Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 218, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 September 1913 — EYES OF THE LAW [ARTICLE]

EYES OF THE LAW

Why an Austrian Countess Fel} in Love With Her American Husband. By MAUDS J. PERKINS. "I think Elliot is on this train. I shall go on with yon as far as Bennington so he won’t suspect anything. Try and be agreeable at least*' Crosby sank into the seat beside his wife, and opened a magazine. She neverv even turned her head from the window, or showed that she had heard his words. The train moved out of the station, and on through the long tunnel. Through Tolande’s mind raced the whole Insane escapade, ever since she had left Vienna four weeks ago. The man beside her was her husband in the eyes of the law, yet the veriest stranger to her. She had almost begged him to marry her and take her out of Austria, anywhere in the whole world where she could be sure of never seeing Rlstbri’s ugly, smiling face > The weeks had passed Hike sqme strange, gray dream, the midnight Journey from Vienna when at every stopping place she had expected her father and Ristori to appear and reclaim her. The trip across the channel to England, the few days in hiding there, and then their marriage—such a mockery of a marriage! The words had fairly choked her as she stood beside this tall, lean-faced American, and vow&d to love, honor and obey him, to cleave to him until death, forsake all others, this when sho had told, him flatly the marriage was merely a ceremony for convention’s sake. Just as soon as they came to his land, she herself would break the tie, and leave him. It had never occurred to her what he must think of her, how she demanded everything, the shelter and prestige of wifehood, his care and protection in this darkest hour of her whole life, all in return for nothing. Elliot was the man they had seen last in Vienna. He was a friend of Ristori’s, she knew, and at every point along the line they had seen him silent as a shadow, and as certain to appear. Bennington was the little seaside place Crosby had Suggested their going to from New York. He had a bungalow there, J a rough sort of bachelor place, but comfortable, and she could rest in peace there until they had made definite plans. They had not seen Elliot in the four days in New York. Crosby believed he had lost the trail, yet there he was again on the same train. Yolande shivered, and pressed her face close to the pane of glasß. She wished she could have fallen out unseen into the darkness they were hurtling through, and so found oblivion.

“You are tired, countess,” Crosby’s voice roused her. He had never once called her by her own name, always with the touch of formal reserve, and by her own title. “Do you care for any food or refreshments?” “Thank you, nothing.” “I am going to leave you at Bennington. I have wired to Kusick, the old caretaker at my place, and either he or his daughter shall meet you at the station. I shall go on into the smoker where Elliot is, and distract his attention. He will think you are still on the train. Later I may return and see that you are well cared for, until we make final arrangements.” She shivered. She had always hated finality. And he spoke of their separation casually. Suddenly she turned and looked at him one swift, searching glance from her dark eyes. “How cold blooded you Americans are. Oh, I know it is nothing at all to you, no more than to myself, and yet —I am your wife.” "Well?” His tone gave her no clue to his thoughts. "Some men, men of toy land, would not permit a wife like myself to slip through their hands like a jewel in an unknown sea.” “We Americans do not care for women who have no love for us,” he answered. “We do not marry unless there is love on both sides.” “I know,” impatiently, “but you have no ardor, no perseverance. An Italian, a Russian, a Hungarian, If he loves, he knows he can make any woman love him in return if he can win her. You are very shy, I think.” He laughed shortly. This coming from the woman he had thrown up everything for to help out of a family row, was distinctly feminine. Her father had ordered her to marry Chevalier Ristori. Crosby knew the old count waß head over heels in debt, that he had fairly thrown himself on Ristori’s ‘mercy and offered anything, even his daughter, in exchange for a few canceled notes. He himself, had met the young countess at the embassy balls several times. She was a haughty youngster, only a few months out of convent life, and still new to the dignity of long dresses. She was motherless, almost friendless. He had never forgotten the night she had Bent for him, and told him briefly out of all the men she had met, she had selected Wins as her knight errant, because he was an American, and because he had not made love to her. Those had been her reasons, yet now she could sit there and deliberately tell him he had no ardor, after he had trampled down every impulse to seize her in his arms and compel her to love him, ever since that day In London when her cool musical voice had accepted him as her husband. The train stopped suddenly as the emergency brakes were Jammed down. The lights of the car went out Out

doors it was pitch dark. He knew they must be ont towards the shore line somewhere. People were rising around them. Instinctively, he too stood up, but felt her hand on hia “What is It?" V “I don’t know yet Stay here and I’ll And out” “I won’t leave you.” He felt her rise, and move slowly behind him. The vestibuled doors at the end were closed, he knew. Up at the forward end of the car a woman shrieked suddenly in nervous suspense. Yolande’s hand crept Into his palm, and stayed there. And suddenly from somewhere there came the smell of burning wood. * Crosby caught it first and made for a window. He smashed the glass out with his elbow. The gust of cold fresh air seemed to revive them both. “I will go first, then you follow,” he told her. She obeyed implicitly. He pulled himself through the aperture, and dropped to the ground below. She was beside him in another minute. The train curved on the sharp bend like a wounded reptile in agony. Up forward the baggage car was in flames. The engine rose in the air, ramming the train ahead it had collided with. Two cars lay on their sides in the steep gully at one side of the track, with the flames breaking through them. “Greqt heavens,” muttered Crosby, flinging ofT his coat. “There are men in these cars. One in the smoker, with Elliot.” YolandeNs arms reached for his neck and ‘ clung there. “Don’t leave me, Allan, don’t leave me,” she begged. And there in the darkness lit only by the distant flames, their Ups' -met for the first time. As he held ther close in the strange awakening marvel of her love, he felt her arms relax, and knew she bad fainted. Lifting her, be bore her along beside the track until the blaze showed .him the sand embankment at one side. Gaining thin, he laid her down, and covered her with his coat. Then he joined the men who were working like demons to get out the living creatures from the ■burning cars. In the gray dawn that morning, hours after, they stood in the little shore bungalow at Bennington. The rescue train had carried the survivors on, and Kusick bad waited faithfully at the station with the car until their arrival. “Elliot was dead when we reached him,” he told her, drearily. “There were letters in his pockets. I have them all, and made arrangements to have him cared for. He had orders to shoot me, .and send you back home.” She leaned away from him, supporting herself against the table, her eyes wide with horror, her face white and tired. “I will stay with you if you do not mind until noon. There 1b a train 1 can get back then.” Her hands reached toward him. “Do you want to go so much, Allan?” she asked, a little break in her voice. “You are too willing to let me go.” He leaned forward, looking into her eyes. “Can you truthfully say to me that you mean every word you spoke back there in London? Can you, Yolande?” / ’ “Death was near tonight. And I followed you, did I not?” “There was a tap at the door. It was Kusick, hat in hand, his face anxious. “There is an earUer train west, sir, at seven, if you wish that one.” Crosby nodded his head. Yolande was looking down at the blaze of driftwood on the 'wide old rock hearth. “I shall not take It, thanks, iiusick,” he answered. “Send to town for my luggage, will you?” (Copyright, 1913, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)