The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1902-09-26
His L ady of Dreams
By Susan Sayer Yarmouth.
X * * * * 4; q & & x 4

CHE came suddenly into his sight,
y dispelling his brown study and in
terrupting his pipe. She stood be-
yond the table, beside the door, tall
and slight, in a white gown that
chung to her arms and shoulders and
FOUNDED waist, and swept about her
sect in heavy folds. A cross swung
from her neck by long silver chain,
and she wore broad-brimmed hat
with gauzy white veil, so her face
was in shadow. She leaned slightly
toward Ashe as he clutched the arms
of his big chair and sat forward in
amazement.
81 am the Princess Constantia
Gregorius," she said gently.
"Of-of Russia?'' he asked stupidity,
trying to fan away the haze of to-
bacco smoke.
''There are other lands" she said
indifferently. "And not so far away"
Great Caesar!" he breathed, be-
wildered, and his pipe dropped from
his astonished fingers. With the
feeling that it was the only bond be-
tween him and nationality, he stopped
to pick it up, and as he rose he
struck his head sharply against the
corner of the library table. Dizzy
from the blow, he staggered to his
feet and looked toward the door.
She was gone, as mysteriously as she
had come. He rushed blindly around
the table and across the room, Stun
bling over easy chairs and footstools,
and sending a revolving bookcase
spinning round. The hall was bril-
liant after the smoky library, and. it
was also empty. No trailing gown
had turned up the edges of the rugs,
nor could he hear any hurrying steps
on the polished stairs. He blinked
at the sun pouring red and purple
through the painted window for
moment, and then turned back and
sat down on the nearest chair. Good
heavens! what dream! Who was
she? What was her motive in APP
pearing and announcing herself in
that royal way? And he hadn't seen
her face! Well, if it was as pretty
as her figure-oh, confound his head!
and he was still feeling of it gingerly
too dazed to think of more than
one thing at a time, when he heard
his friends cheerful whistle in the
hall.
''Wel1, old chap" said Thurston,
coming in.
''Phew! but that pipe of yours is a
fright! If we don't air this room
before the mater gets into it, your
goose is cooked!"
"Why, what will she do?" cried the
other, uncertainty.
you'll never get another bid for
Sunday" said the first, throwing
open one of the windows. See!
didn't realize how rank Cissie is get
ting. Retire her, Billy, and get an
other. But say, what's the matter
old man? 1 left you composing a
sonnet and going to sleep over it.
What's wrong?"
Ashe looked down at his maligned
pipe, and then up at his friend
'Say, do you suppose she thought
it was rank?" he asked.
''The mater?" said Thurston, puz-
zled. "She hasn't been here already,
has she? If so, we'd better go back
tonight. Did she wake you up?"
''No, I just dreamed it," said the
owner of the pipe, and began to feel
of his bump with a frown of pain.
His friend looked at him for a mo-
n,1v.in o.,
heavy leather cushion from the near
est Morris chair at him.
''Wake up, you idiot" he said.
''This is no sleeping car" The idiot
parried the cushion.
'Dick, has your sister a friend
visiting her?" he inquired.
"No," said the other.
swell, there was one here, any
way" pursued Ashe.
zone what?" demanded Thurston.
''One princess" said the other. His
host surveyed him in silence for a
moment
'Ashe, you're crazy!" he said at
last. "Come out and take a walk"
Mr.. Wilmerding Ashe was making
for himself rather neat reputation
with readers of current magazines
as a writer of clever little OCCASION
al verses. Among his friends at his
club he was considered a good fell
loy, and they chose to assume that
somewhere he kept hidden away the
person who wrote his verses for
him. His mothers friends approved
of him because he paid his calls,