A Modern Atalanta, and other stories ... Illustrated by the author

Front matter

A MODERN ATALANTA AND OTHER STORIES a THE POETIC YEAR AND OTHER POEMS. By MAUD VYSE. Price 2s. 6d. "The sonnets . . . are irreproachably rhymed." — Daily Chronicle. " The verse contained in * The Poetic Year ' is graceful and gifted with no inconsiderable amount of fancy." — The World. *'A charming little volume of poems. . . . The twelve sonnets of the months . . . display distinct poetical fancy and originality of treatment. We can heartily recommend the book to lovers of poetry." — Atalanta. "She paints for us many bright pictures, almost Oriental in their colouring." — Literary World. Publishers : ALLENSON, 30, Paternoster Row. (The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved.) Please like my book, And kindly look With friendly eyes Or silent sighs Upon my drawings slight. I'd like to say, If please I may, A word or two Of preface true, If you'll allow the right.

I want to mention that, in the fourth tale, "The Miniature," the main points of the plot — viz. the relationship between Olive and Walter — are founded on facts, the outline of which was given me by an acquaintance, with permission to use, for which I take this oppor tunity of thanking him. The rest of the story

Preface

. VI a is, of course, original, if the "old, old story" ever can be so. I also wish to thank the editor of Forget me-not, for his kind permission in allowing me to reproduce " Which Wins ? " which first appeared in that magazine. And should like to say, if any one doubts the recovery of Lord Wilmot, that I have my doctor's authority for its possibility. The description of the ice-burdened river, in "A Modern Atalanta," is quite true, for I saw it so on February 19, 1895. The tiny sketch, " Margaret," appeared in that bright, but, alas, short-lived monthly, the Bohemian. Maud J. Vyse. CONTENTS. PAGE A MODERN ATALANTA I THE BRIDEGROOM 45 THE KING'S PARDON 63 THE MINIATURE 89 MARGARET 123 WHICH WINS? ... 127 LYME— 1685 ... ... ••■ •■• ••• ••• 149 HOW A NAME BETRAYED THEM 167 ELEANOR '93 was a glorious day in early June, the soft summer breeze stole through the leaves of the spread ing elms and oaks, under whose shade reclined a lazy trio — two maids and a man, otherwise, Andrew Dennis, Lalia Annel, and her sister Eveleen.

They were resting after the hard work of disposing of the contents of a square basket that looked extremely suggestive of "picnics." The conversation had been of a very desultory and spasmodic character, when the faintest of whistles was heard from a clump B of trees towards which Andrew had cast several glances. It had been so low that the girls had not noticed it, but Dennis exclaimed suddenly — " I say, Lalia, are you going in for any of the sports ? " " Yes, I think so," she answered lazily. " Which ? Suppose one will be the running race r " No," replied Lalia, quietly ; " I shall not enter for that." " Why not ? " cried Eveleen ; " you'd be sure to win." " Exactly ; that is just my reason. I do not want to spoil fun, and I know several of the girls would not try against me. No, Andrew, it is not conceit ; but you know I am the fastest runner here."

" Bet I'll beat you." "You, you lazy old thing; I'd just like you to try!" cried Eveleen, scornfully. "Why, don't you know we call her Atalanta ? and you certainly are not Hippomenes." " My dear Eve, I never aspired to such an honour. / am content to play Meleager, and lay my trophies at my lady's feet." " What nonsense you two are talking !" broke in Lalia. " I don't think we are often credited with much else, fair huntress ; but, for all that, I maintain my point, that I'll outrun you, say from that tall elm over there, down the slope, past that clump of trees, and on to those two big oaks. But, according to the rules of the ancient game, I should have a start." Lalia rose slowly, and laughingly exclaimed, " Oh yes ; it is a nice long course, and you have only just finished lunch, so I will give you a start ; but, remember, it is the only old rule that holds good : you are Meleager, not Hip pomenes.

I have not seen him yet. Eve, will you be the starter ? " and the three went over the soft smooth grass to the elm tree Andrew had chosen. " There ! don't you think that's a lovely course?" exclaimed Dennis, waving his arm in the direction. " We'll keep close to the clump, because it's the best bit of turf. Don't you think so ? " he added half pathetically, for Lalia had burst out laughing. " Oh, you lazy boy, why will you not confess the truth ? you know it is because we shall be in the shade all the way, whereas, if we went straight across, and I think the smoothest way, we should be in the sun ; but there, never mind, he shall not be teased. Are you ready? I am." " Quite. How much start am I to have ? Six yards ? " " Yes ; go ahead." As Dennis paced his six yards, he gave a low shrill whistle, and then waved his arm to denote he was ready ; Eveleen gave the signal, and away the two sped.

It was easy to see that Andrew stood no chance against the lithe young runner who flew after him, and who, as they gained the clump pointed out, had almost caught him up ; when suddenly, from the centre of the bushes, something light flew out and fell almost under Lalia's feet. She stopped ; she stooped ; she picked it up, and gave an exclama tion of surprise. " Oh, how lovely ! Where — Suddenly she looked for Andrew, and burst into a merry rippling laugh. He had made the most of his chance, and was gallantly struggling towards the winning-post, and too far ahead for her to catch him up ; so she buried her nose in the "golden apple," which was a lovely, long-shaped, cream-pink rose, and, as a faint rustling was heard from the bushes, exclaimed — " Come forth, and answer for your sins, Squire Percival ; I know it is you, for you are the only grower of these roses near here."

At her call the branches parted, and a tall, well-built man of about thirty-five stepped through. Raising his hat, he bowed very low, saying with mocking humility — " Shall I go on my knees for forgiveness, Atalanta, or what must I do for my pardon ? " " I think you ought to run the course three times all by yourself," laughed Lalia. " And what should be my reward at the end ? " His face had grown suddenly serious, and there was double meaning in his words ; but the girl turned them off merrily, and mockingly replied — " Why, how can you be rewarded for doing a penance ? But I suppose I must let you off this time, if you promise not to offend again." " I shall not promise, for you need not have stopped to touch Hippomenes' apple." "You enter as Hippomenes?" queried Lalia. " Do you know what befell the defeated runners ?

" " Perfectly ; but Tm not defeated yet. I won this time, unless Andrew has supplanted me ? " "Andrew! he is only Meleager ; Hippomenes does not even exist for me. So come and help make tea, Sir Squire, while I scold Andrew for daring to play such a trick ! Ah, there you are," she cried, as Dennis and Eve strolled up to where Lalia and Percival stood. " Now, which of you two concocted the plot ? / should not have credited either with such foresight." o "Oh, we were discussing your athletic powers, sweet Atalanta, over our pipes, in connection with the coming sports, and Percival there chaffed me, and asked me what I was going to do. I answered, ' I shall form a spectator,' when a sudden inspiration came to me, and I bet him — never mind what the stakes were, fair Lalia — that if he would help me, I'd get to the winning-post before you ; and so I did !

" " So, Percival, that was why you could not come to the picnic," cried Lalia, seating her self on the grass with a half-amused, half offended glance, when Percival broke in — " You see, I consented because I never thought you'd stoop for such a trifle as a rose. Yet, I'm glad he won, as he was my substitute, and played Hippomenes for me." " I should never have consented to race with you, Percival," coolly replied Lalia; "so the simile does not hold good." " Never knew Atalanta's consent was ever asked," murmured Percival, half aside. But an end was put to their sparring by Lalia springing up and catching the kettle off the fire of sticks over which Andrew had placed it. " Smoked again ! Here, Eve, did you not put the spirit lamp in ? " " Yes ; but Andrew would have the sticks ; he said it was more " "Picturesque," chimed in Andrew; "and so it is!"

"Well," remarked Percival, " I'm with Lalia. I prefer inartistic utilitarianism to smoked tea." But they succeeded in getting their tea at last, and thoroughly enjoyed it ; and, as they all strolled home together, perhaps it would be as well to sketch briefly their different positions. Not one could boast of a complete household. Andrew Dennis was an orphan ; he had his own income — a very comfortable one — but ever since boyhood he had lived with his aunt, Mrs. Fenwick, Percival's mother, and, as the cousins were the closest of friends, he had continued to make the Grange his home. The old squire, his uncle, had died some fifteen years previous. Thus Percival had been Squire of Fordmarch ever since he was old enough to fulfil the position. Major Annel, the father of the two girls, had been a comrade of the old squire, and after his retirement from the army had settled in Fordmarch, close to the Grange ; so the four young folks had grown up in close companionship, more especially as Mrs. Fenwick took a great interest in Lalia and Eveleen, for they had lost their mother shortly after Eve's birth.

Lalia was about eight years old when Squire Fenwick died, and ever since that time Major Annel had been much more away from his home than in it. He was generally there when shooting or hunting was to be had, but otherwise his interest in Ford march had died with his old chum, and London or the Riviera was far more to his taste than looking after the welfare of a couple of girls, more especially when he knew Mrs. Fenwick would see they had all that was necessary. " If they had been boys, it might have made a difference," was the excuse he kept rigidly before him. Thus Lalia, as the elder of the sisters, developed to its fullest extent the bump of independence that ran through her character, while Eveleen, who was rather frail, clung to her with even more then sisterly love. And if their life was uneventful, it was a happy one, for, till Lalia was eighteen, they had never been separated, and during the holidays they lived far more at the Grange than in their own home.

Then came a great trial. Major Annel decreed that Lalia must leave school, so as to be able to keep house ready for him when he wished to be at home ; but, of course, as Eveleen was younger, she should continue her studies for the next two years. Lalia rebelled at first, and words passed which did not tend to make the major more fatherly than before, for he learnt that his eldest child had developed a very strong will, and had an un pleasant way of putting home truths in a very plain light ; and though he carried his point in the end, it was rather because Mrs. Fenwick had reasoned with Lalia the advisability of letting Eve stand a little by herself, than from obedience to the parental will. It was during the two years Eve was still at school that Lalia cultivated her literary tastes. The Grange boasted of a fine library, of which she could make full use ; so she studied the best authors, ancient and modern, and being of a persevering nature, was at the beginning of this story doing a fair bit of desultory work, and in the hopes of getting on the regular staff of a good magazine.

There was to be an amount of competition for the post, as certain articles had to be submitted by a given date, and Lalia intended to compete. Percival Fenwick knew this, and laid his plans accord ingly. The morning after the picnic was very hot, and Eve, who had been gathering flowers, dropped into a chair in Lydia's cool, shaded room with a sigh of relief. "Are you tired, darling ?" asked the elder girl, looking up from her writing. " Just a little. Oh, I say, Lalia, did Percival say anything about the picnic for this day week ? " ' Picnic ! No. Where ? " " Oh, the ruins. It is going to be a big one. I expect Mrs. Fenwick will send us word soon, for Percival said we were to be sure to come. " I shall not be able to, else I shall never be finished in time. Oh, here is the note, I expect," she added, as a maid entered with a tray.

" If you please, miss, Squire Fenwick is waiting for the answer ; he rode over with the note." Eve, without waiting, had gone to the window and called out, telling him to come in ; but for answer he brought his horse up the garden path to the window, exclaiming : " Sorry, but I can't ; I have to go on to Hope dean for mother, but I know what answer to take back." " I'm sure you don't," cried Eve ; "for Lalia says she cannot go ! " " Not go ! nonsense, Lalia ; and why not, pray ? " " Because I shall not finish my article in time, and you know I must send that up," replied Lalia, moving over to the window, " but there is no reason why Eve should not go." " There is no must about it," exclaimed Percival, ignoring the last part of her sentence; " it won't matter if it's a day late." "And, if you don't go, I shan't," said Eve, at the same time.

" There ! " triumphantly cried Percival, " you can't spoil the child's pleasure, so that settles it. I shall tell mother you are coming." " Oh, Percival " began Lalia, but he cut her short. " It's going to be very jolly, and if wet and we cannot go to the ruins, we are to picnic in the house, so, wet or fine, it is all the same. Good-bye, and mind you come early, remember, I want you," he added, looking only at Lalia, "and I don't expect I shall see you again before then, as I'm going to town to-morrow till Tuesday evening. Anything I can bring you from the gay city ? " " Anything you like," laughed Eve, for Lalia had gone back to her writing when he began to grow personal, and only gave him a preoccupied wave of her hand as he rode away. But her attention was not to be left undis turbed, for Eve, having watched Percival out of sight, came and knelt down by her sister, and twining her arms round her, pushed the papers away with her curly head, and whispered softly — " Lalia, what shall I wear ?

" For a few seconds Lalia pretended to be very cross at the interruption, and after that the two were deep in frocks till the lunch bell rang. After lunch there were things to be bought which Eve could not choose alone, so time flew; and by the day of the picnic the article was not finished. But Lalia shrugged her shoulders, and laughed that it could not be helped and would do to-morrow, for she was going to enjoy herself. And so she did ; it was a lovely day, without a hitch anywhere. But when they got home, Lalia was far too tired to work that night, and it was not till late the next evening that the manuscript went on its road. Alas, the old saying about procrastination still holds good ; for, a fortnight later, Lalia received a letter from the editor which ran — " Dear Miss Annel, " I am sorry to tell you your article was too late ; doubly sorry, because otherwise I think it would have been the winner ; but when it arrived the appointment had already been made.

Perhaps it will take the edge off your disappointment to hear that Val Wick, whose work I know you admire, is the success ful competitor. With kind regards, " Yours truly, "J. H " p.S. — I hope to use the MS. later on." Lalia was not in a good temper with any one the day she received that letter, more particularly when she remembered a certain conversation she had had with Percival. It had taken place a few days after the fatal (as she called it) picnic, when, as she sat in the garden, a man's step sounded on the gravel path, and Percival's voice called out — ■ " I did not go into the house, as I knew no one was there ; I saw your white frock through the trees, and met Eve in the village. Have you heard from the Gilded Hour yet ? " he added, as he flung himself down on the grass beside her.

" No, there is not time yet. Be quiet, Per cival ! " cried Lalia, as he stretched out his hand to take her book. " I wanted to see what you were reading. Oh, it's that new one by Val Wick. Do you like it?" he asked indifferently, turning the pages. " Oh yes, I like all Val Wick's works. I am sure he must be a man worth knowine, I wish I could meet him ; he has ideas." Percival smiled. " I suppose that is a dig at me. I've no ideas ! " " You ! oh dear, no ; you have not one, ex cept for your stupid tenants. You do nothing, just hunt and shoot and amuse yourself — but never work — you could not," she added with a contemptuous little toss of her head. An amused almost quizzical expression crept into Percival's face as he slowly answered in the laziest tones — " Am I quite useless; don't you think there's the least hope for me ?

" " None whatever ; why, you cannot put two ideas together ! Give me my book, and be quiet, if you want to stay here." But he only pushed the book a little farther off, and, sitting up, rested his arms on the arm of Lalia's chair, and, looking earnestly into her face, continued — " We can't all live in ideas. I don't think the c Raymonds thought I had none when I pulled down their old cottage and built them a new one ; nor did the dwellers in Green Lane, when I had it so well drained that it has not a shred of title to the name now." " I believe the children throve on the mud," exclaimed Lalia; "anyway, they had something to exercise their ingenuity on." "Mud pies," queried Percival, half under his breath. " Then there was the new school, and a lot of other things that don't interest you. But that's all play, isn't it, Lalia ?

" and he still looked inquiringly at her. " Oh, it is all very good, but so stupid and uninteresting. Tenants and drains," she cried with an impatient gesture, " they will not make you a name in the world. Now, if you could write a book or paint a picture " "Would that make you love me, Lalia?" and his hand, which had been gradually moving forward, closed on her arm with a firm tender pressure. " Love you ! Per — "I do want you so, darling, up at the Grange ; I want you to learn to play the Lady Bountiful, and you shall teach me ideas " "Teach you ideas!" and Lalia burst into a merry laugh. " Why, you will never have any others than tenants and drains. No ; I could never marry a man who only thought of those things. If I ever do he must be some one who is somebody, and with " "Ideas," put in Percival, still smiling; for, strange to say, Lalia's refusal did not seem to depress him in the least.

" Percival, do not be silly," cried Lalia. " Why, I believe Eve would suit the post better ; besides, I do not intend to race with Hippomenes!" and with a merry laugh she sprang out of her chair and flew over the lawn into the house. Percival blew an unseen kiss after her retreating figure, and murmured to himself, " I'm not so sure of that, Atalanta." And when they met again, it was almost as though nothing had happened. Yet, as the summer rolled on into autumn, a stranger might have been amused to watch them. Percival stood ahead, ever attentive to Lalia, but just reserved enough to pique her. There was a certain satisfied air about him ; he knew Lalia was at present heart-whole, and felt safe ; he could afford to wait. So he watched with amused seriousness. Lalia, in her turn, would watch Percival with quick watchful glances, when she thought he was not looking ; and if caught in the act was cross with him in proportion.

While Andrew's eyes followed her every action with deep admiration, dog-like in its faithfulness and knowledge that there lay his only reward : he was indeed Meleager, who laid his trophies at Atalanta's feet, yet who never ran the race with her. And Eveleen, child Eve, as they all called her, watched Andrew with shy, half-hidden looks, yet which brought the warm colour to her cheeks when she thought of them. But a rude awakening was to follow their dreaming. One day, late in September, Lalia sat over her writing ; she had been restless all day, could not work, everything seemed disjointed, and she wanted to finish a story that afternoon. She had all her incidents, but could not string them firmly together; the beads were there, but the thread would show in places. What should she do, tighten the thread and dwarf the story or add more beads ? that meant padding.

Suddenly she pushed the papers away and, throwing down her pen, found another manuscript, which she stamped and addressed, after hurriedly thrusting it into an envelope, then glancing at the clock, exclaimed, " That is an end to the story for this evening. I had almost forgotten to send this, and must hurry, or shall lose the post as it is. Oh, bother the bull ! Percival told me to be sure and not cross his field; but I cannot help it, — it is all nonsense, the brute has never taken any notice before, — anyway, I must risk it." And, catching up her hat, she ran out of the house. Walking quickly, she reached the home meadow, and seeing the bull was not anywhere near, went swiftly across, gained the other gate, and was soon at the village post-office. Her letter posted, she stopped to have a chat with the postmistress, and then turned to go.

" Oh, how late it is ; I shall have to cross the home meadow again ! " she exclaimed. "Good night, Mrs. Smith." " Oh, don't go that way, miss. You know it's really not safe. I heard Squire Fenwick say only t'other day he'd have to have that beast killed." " Oh, it will be all right ; I came that way, it is ever so much quicker," Lalia called back, as she started on her road. She was halfway across the field, when she heard a dull roar and a heavy trampling, and turning, saw the great black bull scouring towards her from the way she had come. She gave one short sharp cry, then started running, and literally flew across the field towards the gate. Just then, Andrew Dennis, who had been sketching in the next field all the afternoon, heard the trampling of the bull, and looked over the hedge to see the animal gaining on Lalia, but who was now so close to the gate that she would probably have reached it in time, when something caught her foot and she fell heavily to the ground.

An exclamation of horror burst from Andrew, then quick as thought he untied a red silk handkerchief from his waist and waved it frantically over the low hedge. The bull caught the red flutter, stopped, pawed the ground savagely, and then with a roar turned on the new object. " Run, Lalia, run!" shouted Andrew, as he still waved the handkerchief; and to his relief saw Lalia slowly rise, but only to drop on her knee again, for she had badly strained her foot. Yet with a supreme effort she managed to crawl to the gate, open it, get through, and close it ; then she dropped fainting before it. And Andrew ? — poor Andrew ! The bull, quite mad now, flew towards the waving signal ; and though that was withdrawn as soon as Lalia had gained the other side, was in so great a rage that he burst right through the hedge, which was weak at that point, and rushed straight on Andrew.

The wild eyes gleamed, the snorting breath came hot over him, he put out his hands to grasp the cruel horns, but it was of little avail against the fierce onrush. Once — twice — something flew into the air, then followed a heavy thud, and, with a triumphant roar, the animal galloped on, till the sound of his hoof beats died in the distance. " Hush, Lalia, do not cry for me. I'm quite happy ; I've only fulfilled Meleager's part," and the tired voice dropped even to a lower whisper; "he died for Atalanta's sake." "Oh, Andrew, Andrew, I shall never forgive myself! " sobbed Lalia, as she bent over the couch where Dennis had been laid. " It was all my fault. I had often been told not to o-o that way." " No," whispered Andrew, feebly stroking her hand, " it was fate, not you, dear, and it is better so ; for I may tell my secret dying, that living I had ever to crush down, and often it hurt far more than my present pain.

Lalia, stay with me, dear. I shall not keep you long." Without a word Lalia drew a low stool to the side of the couch and sat down by him holding his hand, and occasionally passing a cool wet sponge over his forehead. The others came and went, but there was nothing to do, only to await the end, and he had asked to be left alone except for Lalia. The doctor had gone, saying he would return in a few hours, but he doubted if he should find the wounded man still alive. For some time Andrew had lain very still, when slowly he opened his eyes, and looking at Lalia, murmured softly — - " Kiss me, dear ; you have never done so since we were children, and " — his voice grew slower and fainter — "and be good to Hippo menes ; he is my dearest friend." As Lalia kissed his cheek, he tried to put his arm round her, but it dropped feebly to his side ; a half-smile crossed his face, and she caught the whisper, " Raise the curtain a little higher ; — I should like to see — the — moon — rise."

She moved as swiftly as she could, for her foot was still stiff, to gratify the wish and let in the silver light ; but when she returned to Andrew's side, a change had passed over his face. His eyes were almost closed — not quite — and he looked, oh, so white. Was it the moon ? Lalia stooped and listened ; then gave a sharp, shrill cry for some one to come ; and, as the old maid appeared at the door, for the second time that day, Lalia the strong fainted. In the days that followed, it was poor little Eveleen, more than Lalia, who felt most the death of Andrew. For to Lalia he had only been a friend, and her great burst of grief was more from the shock to her nerves and self reproach, than passionate sorrow. Yet it is wronging her to say she did not love him or grieve either, for she had felt for him almost as a brother ; but Eve's was another love.