then went quickly and silently about, picking up rings, bracelets, brooches, and tiaras of emerald, ruby, diamond, and sapphire, till, with a sigh of satisfaction, he closed the morocco bag, the fastening giving forth a loud snap.

“Is – is she dead?” he whispered; and his lips were so close to Cornel’s ear that she started round, and let fall the wrist upon whose pulse her fingers were pressed.

“No,” she whispered. “I have staunched the wound till you can get proper help, but I fear internal bleeding.”

At that moment there was a piteous sigh followed by a low moan, and the beautiful dark eyes opened, to gaze vacantly for a few moments. Then intelligence came into them, as they rested upon Cornel, who was now bending over her.

“Ah,” she said softly, as her hand felt for Cornel’s, which was laid upon her brow; “you? Good for evil;” and she drew Cornel’s hand to her lips and kissed it. “Forgive me,” she whispered, “before I die. I loved him so.”

A curiously harsh low cry escaped from the Conte, who literally writhed in his jealous agony, and Valentina turned her eyes upon him where he stood dimly seen, as if looking at her from out of a mist.

“You there!” she said bitterly, as Cornel once more grasped her wrist. “Well, are you satisfied? You have killed my body, as you killed my love, when, as a young innocent girl, I was sold to you for your wealth and title, and Heaven knows I would have tried to be your true loving wife.”

“Oh, Valentina! my beautiful – my own!” he groaned; and he stooped to take her hand.

“Pah! don’t touch me!” she cried hoarsely; and she raised the hand she had snatched away, and pointed to the bag he held. “Take them to your mistresses whose smiles you have always bought. Let me die in peace.”

“No, no; live!” he cried.

“To save you from the punishment you merit?” she whispered scornfully.

“No, no! to be my dearest love and wife again. Let us go back to sunny Italy, away from all this miserable city.”

“Too late!” she said sadly. “You should have said that years ago.”

“For pity’s sake don’t speak,” whispered Cornel.

“Why not, little doctor?” said Valentina softly. “Better so. Ah, I was not all bad, dear. I loved him before I knew of you. How could I help looking on you with jealous hate? Let me kiss you once – before I go. Be loving to him and forgive him – it was all my fault – tell me you will forgive him – when I am gone.”

“With all my heart,” said Cornel softly; and she bent down to press her lips to those of the suffering woman, while the tears over-ran her brimming eyelids, and her heart swelled with pity for one so deeply punished for her sin.

But as if the Contessa recollected the scene of a short time before, she thrust the gentle face away before lips touched lips, and with a loud cry —

“No, no! I had forgotten. I remember now. How could you be so base? No! don’t touch me. I will see him once again. Armstrong! – my love – my own.”

She dragged herself over, and began to crawl to the door, when the Conte’s face became convulsed with passion once more, his hand sought his breast, the bag fell to the ground, and with an oath he cried —

“Then he is in there! – in hiding.”

Springing over the crawling figure, he dashed through to the inner room, and, as Valentina uttered a piteous moan, the Conte flung open the bedroom door.

“Dog! – Coward!” he yelled, and then stopped, petrified at the sight of the motionless figure upon the bed. Then the door swung to between them, and he thrust back the little blade, and came stealthily out, muttering softly to himself as he bent over his wife, insensible to all that passed.

He was trembling violently now.

“I did not know,” he muttered to Cornel. “I struck him when I found them together, but I did not know. I – I must go – away. Your laws are bad. An affair of honour. Will – will she die too?”

“I cannot say,” replied Cornel coldly. “She must have better surgical help. I am only a nurse.”

“Yes,” he said hastily. “Better help. A great surgeon. She must not die. I will get a carriage and take her away.”

“It would be dangerous to move her.”

“More dangerous far to leave her here,” he muttered. Then aloud, “It must be risked, madam. But listen. You are his friend?”

“Yes.”

“This is a terrible misfortune, but a private matter – not for the police. You will not tell them how – by accident – I struck my wife?”

“No,” said Cornel, after a pause; and a shudder ran through her.

“Hah! Then the law need not meddle with what was a private quarrel – a mistake. My wife, here, shall live, and you who are so good and beautiful and kind, you shall be silent, and – one moment.”

He fumbled with the clasp of the bag he had picked up, opened it, and, as Cornel’s brows contracted with horror, he searched within and drew out a magnificent diamond and sapphire bracelet.

“Hah!” he cried. “You will wear that for both our sakes, and be silent, and blind to the past.”

“I will be silent and blind, for the sake of the man I loved,” she said to herself, as she thrust back the jewel and shook her head.

“But you will not tell?” he said.

“No, sir; your secret is safe.”

The Conte uttered a sigh of satisfaction, threw back the bracelet, and closed the bag with a snap, while Cornel eyed him with disgust.

“Do you intend to risk removing this lady?”

“Certainly,” he said firmly; “it must be done. Lock the door after me,” he whispered, as he crossed the studio.

Cornel followed and obeyed, listening to his descending steps. Then, returning to where Valentina lay insensible, she satisfied herself of the security of the bandages, and once more felt her pulse.

“If there is no internal bleeding she will live. Yes, I will forgive you. Some day you may know the truth. And then? Ah, who can tell?”

She bent down and kissed the broad forehead, and then knelt there for a few moments before rising and going quickly into Armstrong’s bedroom to gaze at him for a minute, and return, carefully closing after her both the doors.

She kept her vigil there for a few minutes before there were steps again, and a soft tap at the door.

She admitted the Conte.

“I have a carriage waiting, and a man here to help,” he said.