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Your Coupons e s: camping {‘11: (1011’ t for- or send her her favorite 300 to $1.00 350 to $1.00 250 to 31,00 PAGE 3'}? SEVEN. 5801' ‘ for this woman he same it frailties to her also defended his sense "“ honor. The unthinkable could neven \JL ‘ Of the ;'__i';.~‘i';l;r.~3 the lack Ci perspective that! :.l=.;sr. have been hers to contend with; Lydia could not think of her as evil“ :zzmoral. base. This beautiful, warm" l‘zcartw, clear-eyed woman suggested nothing of the kind to her. It pleased her to play with the good-looking young fellow, and she made no pre tense of secrecy about it. Lydia was charitable to the extent of blaming her only for an utter lack of conscience in allowing the perfectly obvious to haD‘ pen so far as he was concerned. For her own gratification she was calmly inviting a tragedy which was likely to crush him without even so much as disturbing her peace of mind for an in- stant, after all was. said and done. There was poison in the cup she hand~ ed out to him, and knowing this be- yond dispute she allowed him to drink while she looked on and smiled. Lydia hated her for the pain she was storing up fehâ€"vFredel-ic, far more than she hated her for the anguish she, herself, was made to endure. Her mother saw the suffering in the girl’s eyes, but saw also the proud spirit that would have resented sym- pathy from one even so close as she. Down in the heart of that quiet re- served mother smoldered a hatred for Yvonne Brood that would have stopped at nothing had it been in her Power to inflict punishment tor the wrong that was being done. §he too PAGE SIX. .- -- She judged Yvonne too in a spirit of irness that was amazing when one Three, Lydia Alone Faced the Situation With Courage. Of a Music-Master. :1: passed. Yvonne DI‘GE CHAPTER X. Barr McCutcheon e move nerrin were Jppets GIT S )1 net of an held the DEV the .lfl :lid DE 1d saw tragedy ahead, but her vision was broader than Lydia’s. It included-the figure of James Brood. Lydia worked steadily, almost dog- gedly at the task she had undertaken to complete for the elder Brood. Every afternoon found her seated at the table in the study, opposite the stern-faced man who labored with her over the seemingly endless story of his life. Something told her that there were secret chapters which she was not to write. She wrote those that were to endure; the others were to die with He watched her as she wrote, and his eyes were often hard. He saw the growing haggardness in her gentle, girlish face; the wistful, puzzled ex- pression in her dark eyes. A note of tenderness crept into his voice and re- mained there through all the hours they spent together. The old-time brusqueness disappeared from his speech; the sharp authoritative tone was gone. He watched her with pity- in his heart, for he knew it was or- dained that one day he too was to hurt this loyal pure-hearted creature even as the others were wounding her now. He frequently went out of his way to perform quaint little acts of cour- tesy and kindness that would have surprised him only a short time be- fore. He sent theater and opera tickets to Lydia and her mother. He placed bouquets of flowers at the girl’s end of the table, obviously for her alone. He sent her homeâ€"just around the corner â€"in the automobile on rainy or bliz- zardy days. But he never allowed her an instant's rest when it came to the work in hand. and therein lay the gen- tle shrewdness of the man. She was better off busy. There were times when he studied the face of Lydia’s mother for signs that might show how her thoughts ran in relation to the conditions that were confronting all of tnem. But more often he searched the features of the boy who called him father. Always. always there was music in the house. Behind the closed doors of the distant study, James Brood lis- tened in spite of himself to the per- sistent thrumming of the piano down- stairs. Always were the airs light and seductive; the dreamy, plaintive com- positions of Strauss Ziehrer and oth- ers of their ki 11d and place. Frederic, 11 1th uncanny fidelity to the prefer- ences of the motl er he had never seen hit 1‘ l‘ose in ._..uence directed him, af- steel the s.::1ege11eral class of music that Loci appeal» to/her moods and tem; {er-.111 ent Times there were, and often v. hen he played the very airs hat she 113d loved, and then, despite :rr :ound antipat1 137, James brood’s 3:135 i: eyed back a quarter of a I.;..."f‘-" and fixed themselves on love- Genes; and love -times that would not d w x (I. r u Q ‘ a k” "a 9 ’ v.- 'v I. but whose in fected the 53: that had ap; temperament often, when that she had hie rgrry€nn n r] A: ,1 again there were the wild, riot: 0-1.3 air: that she had played with Fev- ereili, her soft-eyed music master! Ac- cursed ai swat-cursed and accusing! He gave orders that these airs were net to be played, but failed to make his command convincing for the rea- son that he could not bring himself to the point of explaining why they were distasteful to him. When Frederic thoughtlessly whistled or bummed fragments of those proscribed airs, he considered himself justified in com- manding him to stOp on the pretext that they were disturbing, but he could not use the same excuse for checking the song on the lips of his gay and im' pulsive wife. Sometimes he wondered why she persisted when she knew that he was annoyed. Her airy little apolo- gies for her forgetfulness were of no consequence, for within the hour her memory was almost sure to be at fault again. “Is there anything wrong with my hair, Mr. Brood?” asked Lydia; with a. nervous little laugh. They were in the study' and it was ten o’clock of a wet night in April. 01’ late, he had required her to spend the evenings with him in a strenuous ef- fort to complete the final chapters of the journal. He had declared his in- tention to go abroad with his wife as soon as the manuscript was completed. 'Lydia’s willingness to devote the extra hours to his enterprise would have pleased him vastly if he had not been afflicted by the same sense of unrest and uneasiness that made incessant labor a boon to her as well as to him Her query followed a long period of silence on his part. He had been sug- gesting alterations in her notes as she read them to him, and there were fre- quent lulls when she made the changes as directed. Without looking at. him. she felt rather than knew that he was regarding her fixedly from his position opposite. The scrutiny was disturb- ing to her. __ _ - _‘ Brood started guiltily. “Your hair '2” he exclaimed. “Oh, I see. You women always feel that something is wrong with it. I was thinking of something else, however. Fo give my stupidity We can’t afford to waste time in think- ing, you know, and I am a pretty bad offender. It’s nearly half-past ten. We’ve been hard at it since eight o’clock. Time to knock off. 'I will walk around to your apartment with you, my dear. It looks like an all- night rain.” I. _‘_O_jAâ€"' 0"” “lbflv 5 w.â€" He went up to the window and pulled the curtains aside. Her eyes followed him. A _-A LVDJV Vv vâ€" _â€" He was staring down into the court, his fingers grasping the curtains in a rigid grip. He did not reply. There was a light in the windows opening out upon Yvonne’s balcony. “I fancy Frederic has come in from the concert,” he said slowly. “He will take you home, Lydia. You’d like that better, eh ?” He turned toward her and she paused in the nervous collecting of her papers. His eyes were as hard as steel, “~ ‘8- .- um ups were set. "Please don’t ask Frederic toâ€"” she began hu-r:ed1v “They must have left early,” he muttered, glancing at his watch Re- turning to t. e table he struck the big, melodious gong a couple of sharp blows. For the first time in her recol- lection, it sounded a jangling, discord- ant note, as of impatience. Ranjab ap- peared in the doorway. “Have Mrs. Brood and Er Frederic returned, Ran- “Yes, sahib‘ At ten o’clock.” "If Mr. Frederic Is in his room send him to me.” “He is not in his room, sahib." The two, master and man, looked at each other steadily for a moment. Something passed between them. “Tell him that Miss Desmond is ready to go home.” “Yes, sahib.” The curtam fell. “I prefer to go home alone, Mr. Brood.” said Lydia, her eyes flashing. “Why did you sendâ€"” . “And why not?” he demanded harsh- ly. She winced and he was at once sorry. “Forgive me. I am tired and â€"â€"a bit nervous. And you too are tired. You’ve been working too steadily at 'this miserable job, my dear child. Thank heaven, it will soon be over. Pray sit down. Frederic will soon be here.” “I am not tired,” she protested stub- bornly. “I love the work. You don’t know how proud I shall be when it comes out andâ€"and I realize that I helped in its making. No one has ever been in a position to tell the story of Thibet as you have told it,-Mr. Brood. Those chapters will make history. 1â€"7” “Your poor father’s share in thoSe explorations is what really makes the work valuable, my dear. Without his notes and letters 1 should have been feeble indeed." He looked at his watch. "They were at the concert,-you knmxmthe Hungarian orchestra. A re- cent importation. Tziganes music. Gyps1es.” ilis sentences as well as his thoughts were staccato, discon- nected. Lydia tur ned very cold. She dread- ed the scene that now seemed unavoid- able. Frederic would come in response to his father’s command, and thenâ€" Someone began to play upon the piano downstairs. She knew and he knew that it was Frederic: who played. For a long time they listened. The air, no doubt, was one he had heard during the evening, a soft sensuous waltz that she had never heard before. The girl’s eyes were upon Brood’s face. It was like a graven image. “God!” fell from his stiff lips. Sud- denly he turned upon the girl. "Do you know what he is playing?” “It was played in this house by its composer before Frederic was born. It was played here on the night of his birth, as it had been played many times before. It was written by a man named Feverelli. Have you heard of “No,” she said, scarcely above a whisper. him ?” “Never,” she murmured, and shrank, frightened by the deathlike pallor in the man’s face, by the strange calm in his voice. The gates were being opened at last! She saw the thing that was to stalk forth. She would have closed her ears against the reve- lations it carried. “Mother will be worried if I am not at homeâ€"” “Guido Feverelli. An Italian born in Hungary. Budapest, that was his home, but he professed to be a gypsy. Yes, he wrote the devilish thing. He played it a thousand times in that room downâ€"«and now Frederic plays it, after all these years. It is his heritage. God, how I hate the thing! Ranjab! ‘Vhere is the fellow? He must st0p the accursed thing. Heâ€"” By a mighty effort, Brood regained control of himself. He sank into a chair, motioning for her to remain. The fnusic had ceased abruptly. “He will be here in a moment,” said Brood. “Don’t go.” a full minute he stood there with his hands clasped, his lips moving as if in pray er. No sound came from them. Suddenly he arose and confronted the serene image of the Buddha. For “Mr. Brood! Mr. Brood!” cried Lydia, appalled. She began to edge toward the door. The girl lc :nained transfixed, pow era less to mov Not until he turned to- ward her and spoke was the spell broken. Then she came quickly to his side. He had pronounced her name. “You are about to tell me some- thing, Mr. Brood,” she cried‘_in great Confronted the Serene image Buddha. ' THE DURHAM CHRONICLE. hrem vound y I must 2 not that he hesitated and tnen went on harshly «-â€"“a; his father before him loved.” Anger culled her understanding; Si: 2 aid nor. :rasp the full meaning of .1is decir non. Her honest heart rose to the defense of Frederic. .She r- 23.22;ng his gaze unwavering- ly. .T‘er ace 'eas \er y white. " r. 1 20011. ” It is DCI er that We should talk it over \‘. e .- axe ten minutes. No doubt he 3‘. '75: tom you that he loves you. He is a 10m: tum boy, he is the kind one mus: lure. But it is not in his power to love nobly. He loves lightly 3.8â€"" "‘M‘r Broou. I do care for Frederic,” she flamed . Standing very erect before him. He IOVEIS me. I know he does. 1'01 have no r1 gilt to say that he loves Ughtly, ianob'" You do not know him as i know him. You have never tried to Know nun, never wanted, to know him. Yoquh, 1 beg your pardon, Mr. Brood. I-~â€"i am Iorgetting myself.” “1 am anaid you do not understand yourself. Ly dza,’ said he levelly. "You are young you are trusting. Your les- son will cost you a great deal, my de ‘Through all this, Brood stared at her in sheer astonishment. He had no feeling of anger, no resentment, no thought of protest. “Youâ€"you astound me, Lydia. Is this your own impression or has it been suggested to you byâ€"by an- other?” “I am only agreeing with you when you say that he loves as his father loved before himâ€"but not lightly. Ah, not lightly, Mr. Brood.” “You don’t know what you are say- ing,” he muttered. “Oh, yes, I do,” she cried earnestly. “You invite my Opinion; I trust you will accept it for what it is worth. Be- fore you utter another word against Frederic, let me remind you that I have known both of you for a long, long time. In all the years I have been in this house, I have never known you to grant him a tender, loving word. My heart has ached for him. There have been times when I almost hated you. He feels your neglect, your harshness, yourâ€"your cruelty. I-Ieâ€"” “Cruelty 1 “It is nothing less. You do not like him. I cannot understand why you should treat him as you do. He shrinks from you. Is it right, Mr. Brood, that a son should shrink from his father as a dog cringes at the voice of an un- kind master? 1 might be able to un- derstand your attitude toward him if your unkindness was of recent origin, butâ€"” “Recent origin?” he demanded quickly. “if it had begun with the advent of Mrs. Brood.” she explained frankly, undismayed by his scowl. “I do not understand all that has gone before. Is it surprising, Mr. Brood, that your son finds it difficult to love you? Do you deserveâ€"” Brood stopped her with a gesture of his hand. “The time has come for frankness on my part. You set me an example, Lydia. You have the courage of your father. For months I have had it in my mind to tell you the truth about Frederic, but my courage has always failed me. Perhaps I use the wrong word. It may be something very un- like cowardice that has held me back. I am going to put a direct question to you first of all, and I ask you to an- swer truthfully. Would you say that Frederic is likeâ€"that is, resembles his father?” He was leaning forward, his Lydia was surprised. “What an odd thing to say! Of course he resembles his father. I have never seen a por- trait of his mother, butâ€"” manner intense. “When he is angry he is very much like you, Mr. Brood. I have often won- dered why he is unlike you at other times. Now ‘I know. He is like his mother. She must have been lovely, gentle, patientâ€"” “You mean that he looks like me?” demanded Brood. “Wait! 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