By Neva's waters

by John R. Carling

But what of Marie, the Princess of the sorrowful eyes, who in the presence of a witness had given unequivocal proof of her love for an Englishman? She was not a British subject; her liberty and life were at the mercy of the Russian authorities.

Would the royal house to which she belonged, pleased rather than otherwise, enjoin that the penalty for her fault must be seclusion for life in a fortress or a nunnery?

Wilfrid’s immediate object was to find the Princess again, and he determined, when he should have found her, not to leave her side till he had seen her to a place of safety; and the safest place he could think of just then was the British Embassy. True, she had already refused that asylum, but fear, occasioned by the recent incident, might cause a change in her resolve.

Not more than fifteen minutes had passed since she had fled from the terrace, but in fifteen minutes one may do much in the matter of hiding one’s self; and the Princess had hidden herself so effectually that Wilfrid could not find her, though he several times traversed the gardens as well as the ballroom.

Although tormented by the fear that she might have fallen into the hands of the four hirelings, Wilfrid adopted the more probable conclusion that the Princess had retired altogether from the masquerade. Was it likely that she would remain to run the chance of another meeting with Prince Ouvaroff, of whom she evidently stood in fear? But no sooner had Wilfrid formed this opinion than he dismissed it. The Princess had with her a letter meant for the Czarina. Did she still adhere to her intention of presenting it? Then, unless she knew the secret of the Czarina’s costume, she would have to wait till the Empress had publicly disclosed herself at the general unmasking, which was timed to take place at two o’clock.

And here again Wilfrid was met by a perplexing thought. Why should the Princess, presumably a member of the Court circle, choose the occasion of a public masquerade for presenting a letter which, one would think, might have been more suitably presented in private? And that letter, so she had averred, contained something of vital interest, not only to her own welfare, but also to Wilfrid’s. It was strange—passing strange—but then so was everything else happening that night. Wilfrid had never known a more mystifying time.

When the hand of the clock was upon the stroke of two he repaired to the Hall of Mirrors, and, ascending a gallery, looked down upon the crowd of masked revellers. He hoped in a minute or two more to obtain a view of the Czar, and what was of more interest to him, of the Czarina, in case the Princess should be by to present her letter.

But at the general unmasking, when everybody was looking expectantly around for the imperial pair, Prince Sumaroff mounted the dais and gave out that the pressure of State affairs had prevented the Czar from honouring the masquerade with his presence; a slight touch of illness had likewise kept the Czarina from attending. Wilfrid was, perhaps, the only one present that did not hear this disappointing announcement, his attention at that moment being absorbed by a fact of no importance whatever to the thousand and one guests, but constituting for him a startling discovery.

A moment before the unmasking he had caught sight of Pauline, recognisable, of course, by her costume. She was leaning upon the arm of a tall and majestic figure clad in the glittering mail of a Byzantine warrior. Earlier in the evening when first entering the ballroom Wilfrid had noticed the man, and had called Pauline’s attention to his splendid and striking costume.

The lifting of his mask gave Wilfrid a sort of shock. The Byzantine warrior was none other than Prince Ouvaroff!