death!

HERALD. Then ask thy wife, there; she will know, perchance.

JASON. Was 't she that slew him?

HERALD. Not with her own hand,
But by those magic arts ye know so well,
Which ye have brought here from that foreign land.
For, when the king fell sick--perchance e'en then
A victim, for the signs of his disease
Were strange and dreadful--to Medea then
His daughters came, and begged for healing balms
From her who knew so well to heal. And she
Gave swift consent, and followed them.

JASON. Nay, hold!
She went not! I forbade it, and she stayed.

HERALD. The first time, yes. But when, unknown to thee,
They came again, she companied them back,
Only demanding, if she healed the king,
The Golden Fleece in payment for her aid;
It was a hateful thing to her, she said;
And boded evil. And those foolish maids,
All joyful, promised. So she came with them
To the king's chamber, where he lay asleep.
Straightway she muttered strange and secret words
Above him, and his sleep grew ever deep
And deeper. Next, to let the bad blood out,
She bade them ope his veins. And even this
They did, whereat his panting breath grew still
And tranquil; then the gaping wounds were bound,
And those sad maids were glad to think him healed.
Forth went Medea then, as she hath said;
His daughters, too, departed, for he slept.
But, on a sudden, came a fearful cry
From out his chamber! Swift his daughters sped
To aid him, and--oh, ghastly, horrible!--
There on the pavement lay the aged king,
His body twisted in a hideous knot,
The cloths that bound his veins all torn away
From off his gaping wounds, whence, in a black
And sluggish stream, his blood came welling forth.
He lay beside the altar, where the Fleece
For long was wont to hang--and that was gone!
But, in that selfsame hour, thy wife was seen,
The golden gaud upon her shoulder flung,
Swift hasting through the night.

MEDEA (_dully, staring straight before her_).