CHAPTER X.

“DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.”

It was nine o’clock when Tarbot arrived. Nurse Ives was waiting for his step. If he lifted the little knocker on her door and sounded a rat-tat the child might awake. Accordingly, the nurse kept the door open. Once or twice she went out into the passage and looked over the banister. Tarbot’s steps would be distinctly heard upon the stone stairs, and it was necessary to bring him into the room as quietly as possible. He was a man who invariably kept his appointments to the minute. Nurse Ives was certain he would come about nine o’clock, and he verified her belief by arriving two minutes after the hour.

“Ha, nurse!” he said when he saw her. She had dressed herself for the occasion, and with great care. She had changed her nurse’s dress for one of blue velvet, of a deep rich tone of blue, the gift of a former patient. It suited the woman well, bringing out the best points in her face and figure. She wore ruffles of real lace round her throat and wrists; her hair she had managed to dress with skill, fluffing it out and making the most of it. Its redness now became a positive beauty.

Nurse Ives knew the necessity of striking while the iron was hot, and of making in every respect as good an effect as possible. Having attended to her own person and made it as attractive as she could, she next turned her attention to the little room, which now appeared almost pretty. The gas stove burned brightly, the atmosphere was warm, but not too warm. On the center table was a lamp with a rose-colored shade. The disfiguring gas, which always tries the prettiest face, was not lit. The light round the table was rosy. Nurse Ives sat in this warm glow; it softened her features, rendering them almost beautiful. She was very pale, but the rose light gave her just the right touch of color. The red mark on her forehead was hidden by the cunning way in which she had arranged her hair.

At the first glance Tarbot scarcely knew her, but at the second he recognized her. In his heart of hearts he disliked her all the more for dressing up in velvet and trying to assume the manner and appearance of a fashionable woman. He knew well why she did it, and he said to himself that he was paying a terribly heavy price for his revenge. He was beginning already to repent, but he was not a man ever to turn back. He held out his hand to the nurse now, and entered the room with a cheery step.

“You did capitally,” he said. “Capitally! No one could have managed better.”

To hear him speak, one might have supposed that he was congratulating the nurse on having brought a patient back from the borders of the grave. She took his cue, and replied in much the same tone.

“Having pleased you,” she answered, “I have nothing further to desire.”

As she spoke she raised her light blue eyes to his face. She longed for him to kiss her. Unscrupulous as she was, for him she felt a passion which in itself was pure and strong and holy. She would have given up her life for him. If he had in any degree returned her love she would have been faithful to him, no matter whom else she destroyed. Provided he did not provoke her jealousy, she would in her way make him an excellent wife, but with such a woman as Clara Ives jealousy could make her as cruel as the grave.

She motioned the doctor now to an easy chair and sat down at a little distance from him.

“Will you eat?” she asked.

“I have just dined.”

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

“Then I will shut the door. We have much to arrange, have we not?”

“Yes, nurse. We can talk over the progress of events and all that is likely to follow, but not to-night, nurse.”

Clara Ives held up her hand.

“Why do you stop me? What is the matter?” said Tarbot.

“From this moment,” she replied, “we drop that word nurse. It signifies servitude, and I’m a servant no longer.”

“We’re both servants to the noble cause of science,” said Tarbot with a light laugh. “It’s no disgrace to be a servant, my good creature.”

“It is no disgrace,” answered Nurse Ives. She rose to her feet, then suddenly fell on her knees. She was close to Tarbot now, and, stretching out one of her hands, she clasped his. It had been lying in his lap, and he had not time to withdraw it.

“I long to be _your_ servant,” she said, and she kissed the hand which she held.

He laid the other for a moment on her head.

“I did not know you had such good hair,” he said. “It is thick and abundant. It suits you arranged like this.”

“It is not really thick, but I puffed it out by artificial means. I am glad you like it. I did the best for my appearance for your sake. I know I am not beautiful.”

“All the same, you look well in that dress,” he answered. “Dress can do much for you.”

“It shall do much for me, Luke.”

He suppressed an involuntary shudder when she called him by his Christian name.

“It shall do much for me,” she repeated. “You will never be ashamed of me when you see me at the head of your table.”

He did not reply, but started restlessly from his chair and stood with his back to the gas stove.

“This room is hot,” he said. “Do you mind opening the other door?”

“No, I would rather leave it closed. I like to keep my bedroom cool. The air from the gas stove gets into the room and overheats it.”

“As you please. You must not keep me long now. Things have turned out exactly as we planned.”

“Yes,” said the woman. “Yes.”

“You did what I required admirably—no one better. By the way, have you any of the hyoscine left?”

The nurse’s face grew very white.

“A little. Why do you ask?”

“You had better give it to me—it is safer.”

Nurse Ives rose and went into the other room. She soon returned with a small bottle which contained some white powder. Tarbot slipped the bottle into his pocket.

“Pelham is in the toils,” he said grimly. “You are prepared to swear that he was alone in the room with the child when he took the last dose?”

“I am; but need we enter into the subject now?”

“No, no. You look worn out. Are your nerves troubling you, nurse?”

“They are a little. I am overdone. I did not think I should find it so hard. I did it for your sake, remember. I have imperiled my soul for you.”

A sneer crossed Tarbot’s lips. He did not reply at all to this statement.

“When is the funeral to be?” asked the nurse.

“On Saturday.”

The woman gave a shudder.

“You are trembling. I must give you a tonic,” said Tarbot with some anxiety.

“I do not need any tonic. I shall be all right when the funeral has taken place—that is all. Where is the child to be buried?”

“In the family vault in Devonshire. There is a chapel attached to Pelham Towers, and a consecrated graveyard—the vault of the Pelhams is there.”

An involuntary smile crossed the woman’s face, and she turned her head aside.

“Are you going to attend the funeral?” she asked.

“Mrs. Pelham wishes it. I would do anything to please her—poor soul.”

Clara Ives smiled again.

“What is the matter with you?” Tarbot continued. “When I speak of the funeral of a child who has died in his babyhood, a child whose life meant much and whose mother is broken-hearted, it seems strange that you should smile.”

“There are hidden nerves which one cannot always control,” said the nurse with an air of wisdom.

“Oh, come, Clara, you need not talk science to me.”

“Of course not. You know a great deal more than I do.”

“And yet you are very well informed for a nurse.”

“That is true. Remember, I was with Dr. Weismann in Paris for a year.”

“He was a clever man, but a humbug.”

“I don’t think so.”

“We need not say anything more about it now,” said Tarbot, rising.

“We need not,” she answered. “I know a little science, a smattering which comes in usefully on occasions. When I am your wife you will perhaps instruct me further.”

“Are you eager that I should do so—to lift the curtain more, to study the awful, the terrible problem?”

“Apart from your love, that is the one and only subject which fascinates me,” replied Nurse Ives.

“Well, well, our tastes agree in this matter. You have quite made up your mind not to take another case?”

“I have told you so.”

“It seems a pity. I must be going now; I will look in again in a few days.”

“I shall not take another case, and you must not go away just yet.”

“I must. I have a patient to see at ten o’clock.”

“Your patient will have to wait.”

“My dear good Clara! I, a doctor, keep a patient waiting! You forget yourself.”

“No; but you, Luke, forget yourself.”

“I fail to understand you.”

“You shall not leave here,” said the woman. She drew herself up—she was tall and slender. “You shall not leave here until our wedding day is fixed. Luke, what day will you marry me?”

He gave a shudder, and this time it was perceptible. An ugly expression crossed the woman’s face, and the red scar became visible even under the cloudy mass of hair. She raised her hand impatiently and pushed back the hair. As a nurse, she always wore it smooth and plain, and in its fluffy condition it worried her.

“I keep you to your bargain,” she said. “You promised to marry me if I did what you required.”

“And, of course, I keep my word,” he answered. “But why speak of marriage just now? We can surely wait for a short time.”

“We cannot.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you are to marry me.”

“Did I not say I would?”

“Oh, Luke, if you could but love me! Luke, bad as I am, I would make you a good wife. Bad as I am, I could be good to you. After all, are we not both outcasts? Are we not both separated from the rest of the world by the crime we have committed?”

“Hush!” said the man. His face looked ghastly. “How dare you talk like that? There are subjects which even between man and wife”—his lips trembled—“must not be alluded to. I did what I did because—Heavens! we cannot talk of it!”

“We need not talk of it, but you _know_ what we both have done.”

“I won’t listen to you. What is it you want? There are things which upset the strongest man’s nerves. You, Clara, are coarse. You are not a lady; you have been trained in hardness; you have no highly-strung nerves. It is terrible to be highly educated. It brings torture.”

“Aye, I can guess that. You had best make me your wife. I can keep those disordered nerves of yours in check. When the time comes, I shall know how to soothe you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I may not tell you now. After you have married me you will not regret it. When is the wedding day to be?”

“When do you wish for it?”

“First, Luke, answer me one question. Have you the very slightest love for me?”

“Do you want me to tell the truth or a lie?”

“Oh, what folly this is!” cried the woman. “A lie! I should soon detect it. The truth, man, and nothing else.”

“Then this is the truth—I do not love you.”

“I thought as much. Luke, when is our wedding to be?”

“You make a proposal, Clara, and I will see if I can yield to it.”

“We can be married by special license,” she said.

“Special license! Why throw away fifty pounds?”

“We can be married by special license,” repeated Nurse Ives; “so the wedding can take place this day week.”

“So soon!” said Tarbot. “Impossible!”

“It is not impossible, Luke. Do you consent?”

“I must if you wish it; but it must be quite private.”

“We will go to church on the morning of this day week, and afterwards we can go for a fortnight’s honeymoon.”

“It would be very awkward my leaving London just now.”

“Awkward or not it must be done. You can get a _locum tenens_.”

“Very well; if I must, I must. I did not know you would be so exacting.”

“We are to be married, then, this day week by special license, and——”

“Privately married, remember, Clara. There is to be no fuss. A busy doctor cannot afford the time. We marry, and I take you away for a fortnight.” The man’s lips trembled. He turned aside. He was paying a price which nearly maddened him.

Nurse Ives kept on gazing at him fixedly.

“I have more to say,” she continued.

“What is it?”

“At the end of the fortnight you bring me to your house in Harley Street, you introduce me to your friends as Mrs. Tarbot, your lawful wife, you take me into society, and you publish our marriage on the day it takes place in every daily newspaper in London.”

“Come, Clara, this is too much.”

“You promise all this or I——”

“You what?”

“I deal you a blow.”

Tarbot was standing up. He staggered slightly.

“What kind of blow? You are not going to turn traitor?”

“I won’t say what I am going to do. I did what you wished. It is your turn now to fulfil your side of the bargain. If you refuse you will repent it. If you accede to my wishes I will help you to carry out your revenge. Remember, at present you have only committed the crime, but the pleasure which is to follow has not begun. Are you going to deny yourself that for which you blackened your soul?”

“I am not.”

“Remember, I shall make you an excellent wife. I shall stimulate you to greater exertions in your career. There will be no nerves about me, no stepping back because of conscience, or any such humbug. When your foe falls, I shall for your sake rejoice. I know the woman whom you mean to hurt and crush and dishonor. She is the woman whom you now love.”

“Whom now I hate. Don’t dare to mention her name.”

“I will mention it, and now. Her name is Barbara Evershed. I understand exactly what your revenge means. It is the most diabolical scheme ever planned by human brain, but I will help you to carry it out.”

“Clara, you are a terrible and extraordinary woman.”

“You have not yet half gauged my wickedness or my powers. Do not make me your enemy. You will only repent that deed once, but that will be forever. Make me your wife, and you shall have a splendid time. Is it to be or not to be?”

“I said I would marry you, but some of your terms are preposterous.”

“They must all be carried out. Marry me in a week from now. After the marriage we go away for a fortnight’s—bliss.” She paused here and looked him full in the face. He made an effort to return her gaze, but his eyes, bold and inscrutable as they were, fell before hers.

“It is diamond cut diamond,” she said slowly. “You have your match in me.”

“I believe I have.”

“You accede to my terms?”

“I do because I must.”

“That’s right. Get your house in order, or stay—do nothing special. I should like to refurnish when I take possession. You can go now, Luke; you need not come here again unless you wish to. The less you are seen here now, the better for our future safety. I will meet you at whatever church you appoint on the morning of this day week. If you are true to me, I will be true to you; if not—I have you in my power.”