The Vengeance of Medea

Front matter

(7 BY EDITH GRAY WHEELWRIGHT LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO., PUBLISHERS 18 BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. TO a. c. je. Dear little friend, whose truth and loyalty Have never changed with time, take this, and pray That I, the richer for your love, may grow More worthy ; that from out the humble round Of work and pure endeavour, some fair growth Of Wisdom may arise to bless with joy And fruitfulness, the changeful course of years. CONTENTS. PAGE

Chapter I

' Behold, I dream a dream of good. And mingle all the world with thee.' — Tennyson. ' This is the great task of Life also, to discern things and divide them, and say, " Outward things are not in my power, but to will is in my power. " ' Teaching of Epictetus. The wind had ceased, and the eye of the earth closed gently upon crowded lands and peaceful valleys where Nature lay at rest. It was twilight in the northern hemisphere — tall oaks and cedars wavered in uncertain outlines against a paling sky ; sleep movements began to stir among the flowers beds, delicate leaves were folded against the chills of the summer night, where here and there an evening primrose stood erect and stately in mute invitation to her nocturnal guest. A From an upper window in a pretty English home, an elderly man sat looking out into the shadows.

He was propped up with cushions, for he was very weak, and the hand which had waved encouragement from a commander's saddle at Peshawur lay shrivelled and inert by his side. Yet the eyes had not lost their brilliancy, and the expression of the bronzed face bore unshrinking witness to a life of honourable days. There was a smile upon his lips at this moment, as some old memory flashed up from the shadows now closing round his life, and his thoughts had wandered back to these open handed days of Indian experience — of lavish hos pitality, of political unrest, of desperate struggle and hand-to-hand fight with treacherous and un known foes. Memories, too, of other days were with him — days serene and peaceful under Italian skies, hallowed by the love of a sweet and constant nature, and saddened at last by an irrevocable loss.

The old soldier's hand closed suddenly upon a letter he was holding, and it recalled him sharply to the present time and the few duties yet remain ing for his faltering energies to fulfil. In the sum of his well-spent and successful life there lingered still some leaven of anxiety. He was a father and a guardian : the responsible attitude, with all its by gone sweetness, weighed upon his soul. He turned away from the window with a short sigh, and at that moment a slender maiden entered, bearing a small, shaded lamp in her hand. ' Dear old dad, sitting so patiently in the dark ness,' she said cheerily. ' I have come to interrupt your intercourse with the owls.' ' That is right. I wanted my little girl and was about to ring for her,' said the Colonel, and he watched the graceful little figure in its gyrations as Sybil began, in a peculiarly rapid fashion, to close the blinds and rearrange the details of the room. ' Don't turn all the chairs upside down, please, little woman,' observed the invalid mildly after a moment's pause, ' and I don't think the carpet need be swept until to-morrow.' Sybil halted in a somewhat aimless adjustment of an antimacassar, and shook her auburn curls.

Then she came and knelt by the Colonel's side in such a manner that the light, falling athwart her shoulders, left her face in shade. For the fact was that her hazel eyes were dimmed with recent weeping, and the brave little loving heart was try ing to mask its sorrow by an assumed gaiety of tone. Oh pathos of such endeavour ! In its anxious attempt at subterfuge it deceives itself alone. ' There has been a letter, Sybil,' said the old man very gently, ' from Miss Wellton. I want to talk to you about it once more — for the last time. No, don't interrupt me, dear; let me fulfil my duties while I can. The matter is all but decided, and the casting vote remains with you — you and Michal.' ' Shall I call the Poetess ? ' said Sybil quickly, and she rose and hurried to the door. Her summons was soon answered.

The elder girl took her place also by her guardian's couch, and the light from the little lamp shone softly in the black depths of her eyes and on her coronet of silky hair. The old soldier looked up at her with a strange expression as his hand rested tremblingly on her dark head. Michal Iliff was his ward ; on her mother's side she was of Italian parentage, of her father, nothing was ever heard. Thus her history, as the world knew it, was a simple one, but that other story, fraught with so many issues that had been woven about her life in its infancy, was known to very few. And although the Colonel had ever been unvaryingly tender and indulgent towards his motherless daughter, Sybil, yet there was some thing in his manner towards her dark-eyed com rade which betrayed a deeper feeling still. ' I wanted to talk to you about this letter,' he began again. ' It is from Miss Wellton.

She says that she can easily arrange to give you your rooms such as you would require, and the terms and all other details seem satisfactory. Of course, I felt sure that they would do so. I know the house, which is a pleasant one, and Miss Sally her self is the embodiment of highly correct citizen ship, but I wanted to ask you both once more before deciding finally. Is my little girl fixed in her resolution ? ' Sybil looked up, and met the passionate gaze of the dark eyes opposite. Moved by the same sudden impulse, the two girls clasped hands. ' Quite fixed,' said Sybil gently. ' It is true,' resumed the Colonel after a pause, ' that if the life does not suit you, you are not bound irrevocably to it. Neither will you be subjected to the strain and struggle for a livelihood which is the lot of most artists who seek for success and fame.

My little girl will always have her income to fall back upon, and it is sufficient. It is also secured, so that my mind is easy on that score, while Michal, of course — ' his glance rested for an instant upon the pale aristocratic face, and there was a tremor in his voice as he concluded — ' Michal j of course, has hers.' Thereafter, silence. Sybil was struggling bravely to say something in an even tone, but the flesh and the will were at war. ' The Poetess,' she began falteringly, ' is a tower of strength. You need never be afraid for me, Daddy darling, as long as she and I are together ; and our lives have " together twined ," you know. She will never be engulfed in the whirlpool of artistic ruin, will you, my Poetess ? ' ' No whirlpools shall engulf either of us, cara mia, if I can prevent it,' said the musical voice of Michal. ' Sublime optimism of youth,' answered the Colonel smiling, 'and of poets.

Well, then, it appears that I am to give you the first lift upon the ladder of a professional career. I do not oppose it, mind, even in thought. I have too sound a faith in the wisdom and capability of each of you, and a life of active work, with a steady aim, is per haps the best training for women as well as for men. I do not oppose it. I only wish that there had been some one able to guide you sometimes with a bit of cheery advice — some artist, perhaps, who could have helped you. My cousin, Jane Charlecote, will be ready enough to pilot you through the maze of social life, but she is no more good in the artistic line than a battery of artillery.' Sybil hesitated a moment. ' Mr Vernon,' she said, ' told me, you know, daddy, to write to him if ever I wanted help — I mean, if ever I went to London.

I don't think I should like to do that, but perhaps we may meet him again some day — ' The honest face of the old soldier was a little clouded. ' I don't know Leslie Vernon,' he answered slowly, ' and what I have heard about him, I don't quite understand. There is something rather odd, somehow, in the idea of an Academician of his standing offering to give you lessons in that off hand sort of way. One would have supposed, too, that after his kindness to you on your sketching tour that week, he would have accepted my invita tion, instead of rejecting it — not churlishly, perhaps, but still with a lack of geniality. Well, never mind now ; we all have our peculiarities. I am a bluff old fellow myself — somewhat too free, I daresay — and do not understand these reserved sort of men.' ' Mr Vernon is a strange person,' said Michal quietly, ' but I think he means what he says.' She had noticed a flush of pained perplexity on the fair cheek of her friend, and had hastened to supply her answer.

The Colonel sank back upon his pillows with a gesture of weariness. Sybil sprang to her feet. ' You have talked long enough, daddy dear,' she said gently, ' and are growing tired. Shall I fetch a book to read to you a little while ? ' ' No ; there is something I have still to say to Michal,' he answered faintly. The old restlessness was stealing back into his eyes. 'You shall say it to-morrow,' said his adopted daughter with tender emphasis, and, yielding to her will, he rested.

Chapter II

' Turn to the annals of a former day.' — Byron. ' Lord Rea said :— ' ' Well ! God mend all !" ' ' " Nay, [ said Sir David Ramsay, " we must help Him to mend it." ' THE Colonel has something on his mind, Miss Iliff, which he wishes to say to you,' said the nurse as she met Michal, on the following day, coming from her guardian's room. ' I know ; he has just told me so. The doctor thought that he had better indulge his wish this afternoon, so I intend to return to him immedi ately. Will you not take a walk in the interval ? ' And Michal went quietly back to the Colonel's room. He greeted her expectantly. His voice was stronger than it had been on the previous night, and his whole bearing gave evidence of a suppressed excitement. Michal noted it and thought with a pang of the doctor's verdict — ' It may be a question of days or of weeks.

Don't be deceived by fitful flashes of vigour.' She stood by the bed, looking down lovingly from her great dark eyes, while Sybil, her head resting on her hand, sat near. The Colonel took the long, white fingers of the Poetess in his own shrunken palm very tenderly. ' I want to tell you, my dear,' he said, ' the story of your birth and childhood. You have not yet heard it, and my days are numbered now.' The girl drew a quick breath as she listened — the proud lips closed in a firm and rigid line. Sybil rose as though to leave them, but a glance from the Poetess made her pause. ' Not so, darling,' said Michal gently. ' You have shared my ignorance all these years ; will you not share my knowledge now — whether for good or evil ? ' Sybil silently sat down. 'Yes,' said the Colonel thoughtfully, 'that is better so.

I have only kept you in ignorance of your parentage all these years, my dear, because there seemed no reason to disturb our happy re lationship with thoughts other than of peace, and I knew well enough what impression the story would leave upon you. Now, the case is different ; I have come to the end of my tether, and you should know it. Sybil is like your own sister, too.' ' We are more than sisters,' said Michal, and the mellow cadence of her beautiful voice set the common-place words to music. ' Well, then, before Sybil was born,' said the Colonel, breaking in hurriedly, as though fearful of losing precious time, 'we were in Florence — my wife and I— spending the winter there. I was home on furlough, and we had not been married long. There were no claims to call us elsewhere in those halcyon days, and we spent a perfectly happy time together' — a shadow crossed the old soldier's face as he spoke — 'a perfectly happy time.

It was in March, I think, when the incident happened which was to influence your after life. You are standing, my dear — why not sit down ? ' But Michal, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless as a statue, made a hasty movement of dissent, and the Colonel proceeded with his tale. ' We were walking — my Jeannie and I — from Fiesole one afternoon when we saw, by the road side, a woman of the peasant class lying apparently insensible. She had a young child in her arms — a little, dark-haired girl — and as my wife stopped for a moment to see whether it might be a case demanding the sympathy of a stranger, the little one stretched out its arms with a cry. That was quite enough for the tender heart of my Jeannie. She took up the poor wee thing and soothed it, and we began to make inquiries about the woman, and had her conveyed to her home.' A pause.

The Colonel's voice grew stronger, and his language more eloquent. He seemed to have forgotten the present in the vivid interest of those by-gone days. He was living again in the fair Italian city, the companion of his love was again beside him, a Httle, dark-haired child in her arms. ' She was very ill, poor woman,' he continued slowly ; ' dying, the doctor said. We visited her many times during her illness, and then we heard her story. It appeared that, four years previously, a young English nobleman had stayed for some time in Florence, accompanied by a friend. He was a gay young fellow, fresh from college, with plenty of money to fling about and plenty of time to misuse, and he saw Lucia Safrana in an evil hour, and fell in love with her. She was a remarkably hand some girl, that poor Lucia — such a figure ! with the dark eyes, too, and rich colouring of the South.

She was a peasant lass, a Contadina, and was naturally flattered by the attentions of the young English lord. I believe she loved him — passion ately, jealously, as Italians love. Anyhow, they were married.' Another pause. The girl standing by the bedside was mute and motionless — Sybil watched her with wide and anxious eyes. ' They were married,' said the Colonel again. ' I don't know how it was all managed, or what was represented to the young Earl's friends. He was of age, of course, and in possession of his father's title. He and Lucia left Florence soon afterwards, and travelled from place to place in Italy. Then suddenly, after a year or so, the young husband was mysteriously summoned home, while Lucia returned to Florence with her child, well and happy. She expected her husband to return in about three months' time.

He had represented to her that the journey was a disagreeable one, — a duty, not a pleasure — that he should be free to return to her when his business matters were settled. The idea of taking his peasant wife home with him never seems to have entered his head. Then, of course, there followed the inevitable awakening. He had left her, not for a time, but for life. A companionship so ill assorted had proved unendurable and had worn out its charms and romance. A letter came from him explaining all the diffi culties and trials of his position, the sacrifices that were extorted by custom and society from a man of his high rank ; the lands, the houses, the seat in Parliament, the whole curriculum of public life must and would fall upon his shoulders. Lucia would understand that to share such burdens would render life unendurable ; it would ruin both herself and him.

How much better for him to return to her, as he should assuredly do, in the interval of peace which his busy life might some day afford him ! There, I don't remember it all, but Lucia, poor thing, gave us the letter to read — it was written in passable Italian. There had been bank notes, too, inside it — notes which she had torn with her teeth and trampled on. In the first frenzy of her rage and disappointment they told me she would have killed her child also. Then her mood changed, and from that time one sole idea pos sessed her. She would go to England and be re venged, no matter how great the difficulties, how long the time to be spent in preparation. She began to work feverishly, saving up every spare earning, and then this illness came on. She was utterly exhausted and broken. She seemed to have no love, no tenderness left in her, not even for her little, dark-haired Michal!

The tall, motionless figure was swayed by some sudden movement. Sybil rose, with an action of gentlest sympathy, and stood by her friend's side. ' Did she die ? ' asked the elder girl in a low voice. 'What, Lucia? Yes, I imagine so. It happened like this. My wife and I were summoned to THE VENGEANGE OF MEDEA. 15 England — Jeannie's father was seriously ill, we could not delay our journey — but before we left we offered to adopt the little Michal and to bring her up as our own child. She was a winsome little creature, and my Jeannie had taken to her in a wonderful way. Quixotic, of course, people called us, and other names less agreeable, but we never cared a straw about that. We only knew that the mother lay dying, and the child would grow up neglected and uncared for, and we took the wee thing with us.

The Padre who visited Lucia promised to write and let us know if Lucia recovered, but no letter has ever come — indeed, we never expected it — and no tidings from that day to this of Lucia.' 'And my father?' asked Michal quietly. She spoke without any apparent emotion, but Sybil knew that a tumult of passions lay buried beneath the calm. The Colonel's face darkened. ' I have not spoken of that man for years,' he said abruptly. ' I can hardly speak of him now without letting out fire, but it ill becomes a man on his death-bed to speak hard words of his neigh bour, so I will say as little as I can. I went to him, and during that interview I said things that were perhaps unnecessary, for the cold politeness ofthe man put my back up, and I was always a blundering sort of fellow, too ready to speak out my mind.

So we had an unpleasant encounter, and before the end of it I got at his weak point. He had married a woman of high family within the year after his return, and had given out that his wife was dead. There was no evidence to prove the contrary — the peasant woman living so far away, in a foreign country, had no power to con tradict his tale. He was just starting out on an ambitious political career, and the story which I told him of Lucia's illness and probable death, and of my adoption of the little Michal, fell upon unwilling ears. He had washed his hands of his first ill-assorted marriage, he had no desire to confess publicly the existence of his child. He is spoken of now as the proudest and most im maculate nobleman in the Upper House — he may be — and a man of most stainless honour, but never mind that now.

He promised to pay three hundred pounds per annum to my bankers as long as his daughter lived. He was ready to do any thing, pay anything, to ensure my secrecy. I accepted the terms and left him. You know the rest, my dears. We left for India soon afterwards, and little Michal, of course, went too. Then our Sybil was born to us, and altogether I consider that I have had the best of the bargain.' He held out his hand, as he spoke, to Michal. ' Mine has been the joy that your father renounced,' he said tenderly, and I have never regretted it, my dear, for a day. Sybil's life, too, has been enriched by the love of a sister, and my loss has been softened by the devo tion of my girls.' Sybil's auburn curls touched his hand caress ingly, her bright eyes shone with tears. Not that the story seemed, to her light-hearted philosophy, so very dreadful after all.

If Michal's father were a bad man, she reflected gravely, what did it matter to them as long as they had nothing to do with him ? The Poetess, as she loved to call her friend, had become a part of her own life. What could anything matter? But the pride of the father awoke again in the sensitive soul of Michal ; to her the revelation was fraught with intense and bitter pain. There was silence for a space, while the Colonel rested on his pillows a little wearily. ' I think I have told you everything,' he said at length. 'Your income, you see, is assured, and though you may never meet your father, yet it was right that you should know from what source that income was derived. His name though, I have not yet told you — the Earl — ' ' Stay,' cried the Poetess. ' I will not know his name. If once I knew it, and should ever, in some evil hour, cross his path, it would be bad equally for me and for him.

I, the daughter of his peasant B wife, would speak as she would probably have spoken. I, too, have southern blood and can love and hate intensely, but I do not wish to forget, as he has done, that " noblesse oblige" and I will not hear his name.' The Colonel pondered. He had always been ac customed to yield to the passionate impulses and strong will of his adopted daughter ; he was also accustomed to trust her judgments when formed. At this moment, therefore, it was not likely that he could oppose her wish, and he yielded. ' Be it as you will, my dear,' he answered gently. If at anytime you should alter your determina tion, the means of attaining the knowledge lie, of course, in your own hands. In my small iron box are papers which will prove the main facts in my narrative, and among them is also a necklace given by your father to Lucia.

She insisted, poor soul, upon our taking that relic ; a ring which he had given her she kept, and his letters also, but the necklace we brought away. There would be no harm in your looking at it, my dear. There is the box yonder, on my table ; the key is with others in my drawer. You can fetch it, Sybil.' ' Do look, Poetess,' said the younger girl softly, and Michal reluctantly obeyed. The box was brought and opened, and the necklace — a slight, but beautiful, thing of delicate gold workmanship — was disclosed. Sybil looked with naive curiosity at it and at the old documents lying beneath. Michal glanced at both in silence, and the box was soon replaced. Then the Poetess went again to the bedside, a wonderful softness dwelling in her deep, dark eyes. 'Padre mio', she said gently, and her flexible voice lingered in mellow cadence upon the sweet Italian words, ' the little child you rescued thanks you for the tender care of all these years.

She has ever loved you as a father, now her gratitude is at least as great as her love.' ' Never mind about that ; the love makes us quits, my dear,' said the Colonel.

Chapter III

' I go to prove my soul. I see my way, As birds their trackless way. I shall arrive. Browning. Evening mists lay lightly over the weary earth ; the harvest fields were sleeping beneath the veil, the wayward breezes wandered in sweet restlessness upon the meadows where the children played, and o'er the woods where the forest poets lay silently within their sheltered nests. It was the ' Arn Monat ' of our ancestors, and the rich gifts of golden-haired Demeter stood ripening for the eager sickle of the labouring man. In the vineyards of the South, the trellised vines grew purple. Those are stately memories memories linking us with the remotest past — that dwell among the harvest fields ; the thoughts of the sower are long, long thoughts, but the reaper looks ever backward. Down by the little stream, where the bulrush and the reed mace grew, and the purple loosestrife raised its clustered spikes above the reed-fringed margin, a solitary bird poured forth its low, quick song.

No other sound broke the stillness. The far blue fields slept in the loosed raiment of Nature's rest ful hour ; tiny leaves, luminous with dew, clung motionless to the sod ; among the barren moss late violets were hidden. The oaks were silent, and only the breath of the evening was tuneful with that one articulate song. But presently, white rifts of light appeared as rents and patches among the dusky clouds, herald ing, with their shreds of scattered silver, the crown ing glory of a mighty moon. Then the pale forget me-nots stirred as the bright beams kissed them, and the long-leaved rushes whispered in elfish cadences, while their edges shone like silver threads. Two girls lingered by the grassy margin, listening to the warbler's song. The meadow circled round their pretty garden ; here, in earth's sweet solitudes, they loved to linger, and hither they had wandered now.

They stood together talking as those alone can talk whose hearts are united in that pure bond of friendship which is Heaven's choicest gift to poor humanity. Nothing had come between them all their lives to mar their perfect union, and yet they differed in character just as the birds differ in plumage, and habit and song. And now they were standing on that fateful ground which, in most human lives, has proved to be the crisis, and is marked by the sign-post of uncertainty, at the crossing of the roads. One of them stood erect, dauntless, with burning gaze ready to pierce, it might be, all worlds and their mysteries, all knowledge and all pain. The other, cast in lighter mould, glanced fearfully into the veiled unknown, and trembled. ' Success is so rare, Poetess,' she said wistfully. ' How dare we hope for it ? ' ' We do not hope,' said the elder girl, her rich tones full of passion. ' We do not snatch it as did Prometheus his fire.

Success is in ourselves. We must aim high, impatient at our nothingness, con tent only with the purest ideals, the noblest life.' ' I am not like you, my Poetess,' said little Sybil, looking up in simple admiration at the earnest, dreaming eyes. ' My mind casts a lesser shade. You will conquer in the struggle, for you are strong and worthy. I have no genius, I can only work — and love.' Michal stooped and gathered,' a spray of pale forget-me-nots. 'Thy life shall chant its own beatitudes,' she said gently, and Sybil took the flowers in silence from her hand. The sweet, southern breeze sighed lightly through the foliage ; the sedge warbler still crooned its melody into the quiet night, but the air was growing chill. Slowly, therefore, and with some reluctance, the two girls retraced their steps, bearing with them a memory that stirred thereafter at the sight of blue forget-me-nots, and whose chords vibrated at a fragment of the little warbler's song.

Chapter IV

'Should auld acquaintance be forgot?' Great upheavals had been witnessed in the house in Maida Vale. Miss Wellton, known to her intimates as ' Miss Sally,' was a somewhat nervous, elderly person of respectability unimpeachable, of decayed fortune, and of severest ethical code. Her boarding estab lishment was a praiseworthy example of the survi val of the fittest among the many competitors, inasmuch as it had kept its owner's head above water for thirty years, and had been the favourite resort of a variegated respectability, from the well to-do widow or spinster, to that less popular class of gentlewoman known in society as ' decayed.' But the increasing competition had affected even the sure foundations of the house in Maida Vale, and Miss Sally was not sorry to complete an ar rangement which would ensure to her such desirable boarders as Colonel Murray's daughter and ward.