George Manville Fenn

“ Pacey had been again and again, but only in a friendly way, to chat as of old, sometimes bringing with him Leronde to gossip and fence with, at other times alone. No reference was made to the picture or the past.
“I shall never finish it,” said Dale, as he sat alone one day gazing at his canvas. “What shall I do—go abroad? Joe would come with me, and all this horrible dream might slowly die away.”
“No,” he muttered, after a pause; “it would not die. Better seek the true forgetfulness. Do all men at some time in their lives suffer from such a madness as mine?” ”

“ It is so tiresome to lose one’s purse; is it not, Mr Dale?”
“Worse, madam, not to have one to lose,” said Armstrong, who was placing his brushes in their case.
“How droll you are,” said Lady Grayson; “as if anybody except a beggar could be without a purse. But surely you have not done painting the portrait?”
“Yes, Lady Grayson, I have done painting the portrait,” replied Dale gravely.
“And all through my interruption. Oh, my dearest Valentina, how could I be so indiscreet as to come and interrupt your charming sitting.” ”

“ I do not know you, neither need you know me. My face is not beautiful, and we are strangers. You wish to paint my figure. I will retain my veil.”
“I do not understand you, signora, and yet I have a glimmering of what you wish to express,” said Dale, as gravely as if his visitor could grasp every word. “There, you seem to be a lady, and—hang it all, this is very absurd, my preaching to you, and you to me. I wish Pacey were here. He speaks Italian like a native. No, poor lass, I suppose they must be starving nearly, or she would not stoop to this. I don’t wish Joe Pacey were here.” ”

“ It was Cornel’s opportunity too, to bring her rival to her knees and sweep her for ever from her path, and Valentina felt it as she stood there with her teeth clenched and face convulsed behind the thick veil. For, after all, in spite of her bravery and readiness to defy the man whose name she bore, she was a woman still, and instinctively shrank from the dénouement, knowing as she did that a terrible scene must follow; and another later, in spite of English laws, for it was an Italian pitted against a man who would dare all. ”

“ Dale started, and looked wonderingly at his friend.
“I say, is she as beautiful as this?” repeated Pacey, still without turning his head.
“Yes: I have hardly done her justice.”
“A woman to win empires—to bring the world to her feet,” said Pacey slowly. ”‘Beautiful as an angel’ is a blunder, lad. Such as she cannot be of Heaven’s mould, but sent to drag men down to perdition. Armstrong, lad, I pity you. I suppose there are men who would come scathless through such a trial as this, but they must be few.”
There was another long pause, and Pacey still gazed at the luminous face upon the canvas. ”

“ 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!” ”

“ 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. ”

“ Well, you have made me yours, and it is my fate. Better death than the misery I have suffered, the despair of losing you and not seeing you again.”
“It is a mockery!” she cried, and her voice now was strangely altered. “A man cannot love a woman whose face he has not seen.”
“You know that is not true,” he whispered, as he still advanced, and she now began to retreat—“you know I love you with all my soul. I have told you so, and you know it in your heart.”
“Keep back!” she cried huskily, as she retreated, keeping the knife-point toward his breast.
“No! Remove your veil.” ”

“ Go out to Belgium to fight this Italian organ-grinder. Curse him, and his Jezebel of a wife!”
“Silence, man!” cried Armstrong excitedly. “Pacey, no more of this! Where is Leronde? He must be set free at once. My honour is at stake.”
“His what?” cried Pacey, bursting into a roar of ironical laughter. “My God! His honour! You adulterous dog, you talk to me of your honour and duelling, and all that cursed, sickly, contemptible code that ought to have been dead and buried, and wondered at by us as a relic of the dark ages—you talk to me of that? ”

“ Her eyes too dilated as she went on, and something of her old hauteur and contempt flashed out.
“You!—a right?”
“Yes; the right of the woman he loves—who has given up everything for his sake.”
“Loves! The woman he loves!” cried Cornel contemptuously.
“Yes, and who loves him as such a woman as I can love. Do you think that you, in your girlish coldness, could ever have won him as I have? Tell me where he is.”
“That you may join him?” cried Cornel. “You would give him over to your husband—to that horror—and his death.”
“Ah!” cried Valentina excitedly; “then he has not gone yet. He is safe.” ”

“ It is my affair.”
“Yes, I understand, dear ole man,” said Leronde, placing his fingers to his lips, and nodding his head a great deal, while Armstrong stood dreamy and thoughtful, frowning, as if undecided what to do. “I know I am French—man of the whole world, my friend. I love the big Pacie. So good, so noble, but he is not young and handsome. The lady, she prefaire my other good friend. What marvel? And the good Pacie is jealous.”
“No, no; you do not understand.”
“But, yes. Cherchez la femme! It is so always. They make all the mischief in the great world, but we love them always the same.” ”

“ A minute later there was a faint rustling sound beyond the heavy curtains, and the patient, frowning heavily, turned his head in the direction of the door. Then the scowl upon his sharp face gave place to a look of wonder and delight as a rather slight, dark-haired girl, in a closely fitting black dress and white-bibbed apron, advanced towards him, with her large dark eyes beaming sympathy, and a smile, half pitying, half affectionate, played about her well-formed, expressive lips.
“Cornel!” he cried. “Why, my dear little girl, this is good of you to come and see me. ”

“ That night, the Conte was called away to an engagement, and he was left in that luxurious drawing-room, talking to the clever, refined, and beautiful woman who seemed to hang upon his words.
Soon after he went back to his studio half intoxicated by her smiles; but the next morning he had grown more himself, and had a long talk with Joe Pacey, his greatest intimate, and been advised to paint the portrait by all means, but to hit hard for price.
“Do you no end of good, boy; but take care of yourself; she’s the most beautiful woman in society.” ”

“ Dale drew a deep breath, which came sighing through his teeth as if he were in pain.
“Let’s talk Art now, boy,” said Pacey, taking out his pipe, and, going to the tall mantelpiece, he took down the tobacco-jar, filled the bowl, lit up, and began to smoke with feverish haste, as he threw one leg over a chair, resting his hands upon the back, and gazing frowningly at the face, while Dale stood near him with folded arms.
“From the earliest days men gained their inspiration in painting and sculpture from that which moved them to the core,” said Pacey, slowly and didactically. ”

“ As soon as he was alone, he made an effort to master himself, and walked firmly into the studio, drew forward his easel, and after removing the curtain, stood there to study his work and criticise and mark its failings.
He found none to mark, but stood there waiting for its living, breathing model, knowing well enough that he must check the madness attacking him—at once, in its incipient stage.
“I’m as weak a fool as other men,” he muttered. “Bah! I can easily disillusionise myself. I’ll insist upon her removing her veil to-day. ”

“ How much do you want?”
“Oh, thankye, sir. If you could manage to let me have five shillings on account.—Thankye, sir. You are a gentleman.”
“The Emperor” departed, winking to himself as if he had something on his mind; and Dale threw down brushes and palette, sat back with his hands clasped behind his head, gazing at the blank place in his great canvas, till by slow degrees it was filled, and in all her majestic angry beauty Juno stood there, with her attendants shrinking and looking on, while she seemed to be flashing at her lord lightnings more terrible than those he held in his hand. ”

“ The eyes of the man to whom he had been attracted from his first arrival in London, the big, large-hearted, unsuccessful artist, who yet possessed more ability than any one he knew, and whose advice was eagerly sought by a large circle of rising painters, were fixed upon him so intently that the colour rose in Armstrong Dale’s cheeks, and, in spite of his self-control, the younger man looked conscious. ”

“ We can go on working, and studying, and painting, as you Yankees say, ‘our level best’, but something more is needed to produce a face like that.”
He was silent again, and sat as if fascinated by the work before him.
“What am I to say to you, lad?” he continued at last. “It is like sacrificing everything—honour, manhood, all a man should hold dear, to his art; but as a brother artist, what am I to say? I am dumb as a man, for I have seen her here and felt her presence. There was no need for me to look upon her face. ”

“ Lady Grayson smiled sweetly upon the artist as he entered; and he felt that there was as much meaning in her words as in her looks.
“I forgot this was your sitting day, Tina. Do you know, I thought ladies always had to go to an artist’s studio to be painted. There, I suppose you two want to be alone?”
“Pray, don’t go,” said Valentina calmly. “I do not suppose Mr Dale will mind you being present.”
“I? Not at all,” said Armstrong. “It will not make any difference to me.” ”

“ You thought it would be best, but he must love her better than ever he loved me, and perhaps it is for his advancement.”
“It is for his ruin, I tell you,” cried Pacey fiercely.
“But you said she loved him. Is she not true and good?”
“Girl!” cried Pacey, with his brows knotted by the swelling veins, “can the devil who tempts a man in woman’s form be true and good?”
“Ah!”
Ejaculation as much as sigh, and accompanied by a wild look of horror. Then, with her manner completely changed, Cornel laid her hand upon Pacey’s arm. ”

“ The Contessa had sunk back in her lounge, and a listless, weary air had come over her face like a cloud, as she said, with a slight shrug of her shoulders—
“Mr Dale’s man.”
“Who the dickens is Mr Dale?”
Twenty years of life in London society had so thoroughly Anglicised Conte Cesare Dellatoria, that his conversation had become perfectly insular, and the Italian accent was only noticeable at times.
“You know—the artist whom we visited.”
“Oh, him! I’d forgotten. That his litter?”
“Yes.”
“Humph! I haven’t much faith in English artists. Better have waited till we went to Rome in the winter. ”

“ It is beautiful indeed. I say that as the man. As the artist who has done so little for myself—”
“So much for others,” said Dale quickly.
“Well, you fellows all believe in me and the hints I give, and some of you have made your mark pretty deep. Yes, as the man who has studied art these five and twenty years, I say this is wonderful. It did not take you long?”
“No.”
“Of course not. There is life and passion in every touch. You must finish that, my lad, and we will keep it quiet. No one must see that but us till you send it in. Armstrong, boy, you are one of the great ones of earth. ”

“ Leronde bowed, and Armstrong hurried into his inner room, where he smoothed out the note, and read half aloud and in a disconnected way:—
“How can you stay away—those long weary weeks—my unhappy state—force me to write humbly—appealingly—my wretched thoughts—Lady Grayson—her double looks of triumph over me—will not believe it of you—could not be so base for such a heartless woman as that—heartbroken—my first and only love—won from me my shameless avowal—not shameless—a love as true as ever given—for you so good and noble. In despair—no rest but in the grave—forgive your coldness. ”

“ 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. ”

“ She has too much womanly determination in her, poor girl. But I can do nothing. She has been to him again and again in opposition to my wishes—forgotten all her woman’s dignity.”
“To try and save your old schoolfellow, her lover.”
“Bah! she has cast him off, sir, as the scoundrel deserves.”
“Not she,” said Pacey. “She loves him still in spite of all, and in time she would forgive him, if he behaved like a man.”
“Not if I can prevent it,” retorted Thorpe. “She shall not forgive him.”
“Well, sir,” said Pacey, “I have not come to dispute with you about that. ”

“ I was mistaken,” and he turned to go.
“Stay, sir,” she cried, in her low, deep, and musical tones; “my visit to your friend is over. Mr Dale, will you see me to my carriage? It is waiting.”
Valentina held out her hand, and, pale now with emotion, Armstrong advanced to the door, which he opened, and then offered his arm. This she took, and he led her down to the hall in silence.
“Your imprudence has ruined you,” he said then, bitterly, “and disgraced me in the eyes of my friend.”
“No,” she said softly. “You can trust that man. He would die sooner than injure a woman because she loves. ”

“ 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?” ”

“ First and foremost, murdering Cornel Thorpe: for, as sure as heaven’s above us, that organ-man will shoot you like the dog you are, and in killing you he’ll kill that poor girl. I swear it. She can’t help it. She gave her love to you, poor lassie, and she’s the kind of woman who loves once and for all. There’s the first of it. As for you, well, the best end of you is that you should be buried at once, out of the way, as you would be if I let you go to meet this man.”
“If you let me?” raged Armstrong. ”

“ There, you see how simply and plainly I speak, the more so that I know you have Armstrong Dale’s welfare at heart.”
“God knows I have,” said Pacey fervently.
“Then tell me plainly, Mr Pacey.”
“Cornel!”
“I will speak, Michael,” she said gently. “His happiness and mine depend upon my knowing the truth.—Mr Pacey, I am waiting.”
Pacey gazed at her with his face full of reverence for the woman before whom he stood, but no words left his lips.
“You are silent,” she said calmly. “You fear to tell me the worst. He is not ill: you said so. He cannot be in want of money. ”