Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 November 1885 — THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. [ARTICLE]

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.

BY FRANK SHERIDAN.

I first met Rudolph Movitska in the winter of 1862. I had then been in California three years, and had become accustomed to meeting all sorts of characters; but I remember that this man engaged iny attention and impressed me strangely. It was in a San Francisco gambling den that I saw him for the first time. He, like myself, was a mere looker-on, killing time by watching the games in progress, and evincing no desire to take part in any of them. I was struck by his handsome physique and the massive, leonine grace of his movements, but more paiticularly by his pale, thoughtful face, with its fine intellectual contour, its large melancholy eyes, and the foreign cut of the dark moustache and pointed beard. A desire to know the man prompted me to draw him into conversation, and from that moment we were fast friends. In the year that followed we were almost constantly, together. We became partners in business, joint owners of a mine in which we invested a good deal of money and boundless hopes, and our friendship grew warmer with each succeeding week. Rudolph Movitska was a man of noble bearing and fine scholarly attainments. He spoke English and several other languages fluently, and showed by his conversation that he was remarkably well-read for so young a man —for at that time he was but thirty-two years of age. His story interested me. It was several he became sufficiently confidential to tell me about himself. He was the only son of a Polish Count. He had wooed and won and clandestinely married a beautiful young lady, in whose veins coursed royal blood. Her name was Helena Olanof. She was divinely lovely and was rapturously admired by everybody. A young Russian Prince became enamored of her and it was decreed that she should become his wife. It was on account of this decree that Rudolph and Helena were married secretly. “Helena refused to become the Prince’s wife,” said Rudolph, “but did not tell him that she was already married to me. His pride was sorely wounded by her rejection of his hand, and he vowed vengeance. It did not take him long to find out that the girl loved me, and I then became a targer for his insane wrath. He invented some sort of pretext for charging me with being concerned in a conspiracy against the government. I knew I would not Be permitted to prove my innocence; I knew that the bare accusation meant banishment, if not death, for me. At the instance of my wife, who tearfully begged me to fly and save my life for her sake, I turned my back on all that Was dear to me and fled to Paris, firmly believing, of course, that our separation would be but temporary.

“While in Paris,” continued Movitska, in a husky voice, “I received letter that ruined all my futur-e prospects, and filled my soul with desolation and despair. First there came a letter from a friend, telling me that my Helena was as false as she was fair, and that since my departure she was receiving the Prince’s attentions with apparent pleasure. Then there was one from Helena’s father, in which he informed me that his daughter had told him all; that she was re--pentant, and deeply regretted her rash marriage with me; that she desired above all things to become the wife of a Prince, and begged that some means might be devised to sever the tie that bound her to me, bo that she might be free to accept the hand of her royal suitor; and then the letter wound up by entreating me never to divulge the secret of our marriage, and to stay away from Poland. Then there came a very brief little note from Helena herself, assuring me that all her father had written was true, and hoping from the depths of her heart that I would not return to Poland and compromise her. “Did I retuin to Poland? No; I have never turned my face toward my beloved country since that time. I scarcely know what possessed me to come to America, but come I did, and after a few months of restless wandering found myself in California.” That was my friend's story. I watched his fine, manly face as he told it, and could see something of the terrible, heart-break-Isg agony he tried to suppress as he reviewed the sad tragedy of his life. He was a man or strong feelings, of an exceedingly sensitive organization, and a boundless capacity to suffer, but behind all was an iron will that usually held his emotions in check.

One bright spring day, more than a year after our first meeting, Rudolph Moritska and I were riding through a lonely pass in the Sierra Nevada, on our way to the mine in which our interest was centered. We had traveled the same trail many times before without molestation, but not without being constantly on the look-out for foes. The stage route led through this pass, and ♦bare were legends. connected with it in which footpads, road-agents, and assassins figured conspicuously. ' A* we rode leisurely along my companion casually remarked:

, ■•■ '■ a I have heard of no ‘stand and deliver, sensations occurring in this pass for some time." “Nor have I. The march of civilization seems to be thinning jout the outlaws in this region.” • The words had scarcely passed my lips when three figures on horseback rode out from behind a jutting rock and confronted us. At the same moment a clear, silvery, feminine voice cried out: “Halt!” r We both drew rein. For my part it was a surprise, more than any other feeling, that caused me to obey the mandate so promptly; for the three riders were women! They were all dressed in deep black, and each wore a long impenetrable vail that effectually concealed her features. Each held a formidable-looking revolver in a small gauntleted hand, but the weapons were not aimed. There was something that smacked of the ridiculous in this coup de main, and I should have been amused had I not been dumb with amazement. It was a novel experience for two healthy, strong-limbed, muscular men to be peremptorily commanded to halt by a trio of delicatelyformed women. j ' I turned and looked at my companion. To my surprise, if not disgust, he was pale as a ghost, and trembling in every limb. Was the man a coward? Was he really stricken with terror by the menacing attitude of these petticoated strangers? I had never suspected him of such weakness. Recovering my speech I bowed with mock courtesy to the veiled riders, and said: ‘ —— “Ladies, this is an unexpected honor. Being stopped and robbed by booted and spurred highwaymen has grown so monotonous that it is a genuine relief to have the act performed by representatives of your adorable sex. I presume you want our money or our lives?” l ‘We want nothing whatever from you,” replied the woman who had first spoken. “You, sir, are at liberty to go your way; but your friend, Rudolph Movitska, must come with us.”

Here was a fresh surprise. I saw Movitska start violently, then straighten up in his saddle and cease trembling as suddenly as if he had turned to stone. “Pardon my perverseness, madam, but you will permit me to say that wherever my friend goes, there must I go, also.” “So be it,” said the woman, almost sharply; “but we will have no trifling. The gentleman is our prisoner, and must go with us immediately!” I turned to Movitska with a smile. “Well, old boy, what are you going to do?” “I will go with them,” said he, drawing a sharp breath. “Let them head their way; I will follow.” It was not the answer I expected, and I protested, vigorously, against such ah ignominious surrender. I told him any fool could see that the object of these .female outlaws was to lead him into an ambush of male robbers and cut-throats. He held firmly to his decision. “You can continue your journey if yon like,” he said. “I am a prisoner, and must go with my captors. If I am mistaken, death will be welcome.” I saw no r&ason in this observation, and began to doubt the man’s sanity. Convinced that no amount of argument would dissuade him from his purpose, I gave up the effort and resolved to see the end of the adventure myself, cost what it might. -I "All right,” I said, addressing the women, with an assumption of. recklessness I did not feel. “We will accompany you. Lead on.” The one who had done the talking directed her companions to ride behind us, while she took the lead; and in this form the procession moved, Movitska and I riding abreast. •• I had to acknowledge to myself that this was the strangest experience I had ever known; and in my mind it began to assume a rather serious aspect. It seemed to me that these women must be accomplices of a band of desperadoes, relying on their sex to escape personal injury, and I tried to ? reach this idea into Movitska’s head; but could not move him from his insane determination, and I could not conscientiously leave him. Our fair escort led us off at right angles from the pass, down through a wooded ravine, and I soon saw that they were following a tolerably well-beaten trail. By this time I had noticed that the leader of the trio was the possessor of a superb form, and that there was a certain air of refinement and high breeding in her manner, accompanied by a grace and dignity such as a queen might envy. There was a slight foreign accent in her speech, but not enough to detract a particle from, the delightful effect of her clear, sweet voice. I began to feel a strong curiosity to see her face. After riding about a mile we came to a large log cabin. I knew the place well. It was the abode of a harmless old miner and his family. Why had we been brought here? We were ordered to dismount and enter the house. I took the precaution to draw my six-shooter and hold it in my hand as we crossed the threshold. • . The old miner and his wife were there, but as we entered they immediately passed into an adjoining room and closed the door behind them. The leader of the veiled riders went to a couch in one comer of the room, and took therefrom a 2-year-old child, partially arousing it from a sound slumber. Holding the little ones in her arms she turned toward my friend, and in a strong, firm voice said: ..

“Rudolph Movitska, I can see by your pale face and trembling hand that you suspect who I am. In my desperation I have followed you to this country to demand of you an open acknowledgment before the world that I am your lawful wife, and this child your offspring.” As she spoke she threw off the black veil, disclosing a wonderfully beautiful face. Movitska uttered a hoarse cry and staggered forward. “Helena! Helena! my wife! Oh, God in Heaven, this cannot be reality. -I am dreaming—l am mad!” ■ 4 He was down on his knees at her feet, clasping one of her hands in both of his. He was terribly agitated, and his powerful frame shook like an aspen. 1 A surprised, half-incredulous look came into the beautiful face. “You are not —glad—to see me, Rudolph?”' she said, in aquivering voice. “Glad—” Hexose suddenly to his feet and stood before her, “The Prince!” he gasped. “The Prince!” she echoed. “And what of the Prince? You left me to the mercy of him and an irate father.” ( “But—you—married him!” '' A, lightning flash of scorn and indignation shot from the splendid eyes. “Married him?” she cried; “when I was already married to you? How could you every believe me guilty of so dreadful a crime? I loathed him —I hated the very ground he walked upon. I Would have died before marrying him!”, , u - u And the child—” “Is yours, of course. Look at it." He snatched it from her arms and covered its face with kisses. Light was breaking through the darkness now; explanations followed fast; and soon a flood of sunshine dispelled every vestige

of the gloom that had blinded the eyes of this long-separated couple. It appeared that Helena’s father, after she had confessed tp him that she was Movitska’s wife, still determined that she should marry the Prince. 1 With this end in view he formed a plot. He wrote two letters to Movitska, at Paris. One of these was over his own signature, stating that his daughter was repentant and desired to marry the Prince, and begging Rudolph tc stay away from Poland and to keep his secret. But the crafty old man told hie daughter that he had written a kind, fatherly letter to Rudolph, telling him he could return to Poland at the end of three months and claim his wife; but that he must not venture to return before the three months were up, as in that case he would endanger both himself and Helena,- owing to the charge of conspiracy against him. Then he dictated a note from Helena to Rudolph, in which she innocently corroborated all that her father had written. The next thing the old man did was to produce a forged letter, purporting to be from Rudolph, in which he advised her to marry the Prince and be happy, as he had already tired of married life and would never return to Poland. But the scheming father had his pains for nothing, for no influence that could be’’ brought tobear had any effect toward persuading his daughter to marrv the Prince. And it was only his high standing at court that saved Helena and himself from punishment at this defiance of the royal will. Helena remained at home until her father died. Her child was then two years old, and she set out to find her husband and compel him to acknowledge her as his wisp. She was accompanied by only two maidservants. She made her way to America, and traced her husband to California. A stage-coach accident had thrown her under the protection of an old miner, who knew Rudolph Movitska and myself, and was able to tell her just when we would ride through the pass on our way to the mines. Then she formed the desperate resolve to waylay her supposed repreant husband and bring him to terms at the point of a pistol. How she carried out this plan, with the assistance of her two maids, I have already described. ’ Nothing could have been more complete than the happiness of this re-united couple when everything was satisfactorily explained. It was a joyful ending'of a very sad little romance. Rudolph Moyistka and his family are today living in a splendid home in California, enjoying the blessings of mutual love and everything that goes to make life a pathway of flowers.