Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 45, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 November 1894 — A Well Matched Pair. [ARTICLE]

A Well Matched Pair.

A sunn}’ morning in June. The platform crowded—cheap-trippers for Southsea. heavy swells arid belles j for the links at Hayling Island, with , bags of golf sticks. The yachting | man, strongly in evidence, sunburnt j and puffing a cigarette vigorously. If | he is a new hand—a Dickey Sam—he ■ wears a cloth-peaked cap with club 1 burgee, a well-cut coat of serge or \ pilot cloth,bristling with bronze but- ! tons, loose flannel continuations and i white shoes. Xo man was ever so much a seadog as the yachting tyro looks. The other sailing men. those to the j manner born—" swagger squadron I men,” who can fly the white ensign, ! are dressed in long, lean, frock coats, j loose trousers, turned tip, pointed boots, immaculate collars and glossy hats—the aim of the man who has Jived is to look as much like a stock- 1 broker as possible. Of course, down I at the Castle or on Ryde pier they 1 will blossom into a seasonable crop of buttons and burgees and display > remarkable activity in dodging that! tyrant of the deep—the sailing mas- j ter —if the water looks a bit choppy. ; Two people attracted a lot of at- j tention by their palpable effort at 5 concealment. He, although the day was so hot. was enveloped in a long cloak, with a collar reaching past | his ears, and his cotton-white hair and mustache showed up occasionally in strong contrast to the deep brown S of his face as he turned to watch the j porters attacking a huge mound of j his belongings. Each box and bag w T as emblazoned ! with an imperial coronet over a monogram, and they told one another guardedly and under promise of pro- j found secrecy, ‘‘that was Prince Paul Demtoff, the owner of the new 100rater now lying off Southampton.” She, the lady, was tall and grreefully girl-like. A neat, natty blue serge Redfern frock; a sunburnt straw hat, with a dark blue ribbon ; tiny tanned boots; a white shirt, with a turndown collar, and flowing tie completed her costume, saving a thick gossamer veil that completely hid her face, and but for the whiteness and purity of her neck it would have seemed she suffered from some facial disfigurement. It was evidently a desire not to be recognized that led to the adoption of the yashmak.

She was evidently expecting or avoiding some friends. Her head moved with a bird-like quickness as she scanned each new arrival on the platform, and her slender hand, white and jewelless, twitched nervously round the handle of the morocco monogramed case she carried. Catching her eye from a distance, he walked toward her with the easy, firm self-assurance that women like. She saw he was coming to her and waited calmly—perhaps she breathed more quickly. He raised his soft hat, and with a courtly bow said in perfect English, with the mere scent of an accent: “Pardon me, you are distressed. Have you missed your maid! Can I be of any service to you?” Now his hat was off he appeared a prematurely white-haired man of forty-five or fifty, with a firm face and voice—a man evidently used to command. “Thank you much,” came in a soft, sibilant voice from beneath the thick gossamer. “I have not quite lost my maid, but my portmanteau. I am afraid it is under the pile of luggage, and ” —with a little shrug—- “ I am afraid that pile of luggage is yours.” * ‘ That is mine, madam. I will get your bag at once. May I ask where you are going? To Southampton, and it is of the highest importance you should not miss this train? Pardon, do not trouble; I will see that all is arranged.” A few words to the guard, a rapid passage of backsheesh, and the missing bag with a dainty monogram and small crest, was placed carefully on the rack of the first-class carriage by which the veiled lady was standing. With the coolness that seemed part of his nature, the Russian indicated to a porter a small hamper, and had it placed in the same compartment. There must have been some collusion and a lavish tip, for, although the train was crowded, the guard, after the imperceptible manner of his kind, kept that carriage empty until the train started and they found themselves alone, securely locked in. A sudden start ran through her slender frame. She paused, and asked quickly: “Do you know when the next train leaves Waterloo for Southampton?” He was desolated. Of course, she missed her maid, but he was afraid not for some hours. “Madame is glad? Madame is afraid of being followed?” **Yes, madame is glad. She does not wish to be taken back and forced

j into a hateful marriage,” blushing | prettily. The old, old story —stern father, I elderly lover, titled, rich but horrid. X'o mother, no sister, no brother. ' She was flying from bondage to her I aunt, Lady Azuregore, in Guernsey. Yes, she was Lady Constance ! Azuregore. Had he really met her at the Duchess of Arlington’s dance? i She thought she knew his face. That j was why she trusted him so implicI itly on the platform of course. But j if she was veiled, why was he so j shrouded in a big cloak? ‘‘Come, now,!’ anxiously, ‘a lady? An elopement?” X'o, no, and again no! Nothing |so joyous. He was Prince Paul Demtoff, and had fallen bet wse« two stools —had incurred the euaoii.? of the Imperial Court thro>u T i '■jauetting witn the Nihilists. j hat meant the Alexiefsky Ravelin or the fortress of Peter and Paul in St. Petersburg, j and, on the other hand, finding the j “party of progress” going too far, he I was threatened with death for de- j serting the red flag. “You must par<£n me. Prince, but j we seem in trot e together,” and she laughed merrily'. “Do you know, I half thought you were a detec-1 tive?” By this time he had returned to his hamper and produced deftly' a table cloth, plates, knives, forks and ser- j vie Wes, a small bottle of Chateau ! Moutpn Rothschild and a dainty cold eliicken. Their mutual confessions had lessened embarrassment, and the I lad.v, after making a little moue, | said that she was so hungry and so | glad to eat, etc. They chatted and laughed as the j train sped through the beautiful j country, and by the time Southamp- j ton was thought of lie had kissed her J hand. She readjusted her veil, and he assumed his big cloak with a sigh as the whistle of the train signaled the | station. ’ The Guernsey boat does not leave till midnight. What are you going to do? Where will you put up? ”

“I don’t know. I will never be taken back alive. And you? You are hunted. What will you do ? ” “Go on board my' yacht. She is lying off here, and the gig waits for this train at the landing steps. I must hail them, as none of them know me. Xly agent has engaged an entirely new crew, skipper included, | all English. I want no Nihilists on board.” And he looked moodily out of the window. j She made a sudden movement, as ; if about to speak, but drew back. I Again she leaned forward, and the I repetition roused him from his j thoughts. He looked up and saw her eyes glistening even through the thick veil. She was crying! “ What is the matter? You are frightened. Can I help you?” “I hardly dare ask you. You may think badly of me, but I will not be forced into this detestable marriage. Canyon—may I ” He divined her thoughts. “ Stay on board my y r acht and board the boat at midnight ? Yes, your ladyship, yes—in all honor, yes.” And he held out both hands, and with a sob almost hysterical she placed her tiny gloves in them and the train stopped. They left the station by aside door unnoticed, and walking down the broad, graveled road with the soft sward and the old-tiifle cannon, passed the crumbling walls and found the boat manned by six bronzed,typical yachtsmen, the skipper, a line looking old man, sitting motionless in the stern sheets holding the yoke lines.

“Do you know a respectable woman who can look after this lady until the mail boat starts?” asked the Prince, as he handed her carefully on board and passed her portmanteau. She carried the morocco case herself. “Well, surr, I’ve took the liberty of invitun’ my old woman on board to-day. She has been a stewardess, surr.” “Capital, captain, Now, lads, give way 1” The boat soon shot alongside a beautiful schooner yacht, Tke crew manned the gangway as the Prince and Lady Constance came on board, and a motherly, sunburned woman courtsied her through an exquisitely furnished saloon cabin into a bijou boudoir with a lace curtained bunk and a host of feminine fripperies. “I may sail to-night. Is all ready? Right. Take'the boat and go ashore, bring off my baggage and anything we may want from the ship’s stores. And Johnson, keep the men afloat, but you just find out if there is any hue and cry about a lady eloping.” Captain Johnson, an old merchant captain, slowly winked and looked very knowingly. “H'ml” he said to himself, “I half s’spected as much. That’s the sort of owner I* likes tp sail with. Lots ’o yellow boys kickin’ about this voyage, I lay.” In at*>ut an hour he returned, and doffing his peaked cap said mysteriously: “I spoke to my cousin, the pleeceman an’ he says there’s a lot o’ cockney detectives down a-watch-in’ the station an’ the Guernsey packet for some young ’ooman.” I Her ladyship had washed all travel Wains away and changed her frock, she looked like a fresh rosebud, but her face grew deathly pale, her eyes dilated, and the nerve lines deepened . into marks of agony when he told her the captain’s story. He thought she was going to faint and made as though to catch her. With a supreme effort she regained her self-possession and said in a hoarse whisper: ‘ ‘Oh, save me! Take me to Guernsey in your yacht, or I will jump overboard!” He turned on his heel without replying and went up the companionway on deck. “Johnson, your wife doesn’t mind a trip to sea?” “Bless Your Royal ’lness, she’s dying for a sniff of the ocean !” “Get under weigh at once.” “Aye, aye, sir! All hands on deck! Tumble up, my hearties!” Lady Constance’s face flushted deeply when she heard the clank of the chain pfcimp and the flapping of the foresail, and she thanked the Prince with both hands and a sweet smile. Under-agood southwesterly breeze the yacht spun almost merrily, throwing the foam in long, beautiful, fea-theri-like curves from her clipper stern. The lady stood dreamily against

the side ropes, and the Frince, an experienced sailor evidently, took the tiller and threaded the way carefully 1 through the crowd of rraft. For a time neither spoke; then abruptly giving the management to the appreciatively critical skipper, he beckoned her into the cabin. “I will land you at Guernsey tomorrow morning.” he said, “but I have been deceiving you. lam not Prince Paul Demtoff. I am his valet. I have robbed him of 1,000,000 roubles, and am now going to the Argentine in his yacht,” and he stood up rigidly and faced her. She untied and said calmly : “Very good! Take me with you. lam not Lady Constance Azuregore. I am her maid,but I’ve got her jewel-case.” —[London Million.