Jasper County Democrat, Volume 5, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 September 1902 — HIS LADY OF DREAMS [ARTICLE]

HIS LADY OF DREAMS

/a HE came suddenly into bis sight, IqS dispelling his brown study and interrupting Ills pipe. She stood beyond the table, beside the door, tall and slight, In a white gown that clung to her arms and shoulders and rounded waist, and swept about her feet in heavy folds. Across swung from her neck by a long silver chain, and she wore a broad-brimmed hat with a gauzy white veil, so her face wns in shadow. She leaned slightly toward Ashe as lie clutched the arms of his big chair and sat forward in amazement. “I «m the Princess Constantin Gregorius," she said gently. "Of of Russia 7" lie asked stupidly, trying to fun away the haze of tobacco smoke. ‘There are other lands," she said indifferently. “And not so far away.” "Great Caesar!” he breathed, bewildered, and his pipe dropped from his astonished fingers. With the feeling that it was the only bond between him and rationality, he stooped to pick it up, and ns he rose lie struck his head sharply against the corner of the library table. Dizzy from the blow, he staggered to liis feet nnd looked towards the door. Stie was gone, ns mysteriously ns she had come. He rushed blindly around the table and across the room, stumbling over eusy chairs and footstools, ami sending a revolving bookcase spinning around. The hall was also empty. No trailing gowns had turned up the edges of the rugs, nor could lie hear any hurrying steps on the iiolislual stairH. lie blinked at the sun pouring red and purple through the painted window for a moment, and then turned back and sat down on the nearest clmlr. Good heavens! what a dream! Who was she? What was her motive in appearing and announcing herself In that royal way? And lie hadn't seen her face! Well, If It was as pretty as her figure—oh, confound his head; and lie was still feeling - of it gingerly, too dazed to think of more than one thing at a time, when be heard his friend’s cheerful whistle In the ball. "Well, old chnp," said Thurston, coming In. "Phew! but tiiat pipe of yours is a fright! If we don't air this room liefore the mater gets Into it, your goose s cooked!” "Why, what will she do?” cried the itber uncertainly. "You’ll never get another bid for -Sunday,” said the first, throwing open one of the windows. “Gee! I didn't realize how rank Clssle is getting. Retire her, Billy, and get another. But say, what's the matter, old man? I left you composing a sonnet nnd going to sleep over It. What’s wrong?” Ashe looked down at Ills maligned pipe, and then up at his friend. "Say do you suppose she thought it was rank?” he asked. “Tire mater?” said Thurston, puzsled. "She hasn't been here already, has she? If so, we’d better go back to-night. Did she wake you up?" "No, I dreamed it,” said the owner of the pipe, nnd began to feel of Ills hump with a frown of pain. Ills friend looked at Idm for a moment curiously, and then aimed a heavy leather cushion from the nearest Morris chair at blm. "Wake up, you idiot!” he said. "This Is no sleeping car.” The idiot parried the cusiiion. "Dick, lias your sister a friend visiting her?” lie inquired. "No," said the other. "Well, there was oue in here, any way," pursued Ashe. "One what!” demanded Thurston. "Oue princess,” said the other. His host surveyed him in silence for a moment. "Ashe, you’re crazy!" he said at last. “Come out nnd take a walk." Mr. Wlhnerlug Ashe was making for himself a rather neat reputation with readers of current magazines as a writer of clever little occasional verses. Among his friends at his cluhe ho was considered a good fellow, and they chose to assume that somewhere he kept hidden away tlie person who wrote his verses for li-lm. His mother's friends approved of blm because he paid his calls, nnd he wns chiefly famous with the young ladles of his rather general acquaintance, us a master of the arts of Welsh rarehltry and badinage. But no one was prepared for the almost Oriental beauty nnd mysticism of his latest verses, which appeared in one of the best of the monthly periodicals under the name of "My Lady of the Realm of Dreams,” and which would have done credit to a much more ambitious poet than Hilly Ashe. Ashe himself thought rather well of them; he felt that It in some way compensated for the very nasty knock on the head that the I-ady imd the means of giving him, and tliut be had turned a most perplexing dream to very good account. It wns better than taking It to the Society of Psychical Research, which lie imd thought of doing In tiie vividness of Ids first impress lon. hut six months without nny further developments, w aking or sleeping had (lulled Ills keen conviction of Its psychic value. Meanwhile, n comfortable check from the magazine hud seeiusd to take the thing out of the province of psychic research. Ashe was a modest man, but not too much so to find a little lionizing quite to bis taste, nnd he went to afternoon teas and cotillions with a feeding that to-morrow would bo some one else'a day, and he must gather his roses while he might. 8o he entered Mrs.

Foster’s long drawing-room prepared to smile as he listened to his verse misquoted by fair flatterers; he retained that serene attitude of mind while he shook hands with Mrs. Foster, nnd not one minute longer. For beyond Mrs. Foster, standing just outside the ring of light from a tall lamp, was the Lady of his dreams, with her white gown that clung to her shoulders and round waist, nnd flnred with heavy folds at her feet. This time she wore a fan on the long silver chain around her neck, and she hnd no hat nor veil, so Ashe sould see that she was regarding him with the frankest Interest from a pair of most attractive brown eyes. He flushed with surprise, and his remarks to Mrs. Foster died on his lips. She was not a dream, then, his princess! A sudden recollection of the check from the “Hundred Years” made him warm, and as a corollary came the realization of his narrow escape from the Society of Psychic Research—good heavens! Meanwhile Mrs. Foster wns saying graciously, "So good of you to come, Mr. Ashe, nnd not to forget your old -friends, now you are such a celebrity. And to reward you, I aui going to introduce you to a very dear young friend of mine, Miss Gregory, who admires your poems so much.” And Ashe found himself before ids princess, while Mrs. Foster went on fluently, “Constance, my dear, this is Mr. Ashe," and turned to greet another guest. AH remnants of ills self possession vanished at the sound of the names, nnd interrupting Miss Gregory’s polite expressions of delight at making his acquaintance, Ashe asked abruptly: "Are you a princess?” She opened her brown eyes wider and looked at him in surprise. “Do—do you believe in telepathy and astral bodies?" he went on after a moment’s pause. "Or are you only a dream?” “Dear me!" said the girl. "Mrs. Foster sahl you were so nice, and not startling—that no one would kn()w that you were a poet or anything else at all awe-inspiring, nnd here you have called me three alarming names in as many minutes. Is this poetic license, Mr. Ashe?" "Did you really mind Cissy Loftus?" he asked anxiously. "You see, she’s my favorite pipe, but she's rather old, nnd I’m afraid she's a little too strong to be pleasant to strangers. But I didn’t expect you, you know, when you came in so suddenly." The girl’s face was gravely puzzled, but her eyes looked amused. “Pm afraid Mrs. Foster has a mistaken idea of yon," she said with a shake of her head. "Where do you live?" inquired Ashe. "When you are not in a dream, you know—when you are not in the Thurston’s library?” “Well,” said Miss Gregory, “I am relieved, I am glad to find that I can at last take an intelligent interest in the conversation. The Thurston’s library—isn’t it a fascinating place?" “You weren’t in It long enough to find out," objected Ashe. “Ami do you think it was quite kind of you to make me bump my head?” "Long enough! I've spent hours In the Thurston's library," said the girl in mock indignation. “And I never made you hump your head.” "Well, perhaps not consciously,” admitted Ashe, "but it was under your spell.” Miss Gregory looked at him with a smile beginning to show at the corners of her mouth. "You are certainly casting a spell over me,” she said. “Really, Mr. Ashe, I don't know what you mean—l’m sure I never hnd anything to do with your humping your head, hut I'm not sure that it wouldn't do it good.” "Cruel!” said Ashe. "Well, since you won’t admit it, let's begin again. 1 am very glad to meet you, Miss Gregory. Mrs. Foster is too good to me. Do you know, your face is very familiar—haven’t I met you before?" "Mrs. Foster lias been kind to me too," replied Miss Gregory prettily. “No, Mr. Ashe, I’m sure that I should not have forgotten it if we had met before. My home is not in New York, nnd I am not hero very much. But I have heard of you often, from Mrs. Foster, and the Thurstons in Morristown, nnd, of course, I have read your verses." "How time must clamor at your doors to t>e killed!" said Ashe. "Ah. now you are unkind to your little brain-child!” reproached the girl. "You have been sufficiently overkind to even up accounts In mentioning them at all,” returned Ashe. “There, you see 1 eau do the proper; now, for heaven’s sake. Miss Gregory, tell me if 1 dreamed o(.you, or saw you, that day at Dick Thurston's?" The girl drew hack. "I don't understand you," she said, a little haughtily, nnd then she smiled at ids crestfallen fncc. "It can't be possible!" Insted Ashe. "The Princess (’onstnutia Gregorius—and I was nss enough to ask of what! Don’t you know, Miss Gregory—didn't you realize that you arc my ’Lady of Dreams?’ ” "1?" said Miss Gregory—“l your Lady of—oh, Mr. Ashe! Ilemeber that I’m not a resident not to the manner Ihwti, ns It were. I'm Just a country cousin from Binghamton. Do you think It's nice to make fun of me? Constantin Gregorius, Indeed!” She laughed out. a merry little laugh. “ ‘She comes from a land nor near nor far,’" said Ashe, guilty of tha banality of quoting his own verses.

Miss Gregory surveyed him with amusement. "This is too fine a frenzy for me,” she announced. “Aren’t ybu hungry, Mr. Ashe? Shan’t we go and have something to eat?" Ashe followed her mechanically. "Don’t you sometimes wear a cross on that chain,” he asked. ‘’Sometimes,” slife answered, with lifted eyebrows. “Wern't you in Morristown at the Thurstons’ last September?" he pursued. "Yes, I was In Morristown, but only occasionally at the Thurstons’,” she re turned. “Then you did walk Into the library one Sunday afternoon and tell me you were the Princess Constantia Gregorius,” he said positively. “Mr. Ashe!” she said reprovingly. "Have you a twin sister?” asked Ashe desperately. ”1 am all the daughters of my fntb er's house.” she said lightly, but be* eyes were dancing as she gave him his chocolate. “Don’t you remember the painful taking off of Sapphira?" he inquired sternly. Miss Gregory counted on her fingers. "A princess, Constantia Gregorius, an astral body—let me see! a dream, and now a liar!" she said. “Oh, fie, Mr. Ashe!” "I have SSO that belongs to you,” said Ashe irrelevantly. “I beg your pardon?" said the girl blankly. “By rights,” nsservnted Ashe, with a nod. "Half of what I got for that poem, you know. I calculated that my thought and labor are good for half, but you furnished the Idea, you see.” Miss Gregory sat down on the nearest chair and laughed aloud. Ashe sipped liis chocolate meditatively and watched her. j "For n poof." she said at last, “you are most unexpectedly practical.” "When I've offered to share my income with a comparative stranger—a chimerical, elusive dream-lady at that?” lie asked, raising his ..eyebrows. "I’m not sure about chimeras, but I think they were monsters of some kind,” said the girl. “And your Income is too small to be alluring, Mr. Ashe. If you don't wish any more of that chocolate, won't you have some tiling cold? No. We’ll, then come hack to Mrs. Foster. I'm afraid you'll lie borrowing money of me next, to say nothing of the way in which you are straining your poetic fancy to find flattering names for me." She took his cup and turned away. Before he could follow he was seized upon nnd carried off in triumph by some fair admirers, and a quick glance back showed him that a fortunate elderly gentleman had taken possession of her, so he resigned himself to the inevitable, and did not see her again until just as lie was leaving. He had looked for her to say goodbye, but in vain, and Mrs. Foster did not know where she had hidden herself, so he was starting off, disappointed, but resolved not to let the thing drop, when her voice stopped him with liis hand on the door. "An revoir, Mr. Ashe,” she said, leaning toward him from the lowest step of the stairway. “Au revoir.” “Thank you,” he responded heartily. “And very soon, most fair lady of the realm of my dreams.” “That is really a lovely thing, Mr. Ashe,” she said, “and I am very proud to think that you think that I had any part In it.” “But didn't you?" he demanded. "Do I believe in telepathy?” she asked mockingly. “Am I an astral body, or a had dream?” He shook his high hat threateningly at her. “The truth is not in you. Mademoiselle Sapphira,” he announced. "Hear the lion growl!” she retorted, with a saucy nod, and turned to go upstairs. He took a step toward her. "Miss Gregory!" he said imploringly, "Seriously, now?" she looked at him over her shoulder with dancing eyes. “Do you know, until to-day, I always supposed it was Dick Thurston that I woke up that afternoon,” she said confidentially, and ran lightly upstairs.—N. Y. Evening Post.