CHAPTER XXIV - THE PHILTRE AT WORK

The purpose of Lais had been foiled at the moment when victory was most confidently certain. Every move upon her unsuspicious quarry had been so artfully and hypocritically planned as to enable her to cast her net and entangle her victim before the design was suspected. With deliberate self­gratification she had dropped the curtains to secure privacy, had commanded her slave to retire, had even gone so far as to give expression to the first outburst of her triumphant boasting; when that mysterious, unanticipated, impossible ‘Something’ interposed and blasted everything. What is this subtle intervening force lying so completely hidden, and yet so close at hand, defying all estimate of its presence, yet possessing a dynamic power always equal to complete destruction? It is one of the natural and eternal qualities of that vaguely understood region of physchology impinging on the sensuous, but non-existent to the sensual except by demonstration. It is the co-relation of soul, which by spiritual contact brings into operation the eternal forces lying within the unseen, as a cable in the bed of an ocean binds continent to continent for mutual assistance. It is the secret service of truth armed with authority to work for righteousness, and destroy all works of the devil. It is no modern theory worked out as being analogous to wireless telegraphy, rather does the spiritual truth claim to be the suggestion pointing Marconi and his confreres to success. Millenniums before Franklin conceived the possibility of harnessing the lightning, the King of Syria discovered that it was not necessary to the frustration of his plans that a traitor should be in his retinue, but Elisha, the prophet, far away in Dothan, told the King of Israel the words spoken in the Syrian bedchamber.

When Lais drew the curtains she did not only secure privacy but also gloom, in the depth of which, behind her, Glarces by some means caught a vision of his sister waiting patiently for his coming; and as the strength of love forced its way through the torrent of passion, its mighty touch prevailed to save him, in the perilous moment when he was helpless and undone.

Meanwhile Vedrona, having reached her apartments, had dismissed Zillah in her determination to be rid of everything calculated to recall the unpleasant connections of the night; then, with the single reservation that, come what would, she should see Glarces on his return, submitted herself to Tasha and Æna, whose joint services soon produced the welcome forgetfulness of slumber.

Then Æna was left alone. Not that Tasha wished to avoid her charge, but that the force of her anxious concern might not disturb the sleeper's rest. There was no fear that the faithful Æna would sleep, so commanding to be summoned in case of slightest necessity, the sympathetic foster­mother retired to prepare herself for taking a later watch.

Peacefully did the Princess sleep on, and - if the faint indications were read aright - her dreams were equally pleasant. Only once did she start as if alarmed, then the slave quietly seized her lute, and caused its strings to whisper dreamy harmonies of some reverie inspired by the moment. Vedrona turned her head, half-opening her eyes, as if not certain from whence such music proceeded - whether from earth or dreamland - but the slave took no further notice than to add the almost inaudible breathings of her rich contralto voice in a plaintive soothing song of love. It was nothing new, except, perhaps, the soul of the singer was intertwined more cunningly with her theme, until its intensity and sweetness produced the contrary to the desired effect. At this the song ceased, suddenly in the midst of a strain, and Æna laid aside her instrument.

“Go on, I am listening,” murmured Vedrona.

“It ends there,” replied the girl. “I was only humming a song I heard floating in the air, but it has gone too far away for me to hear it now.”

But the imaginative slave was not without resource and at once went on to invent a story sympathetic with the song. This she told in soft, musical cadence, artfully wooing back the slumber, and enticing her mistress again into the recuperative land of forgetfulness.

Again she started! This time leaping into a sitting posture and staring wildly round the room as if uncertain where she was.

“Glarces!” she gasped. “Glarces - where is he?”

“He has not yet returned. You have been dreaming. Shall I sing again?”

“No-no! He is in danger! I saw it! I must go to him.”

At that moment a slave announced the return of the Prince.

“It was only the gods who woke you at his coming, lady,” cried Æna gleefully, “and the sudden joy affrighted you.” Vedrona quieted herself and smiled.

“Let him know at once that I await him,” she answered the slave, and then to Æna , “now that he is here I can dispense with you, and may the gods bless you for your comfort of the night.”

“But you will need me when the Prince retires,” the girl reminded her.

“Not to-night, Æna. It is already late, and the Car of Phœbus will be travelling before the Prince has told me half the news.”

With this she offered her hand, which the girl affectionately kissed and left her.

Scarcely had she passed through the one door before the curtains of the other were torn aside and Glarces entered. “Come in, my love,” she cried, as she hurried to meet him; but catching sight of the wild, fierce look upon his face, she stood aghast and gasped, “But, oh! Glarces - Glarces! what is the matter - what has happened?”

He did not speak, but motioned her back to the couch, beside which he flung himself, clinging to both her hands as if for protection. His breath came in short hard snatches, his eyes wandered nervously from door to door, he trembled till the room shook, and he clutched at his sister like a despairing criminal.

“What is it, my love?” she pleaded. “Speak, and tell me what has happened.”

How she prayed that Æna might come back again, or that Tasha, hearing of his return, would come to see him and say “good-night.” She dare not loose him in his excitement and terror, even to reach the chime and call for help. She could only grip him in her arms and fold him more closely to her.

But he roughly tore her arms away and flung them rudely aside as if they burned him.

“Let me alone! Let me alone! Don't touch me!” “But I must do something,” she answered, making an effort to regain her feet. “Let me call for someone to help you.”

“No, no! Be still,” he cried, restraining her. “It's over now, and I have escaped.”

“Escaped, from what?”

“From her! She made me drink, but I divined her purpose before it was too late! I ran away, and came here. She poisoned the wine - set my blood on fire! But – I have drank again. Orasus gave me pure wine to extinguish her fires. I shall be better presently, then I will rest – and after that, be revenged! Ah! ah! She has done her worst - but failed. I did not wrong you! No! I love you; but I hate her - yes, I hate her!”

Vedrona listened with one terrible conviction growing upon her - that something had produced a feverish aberration of his mind. But whether it had been caused by natural excitement and the heavy duties of the day, or whether he had really been induced to drink more wine, she could neither determine nor trust him to explain. She recalled her own experience earlier in the evening, and could readily understand how such a collapse would be more serious in his case, but it was only a temporary matter. He needed rest and such treatment as she had been subjected to, then he would soon recover himself. After the first shock was over, she saw no reason to summon further assistance - she was competent to do all that was necessary; and with no other companionship than hope and tears, she set about her ministry of love.

Having made such explanation he appeared to become less agitated, and when she made a second attempt to caress him did not resent it.

“Of course you love me,” she replied, “surely I do not, need to be convinced of that; and you are loved perhaps even more ardently in return. But we will speak of that presently. You need rest now, and if you could only get a little sleep you would be all the better. Don't you remember how excited and prostrate I was when you sent me home? Well, I have had a long rest; Æna has been telling me all kinds of wonderful stories about yourself, in listening to which I have recovered, and am able and ready to do just the same for you. Now, lay your head there,” pressing it to her bosom, “and listen while I try to tell you all the absurd things the people have been saying to-day; and if I can repeat her stories with half the force and vivacity she used, you will soon forget everything but the pleasure of being talked to, and go to sleep as I did. I don't think you quite deserve it, you know, for sending me home in the way you did, but you are tired now, and I shall return good for evil, and punish you by doing just what you want me to do, and show how wrong you were when I was tired.”

As she talked to him in all the simple, half-nonsensical language of her affection, she punctuated her sentences with the usual flourishes of endearment, little dreaming in her innocence of what had transpired, that she was adding oil to the flames of the passion he was so manfully, but hopelessly, trying to extinguish.

How many of the great tragedies of life owe their origin to the mistaken kindness of affection when more drastic methods would have saved the catastrophe.

Meshrac's diverted and fatal philtre might have been robbed of its sting that night but for the unfortunate assurance of Vedrona's closing words.

“Will you do what I ask you to do?” he demanded eagerly.

The strange, piercing, hungry look with which he accompanied the inquiry revived her fear and nervousness, and again she wished she had not dismissed Æna. “You know I will. Do you think it necessary to ask it.” “Will you do it as willingly as she would?”

“More - far more willingly than anyone would. Who can love you as I do? Am I not all, always, for ever yours? But if you will talk, my love, I must call someone else to be with you for the present, and I will see you afterwards.”

And again she essayed to leave him. “No, no! I cannot - must not let you go, or she will follow me! And I am yours - not hers!”

By this time he had grown even more excited than when he entered, and she could not help regarding him as dangerous and menacing. She had dexterously contrived to slip from the couch, which was now standing between them, but the gong was behind him, and she had no means of calling for the assistance she so sorely needed, but by screams, a method she was reluctant to employ except in an emergency.

“I have no wish to leave you alone, dear,” she answered, with but a faint attempt at composure, “but I do wish to ask for something.”

“No! We need nothing but each other, and no one must come just now. Come to me!”

“No, I cannot. I must see someone at once. I am afraid, and don't know what to do.”

“I can tell you. Come here!”

“But, dear, you don't know how strange you are; I don't understand you, and must call for someone.”

“You shall not! You are mine, and I will have you!” As he spoke he leaped the couch and caught her in his strong trembling arms.

“Stand back! Stand back!” she cried, fighting desperately to release herself; “you are not Glarces, but some devil who has possessed his form to ruin me. Back - back, I say! I hate, despise, and curse you. Out, out - begone.”

Her vehemence and strength, coupled with her anathema, struck him with bewildering force, under the spell of which he was unable to retain his hold and staggered backwards. “Hate me!” he ejaculated.

With that ready inspiration that comes to a woman in such moments of extremity, she saw the advantage she had gained, and prepared to follow up and if possible secure her escape.

“Hate you - yes! How dare you insult me by thinking I could love such as you are now. Out, I say; begone! And if you wish it, go back to the wanton who has made you what you are.”

In her fear and indignation she spoke without either thought or consideration, being only concerned for the safety of the moment, and altogether careless of the keen edge of the weapon she used so readily in her own defence. Her fury had a strength she did not estimate; produced a wound the pain of which exceeded the horrible passion born of the philtre, and under its forceful influence, combined with that of the wine, he fell violently to the floor. Too late she saw what had been undesignedly accomplished, and in her genuine penitence, without a thought of consequences, rushed to pour in the oil of remorse, but he gently, though firmly, put her aside.

By one of those sudden and unexplained revulsions of feeling which none can understand, though so often experienced, the fury of his physical passion broke and passed away, to give place to perhaps more inexorable jealousy, and in the lull between the two storms he for a brief instant recovered almost a normal condition. Even now he might have been saved had Vedrona but known the influences to which Lais had subjected him, but she did not know - had no indication to guide her in her solution of the problem, and had perforce to stand helpless while the last hope drifted by.

Glarces rose to his feet, still trembling in every muscle from the intensity of his expiring passion, and momentarily feeling the powerful grip which the succeeding jealousy was acquiring over him, but in spite of both, sufficiently himself to feel keenly the wrong under which he considered himself to be suffering. For an instant he stood as if uncertain what to do, then turning he paced the room hurriedly as he made his piteous complaint.

“So this is my reward, the goal of all my hopes, the climax of the illusion which has so long fascinated me. The fires of this night's temptation have tried us both. They burned tortured, and consumed, until they maddened me with their suffering - their flames tossed, dashed, and boiled around me. In them I sank, rose, fought, and struggled, as if for life and existence against the combined forces of a thousand furies, and the one hope which gave me inspiration and courage to do it was that I might prove the sincerity of my love for you. The only incentive I had to attempt to conquer such an agony was that I might prove my worthiness of your love, for without that life will be a burden too heavy for me to bear. When my tortures were most exquisite I lost all consciousness of myself, but my eyes were watching the love that beckoned me forward, and to reach which I would have endured even more than I have already borne. But it is over now! I have, alas, come back from the furnace and the fires that have burned out for lack of fuel. My form is scarred and burned, my brain consumed in the more than fever heat, and my heart is shrivelled by the intensity of the trial. I know I am not the man I was when last you saw me, but I listened to her who told me the experience she had planned would perfect me in all that you desired - all that you would have me to be, and in her assurance she called to my remembrance words that I heard you say in the long ago, until I was willing, at any soct to myself, to secure for you, on this night of all nights, the consummation of the smallest unrealised wish of your heart's desire. It is all over now. I have done it, and it is too late to go back! The old Glarces has been destroyed - burned up; and I am but the hideous metamorphosis that has arisen from his ashes. But let me say this - pay this one tribute to the memory of him who is now no more - when I came up from the furnace in which he passed his ordeal, I knew that in all his anguish he preserved his love for you inviolate, and in the doing so, did not shrink from the sacrifice of himself. He has gone now, for ever, and in the shadow of such an heroic love I must remain content for you to hate me.”

“No, no, my love; you have misunderstood me. Let me explain - “

“It is unnecessary. I am not your love. Have I not told you that the old Glarces is dead - did you not say you hated me, and bade me go back to her who made me what I am? Why do you lie and wish to further deceive me now I begin to understand why you were willing for her to poison my life and happiness? You had not courage to tell me how false you had been, therefore plotted with her to secure my infidelity that you might therein find excuse to brand and blast my name. But I have foiled you both, uncovered your lie, and come out of the trial as all true men will. But hear this, Vedrona, for the sake of the love you have so cruelly slain, I will still forgive you if you will tell me his name who has stolen more than my life. For, by all the mighty gods, I swear he shall never have you, but this dagger shall drink his blood before I go away. Who is he? Speak, that I may go and find him!”

“My brother - my beloved! Hear me - you are wrong!” “Who is he, I ask? Give me his name!” and his voice grew thick and husky in the fierceness of his almost uncontrollable wrath.

“There is no name to give, Glarces! Do calm yourself and allow me to explain.”

“Tell me his name, then.”

“I cannot! There is no name to tell.”

“You lie! Don't trifle with me and think you will be able to save him. You have sacrificed me, and you shall not have him. Who is he? Tell me?” and he seized her fiercely by the arm as if he would tear the secret out by force.

“Glarces, my brother,” she pleaded, adding her tears to entreaties. “Do consider yourself and save me from this wrong.”

“Think of your wrong to me,” he cried, “and tell me his name.” “Will you hear me just one word?”

“No! I have heard too much already! Give me this traitor's name! Don't you see how your refusal is driving me mad? Tell me who he is that I may kill him.”

“Release me, for I will speak - I must speak to save you,” she gasped; for in her wrestling to gain her liberty she had already exhausted herself beyond her last hope of securing help from her screams.

“His name, then!” “I cannot!”

“Then - “ and he raised his dagger menacingly above her head.

“No, no! Glarces! Not that! But if you will, I am quite ready to die if you will only hear me first.”

“Not till I know his name!”

With one of those sudden frenzies of strength, which are sometimes experienced in the extremity of despair, she flung him headlong away from her, not with the intention of escaping so much as a determination to clear herself from his baseless aspersion. They faced each other breathing laboriously from the exhaustion of their struggle, he with the determination of murder still gleaming from his eyes, and she perhaps too hastily coming to the conclusion that at last the victory was with her.

“You shall hear me now,” she cried, with injured defiance “even though my life may afterwards pay the penalty. What fury has taken possession of you I do not know, neither have I yet learned by whose dastardly act this charge has been wrought in you. But I will have you know that my love for you has not faltered nor wronged you as you have wronged me to­night.”

“It's a lie!” he hissed.

“How dare you speak like that to me!” she cried; then boldly sweeping past him she drew aside the curtains of the door. “Begone, at once,” she commanded, “or I will call the guard and order your arrest.”

He was for a moment confused by her majestic and defiant action, then making a courteous obeisance he strode towards the door.

“I obey,” he answered, “but when again you meet your lover, give him this,” and before she could move to save herself, he had buried his dagger in her heart.

While yet his hand was falling, he caught a look which flashed into her eyes as she divined his purpose - a look of forgiveness and devotion which told him more than words have power to speak and made more than sufficient explanation. But it reached him too late. She and the curtain fell together. He brushed it aside again, and came back and bent over the prostrate form, hoping to find his aim had missed its mark. False hope! The mists of death were fast gathering over her once bright eyes. She knew him, however, and across her face a feeble smile of recognition passed, and she whispered, almost inaudibly, “Kiss me!”

There was a sound of feet rushing along the corridor, and in his threefold bewilderment and grief he stooped to kiss her, then rising, fled with a broken heart.

As the curtain fell behind him, those on the opposite side of the room were hurriedly torn aside, and Lais entered. “Glarces! Glarces!” she cried.

Her eyes fell upon the prostrate form of Vedrona. What was the meaning of her lying alone in such a position? Cautiously she approached the scarcely dead girl, until she saw the blood, from which she at once guessed the awful fact. The recognition brought a triumphant smile of satisfaction to her face, which gradually increased into an audible laugh, the sound whereof appeared to shock even herself in its inhuman barbarity. She rose from her contemplation of the body, and hastily lifted the draperies to ascertain if her indiscretion had betrayed her, but finding the secret was still her own, she prepared to realise all that the catastrophe portended to herself. Again she returned to the corpse, this time contemptuously touching it with her foot to see if any sign of life still remained.