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AGE SEVEN. ices. Keep hot hot. and cold cold. The handi- :~icle you can have house. v China PI Cut Glass N Hand Bags w Toilet Goods w Stationery ze June Bride. .ve Your Coupons re mos Bottles mm Copyright. 1914. by Dodd. Mead and 00mm CHAPTER H. Various Ways of Rccciving a 810w. ments "11cyâ€"-â€"e\qu181te curious things. from! tile my stl c East, thi that are 1.10111 to be bought and sold?) but 6021119 eonl, l to the hand of him \xho s. .1. tr- Li“. lands where peril is the price. ‘ Worlds separated the upp6 and. lower region s of that fine old lo: :1 H! a single step took one from the sod-.1. tel Occident into the very heart of the: Orient; a narrow threshold was the‘ line between the rugged 'West and the soft, languorous seductive East. In this part of the house, James ll,rood when at home for one of his brief stays, spent many of his hours in se clusion, shut off from the rest of the establishment as completely as if he were the inhabitant of another wlorld. Attended by his Hindu servant, a silent man named Ranjab, and 0:. oc- casions by his secretary, he say but little of the remaining members of his rather extensive household. For several years he had been engaged in the task of writing his memmrsâ€"so called-in so far as they related to his experiences and researches of the past twenty years. At the top of the house were the rooms which no one entered except by the gracious will of the master. Here James Brood had stored the quaint, priceless treasures of his own peculiar His secretary and amanuensis was Lydia Desmond, the nineteen-year-old daughter of his one-time companion and friend, the late John Desmond, whose death occurred when the girl was barely ten years of “.26. Brood, on hearing 9- ,.. «“2323! death, immediately madr . u n:- , cerning the condition 1. . 3. left his wife and child $22} that Mrs. Desmond ': ~ ' ~. housekeeper in the “~3- . 4,3 and the daughter -. .... * ..-.“ tage in the way ‘ '.~ mond had left. In . , f! riches except r with; we ’Jort his wife and a. ,..- Eve}: dLs - 1 those‘ perilous days he? re he ' - . :. 1r- ried her. This d‘». c.- .. ; V: or- porated in the E.- a o. mes Brood’s adventures, by consent of the widow, and was to speak for Brood in words he could not with modesty utter for himself. In these pages John Desmond was to tell his own story, in his own way, for Brood’s love for his friend was broad enough even to ad- mit of that. He was to share his life in retrospect with Desmond and the two old men as he had shared it with them in reality. PAGE SK. Black Is Whiim GEORGE BARR McCUTCHE ON Illustrations by R AY WALT E R S W: “UV“. At first he held himself aloof from the Desmonds; he was slow to sur- render. He suspected them of the same motives that of all previous attachments. When at r-ious things from old state of reticence, his very joy; might' have made a nuisance of him. 2-1; followed Mrs. Desmond about in very much the same spirit that in- spires a hungry dog; he watched her with eager, half-famished eyes; he was on her heels four-fifths of the time. As for Lydia, pretty little Lydia, he adored herfl His heart be- .gan for the first time to sing with the joy of youth, and the sensation was a novel one. It had seemed to him that he could never be anything but an old man. It was his custom, on coming home for the night, no matter what the hour may have been, to pause before Lyd. ia's door on the way to his own room at the other end of the long hall, Usually, however, he was at home long before her bedtime, and they them the evenings together. That she as his father’s secretary was of mi moment. To him she was Lydiaâ€"his Lydia. For the past three months or more he had been privileged to hold her close in his arms and to kiss her good night at parting! They were lovers now. The slow fuse of passion had reached its end and the flame was alive and shining with a radiance that enveloped both of them. On this night, however, he passed her door without knocking. His dark, handsome face was flushed, and his teeth were set in sullen anger. Withl his hand on the knob of his own door; he suddenly remembered that he had failed Lydia for the first time, and stopped. A pang of shame shot through him. For a moment he hesi~ tated and then started guiltily toward the torzz'itten door. Even as he raised his hand to sound the loving signal, the door was opened and Lydia, fully dressed, confronted him. For a mo 'ment they regarded each other in silence, she intently, he with astonish- men: not quite free from confusion. “I’mâ€"I’m sorry, dearestâ€"” he be gan, his first desire being to account for his oversight. “Tell me what has happened? It can’t be that your father is illâ€"or in danger. You are angry, Frederic; so it can’t be that. W'hat is it?” He looked away sullenly. “Oh, it’s really nothing, I suppose. Just an un~ expected jolt, that’s all. I was angry for a momentâ€"” “You are stiil angry,” she said, lay~ ing her hand on his arm. She was a tall, slender girl. Her eyes were almost on a level with his own, “Don’t you want to tell me, dear?” A ,9 LA “He never gives m said, compressing his of no one but himse father! “Freddy, dear! speak-â€"” ”Ev“-â€" “Haven’t I some claim to his con‘ sideration? Is it fair that I should be ignored in everything, in every way? I won’t put up with it, Lydia! I’m not a child. I’m a man and I am his son. Gad, 1 might as well be a dog in the street for all the thought he gives to She put her finger to her lips, a scared look stealing into her dark eyes. Jones was conducting the two old men to their room on the floor below. A door closed softly. The voices died away. “He is a strange man,” she said. “He is a good man, Frederic.” ‘1‘; ‘U w 0- v __ _ “To everyone else, yes. But to me? Why, Lydia, Iâ€"I believe he hates me. You know whatâ€"” -¢ I‘L:_ “Hush! A man does not hate his son. I’ve tried for years to drive that ’1 “Oh, I know I’m a fool to speak of it, but Iâ€"I can’t help feeling as I (13. You’ve seen enough to know that I'm not to blame for it either. What do you think he has done? Can you She did not answer. “Well, I’ll tell you just what he said in that wireless. ‘ It was from the Lusitania, twelve hun- dred miles off Sandy Hookâ€"relayed, I suppose, so that the whole world might knowâ€"sent at four this after noon. I remember every word of the Cursed thing, although I merely glanced at it. ‘Send the car to meet Mrs. Brood and me at the Cunard pier Thursday. Have Mrs. Desmond put the house in order for its new mis- tress. By the way, you might inform her that I was married last Wednes- day in Paris.’ It was signed ‘James Brood,’ not even ‘father.’ What do you think of that for a thunderbolt?” “Married?” she gasped. “Your fa- “Tell Me What Has Happened-" 1n Ves- me a. thought,” he 1g his lips. “He thinks himself. God, what a You must not the: married?” “ ‘Put the house in order for its new r-‘CW ' If .- almost snarled. “That -; SPQ’: v. as a. deliberate insult to me, Lydiaâ€"a nasty, rotten slap in the face: i mean the way it was worded. Just as if it v.asn‘t enough that he has gone and married some cheap show c-‘rl or a miserable foreigner or heaven 1;: (j. W 3â€"” I “Freddy! You are beside yourself. Your father would not marry a cheap show girl. You know that. And you, must not forget that your mother was a. foreigner.” His eyes fell. “I’m sorry I said the. he exclaimed, hoarsely. Lydia, leaning rather heavily against tne door, spoke to him in a low, cautious voice. “Did you tell Mr. Dawes and Mr. He s’opped short. “No! And they' .. <3t9.- up to see if they could be of any assistance to him in an hour of peril! What a joke! Poor old beg- gars! I've never felt sorry for them before. but, on my soul, I do now. W? at will she do to the poor Oldi Cl " pus? I shudder to think of it. And 11 make short work of everything eke she doesn’t like around here, too. ‘Lour mother, Lydiaâ€"why, God help us you kiss what will just have to 1:3?an in her case. It’ sâ€"-â€".” , ‘Don t $3309.»: so loudly, dearâ€"please, "r se! i-‘fn is asleep. Of course, "..*--\‘.' e s 3.. t stay on, Freddy. We’ll l to gr. as soon asâ€"-” f1: (#3 es filled \\ 1th tears. He seized 17'“? in his arms and held her close. “1t’ s a beastly, beastly shame, darling. Can. 3-! -~- hat a fool a man can make W. -v av His eyes her in his “It’s a bea (311, Lord, 9 ‘ ‘ v. 1‘ c; guise}: hand eve"? his. mouth. She kissed him swiftly. Her cheek km for a sec 11d against his own and i‘ten with a stifled good-night, she ‘ ke away from him. An instant later she was gone; her door was (ilOSQd. .5. he .33' - :n,rni.g he came down i ie than was his custom. His night Lad been a troubled one. For- getting his own woesâ€"or belittling themâ€"he had thought only of what this news from the sea would mean to the dear woman he loved so well. No one was in the library, but a huge fire was blazing. A blizzard was rag- ing out-of-doors. Once upon a time, when he first came to the house, a piano had stood in the drawingoroom. ,ggs?” His joy at that time knew no bounds; he loved music. For his years he was no mean musician. But one evening his father, ooming in unexpectedly, heard the piayer at the instrument” For a moment he stood transfixed in the doorway Watching the eager, a1 out disturbing him. Strange to say, Frederic was playing a dreamy waltz of, Ziehrerfls a waltz that his mother had played when the honeymoon w as in the full. The following day the piano was taken away by a storage company. The boy never 1: new why it was remox ed. He picked up the morning pape‘t. His eyes traversed the front page rap- idly. There were reports of fearful weather at sea. The Lusitapia was reported srren hundred miles out and in the heart of the hurrican. ‘ he would be a 6.2:: late. aeone i:1~â€"’ 1 He looked'up from the paper. Mrs. Desmond was coming toward him, a queer little smile on her lips. She was a tall, fair woman, an English type, and still extremely handsome. Hers was an honest beauty that had no fear of age. “She is a stanch ship Frederic,” she said, without any other form of greet ing. “She will be late butâ€"there’s really nothing to norry about.” “I’m not worrying,” he said conq fusedlv. “Lydia. has told ybu the- fusedly. “Lydia has tom you meâ€" the news?” 5(3785 " “Rather staggering, isn’t it?” he said with a wry smile. In Spite of himself he watched her face with curious in tentness “Rather,” she said briefly. “I suppose you don’t approve of the way 1â€"” “I know just how you feel, poor boy. Don’t try to explain. I know." “You always understand," he said, lowering his eyes. “Not always,” she said quietly. “Well, it’s going to play hob with everything,” he said, jamming his hands deep into his pockets. His shoulders seemed to hunch forward and to contract. 1:1 am especially sorry for Mr. Dawes and Mr. Riggs,” she said. Her ”voice was steady and full of earnestness. “They were up and about at day- break, poor souls. Do you know. Freddy, they were starting 01! in this blizzard when I met them in the hall!” 'w7'fiâ€"1e deuce! Iâ€"-I hope it wasn’t on account of anything I may have said to them last night,” he cried, in genu- ine contrition. She smiled. “No. They had their own theory about the message. The storm strengthened it. They were positive that your father was in great peril. They were determined to char- ter a vessel of some sort and start of! in all this blizzard to search the sea for Mr. Brood. Oh, aren’t they won. derful ?” v- -â€"â€" He had no feeling of resentment toward the old men for their opmion of him. Instead, his eyes glowed with an honest admiration. WW" ;; she cried, putting her TEE DURHAM CHRONICLE. “By George, Mrs. Desmond, they are great! They are men, bless their hearts. Seventy-five years old and still read? to face anything for a com- rade! It does prove something, doesn’t it?” _ “It proves that your father has made no mistake in selecting his friends, my dear. My dear husband used to say that he would cheerfully die for James Brood and he knew that James Brood would have died for him just as read- ily. There is something in friendships of that sort that we can’t understand. We have never been- able to test our friends, much less ourselves. Weâ€"” “1 would die for you, Mrs. Des~ mond,” cried Frederic, a deep flush overspreading his face. “For you and Lydia." “You come by that naturally,” she said, laying her hand upon his arm. "Blood will tell. Thank you, Fred- eric.” She smiled. “I am sure it will not be necessary for you to die for me, however. As for Lydia, you must live, not die for her.” “I’ll do both.” he cried, impulsively. “Forgive'me.” “There is nothing to forgive,” she‘ said simply. “And now, one word more, Frederic. You must accept this new condition of affairs in the right spirit. Your father has married again, after all these years. It is not likely that he has done so without delibera- tion. Thertpore, it is reasonable to assume that he is bringing home with him a wife of whom he at least is proud, and that should weigh con- siderably in your summing up of the situation. She will be beautiful, ac- complished, refinedâ€"~-and good, Fred- eric. Of that you may be sure. Let me implore you to withhold judgment until another and later day.” “I do not object to .the situation, Mrs. Desmond,” said he, the angry light returning to his eyes, “so much asâ€" I resent the wording of that tele- gram. It is always just that way. He again.” “Well, who wouldn’t? And here’s another thingâ€"the very worst of all. How is this new condition going to affect you, Mrs. Desmond?” She was silent for a moment. “Of course I shan’t stay on here, Frederic. I shall not be needed now. As soon as Mrs. Brood is settled here I shall go.” “And you expect me to be cheerful and contented!” he cried, bitterly. “Something of the sort,” she said. “My father objects to my going into business or taking up a profession. I am dependent on him for everything. But why go into that? We’ve talked it over a thousand times. I don’t un- derstand but perhaps you do. It’s a. dog’s way of living.” “Your father is making a man of you.” “Oh, he is, eh ?” with great scorn. “Yes. He will make you see some .day that the kind of life you lead is not the kind you want. Your pride, ‘your ambition will rebel. Then you will make something out of life for yourself.” ‘- “Well, it looks to me as if he means to make it impossible for‘me to marry, Mrs. Desmond. I’ve thought of it a good deaL” “And is it impossible?” “No. I shall marry Lydia, even though I have to dig in the streets "for her. It isn’t that, however. There’s some other reason back of his atti- tude, but for the life of me I can’t get at it.” u . Hush! You are losmg your temper U “‘I wouldn’t try to get at it, my dear,” she said. “Wait and see. Come, you must have your coffee. I am glad you came down early. The old gentlemen are at breakfast now. Come in." He followed her dejectedly, a per- ceptible dr00p to his shoulders. Mr. Dawes and Mr. Riggs were seat- ed at the table. Lydia, a trifle pale and distrait. was. pouring out their third cup of coffee. The old men showed no sign of their midnight ex- perience. They were very wideâ€" awake, clear-eyed and alert, as old men will be who do not count the years of life left in the span appoint- ed for them. “Good morning, Freddy,” said they, almost in one voice. As he passed behind their chairs on his way to Lydia’s side, he slapped each of them cordially on the back. They seemed She Was Silent for a Moment. to swell with relief and gratitude. He was not in the habit of slapping 'State 0‘ Ohio, City 0‘ T018110 them on the back. ‘ Elma? (10111337. 88. “Good morning, gentlemen," said he. Then he lifted Lydia’s slim fin- gers to his lips. “Good morning, dear.” She squeezed his fingers tightly and smiled. A look of relief leaped into her eyes; she drew a long breath. She poured his coflee for him every morning. Her hand shook a little as she lifted the tiny cream pitcher. “I didn’t sleep very well,” she explained :And I thought it was nothing but a shipwreck,” murmured Mr. Riggs, plaintively. Frederic hurried through breakfast Lydia followed him into the library. “Are you going out, dear?” she asked anxiously. “Yes. I’ve got to do something. 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