As Vivienne, although she avoided argument upon the subject with her brother, had given the young Count Mont d’Oro no encouragement in his suit, having met all his advances with mock disdain or cool rebuff—and as Helen Enright’s heart had been regarded as unassailable—the young god Cupid and his dangerous arrows never formed the subject of conversation between the two young ladies. Helen told Vivienne about England, its king and princes, its nobility and gentry. Despite the English girl’s graphic description of England’s greatness and glory, the young Corsican girl failed to gain an adequate conception of the scenes described to her; but when her turn came to speak, when she talked of Corsica, its traditions, its customs, and its people, the English girl fully understood and made copious entries in the journal which she had kept since her departure from England.
The two girls were naturally thrown into daily companionship. Like all Englishwomen, Helen was fond of outdoor life, and a great lover of the beauties of nature. Vivienne would have remained within doors, but Helen induced her to accompany her in daily rambles, during which every part of the extensive grounds surrounding the Batistelli mansion was visited, and many excursions were made into the surrounding maquis, although Pascal, upon one occasion, said he felt it was his duty to warn Miss Enright, being a stranger, that she ran the risk of being captured by banditti, carried off into the mountains, and held for a large ransom.
One day they were walking in the grounds when Helen espied a path which, it occurred to her, had not yet been travelled. It was very short, not more than thirty feet in length, and seemed to end in a mass of dense foliage. When this was reached, however, a narrower path leading to the left was disclosed which, when followed, brought them to the foot of a great oak tree. Helen had previously seen and admired this tree and spoken of it to Vivienne, but as the latter had made no comment, Helen supposed that it was inaccessible.
“And does this grand old tree stand upon your estate?” asked Helen.
“Yes,” was the reply, “and they say, I do not know with how much truth, that it is three hundred years old. It is called The Tree of the Vendetta. Clarine says her mother told her that a terrible feud existed between two Corsican families, each of which, it so happened, had six grown-up sons. The father of one of the families killed the father of the other. The sons of the latter, with other relatives, at night attacked the house in which the father and his six sons lived and set it on fire, and as their enemies ran out to escape the flames and smoke, shot them down, the bright light of the fire exposing them to the shots of their adversaries, who were in the shadows, or concealed behind trees.”
“Oh, what barbarism!” ejaculated Helen.
“It is the custom of the country,” Vivienne remarked, and there was a coolness in her tone which did not escape her companion’s notice. For several minutes neither spoke. Then Helen asked:
“But how did the tree get its name? Was it close to the house?”
“More barbarism followed,” Vivienne replied, with a touch of sarcasm. “As the family was virtually extinct, the victors buried them at the foot of this tree. You see, we do not print history in this country, but we remember it.”
“I hope with all my heart,” said Helen, “that you have no such memories connected with the past.”