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GRADY COUNTY PROGRESS, CAIRO, GEORGIA.
GEORGE
mUSTRATIONS
15 WHITE
DARK M c CUTCHEON
KAY WALTERS
coflY/?/wr. yam
D)> DODO, SIDAD
A/fD COYJPAftY
SYNOPSIS,
v ~~*3—
In tho Now York homo of James Brood
Dawes and Higgs, his two old pensioners
and comrades, await tho coining of
Brood a son l'rederlc to learn the contents
of a wireless from Brood, but Frederic,
after reading, throws It Into the llru and
leaves tlto room without a word. Frederic
tells Lydia Desmond, his flanccc, that the
message announces .hts father's marriage
and orders the house proparod for an Im
mediate homecoming. Mrs. Desmond, the
housekeeper and Lydia's mother, tries to
cool Frederic’s temper at tho Impending
changes. Brood and ids brldo arrive. She
wins Frederic’s lilting nt tlrst meeting.
Brood shows dlslllto and veiled hostility to
hl3 son. Lydia and Mrs. Brood meet In
the jado-room, whore Lydia works, ns
Brood’s secretary.
CHAPTER IV—Continued.
Lydia flinched, she knew not why.
There was a‘sting to the words, de
spite the Ianguidness with which they
were uttered
Risking more than 'she suspected,
came to marry him, but—the other
way 'round. It’s the way with men
past middle, age."
Lydia hesitated before speaking.
“Mr. Brood does not confide in Fred'
eric. I am afraid they have but- little
in common. Oh, I shouldn’t havo said
that!”
Mrs. Brood regarded her with nar
rowing eyes. "He doesn't confide in
Frederic?” she repeated, in the form
of a question. Her voice seemed
lower than before.
"I’m sorry X spoke aB I did, Mrs.
Brood,”'said the girl, annoyed at her
self.
"Is there a reason why ho should
dislike his son?” asked the other, re
garding her fixedly.
"Of course not," cried poor Lydia.
There was a moment of sUaacOki
oil -mn
summer night with tho moon and
stnrs—”
“But how desolate it looks today,
with tho dead vinos and tho colorless
stones! Ugh!”
Sho dropped tho curtains. Tho soft
warm glow of the room canio back and
sho sighed with relief. "I hate things
that aro doad," sho said.
At the sound of a soft tread and the
gentle rustle of draperies, they turned.
Itanjab, the Hindu, was crossing tho
room toward tho small , door which
gave entrance to his closet. Ho paused
for an instant boforo tho image of
Buddha, but did not drop to hts knees
as all devout BuddhistB do. MrB.
Brood's. Jiand fell lightly upon Lydia's
arm. The man turned toward them a
second or two later. His dark, hand
some face was hard set and emotion
less as he bowed low to tho now mis
tress of the house. The lingers closed
tightly on Lydia’s arm. Then he
smiled upon the girl, a glad smile of
devotion. His swarthy face was trans
figured. . M moment later ho unlocked
his door and passed Into the other
room. The key turned lu the lock
with a slight rasp.
“I do not like that man," said Mrs.
Brood. Her voice was low and her
eyes were fixed steadily on the closed
door.
she said: “He never considers the cost
of a thing, Mrs. Brood, if Its beauty
appeals to' him.” Mrs. Brood gave
her a quizzical, half-puzzled look.
“You.liave only to look about you for
the. proof. This one room represents
a fortune.” The last was spoken has
tily.
"How old are you, Miss Desmond?"
The question came abruptly.
“I.'am nineteen.”
"You were, surprised to find me so
young. Will! it add to your surprise
If I tell you'that I am ten years older
than you?”
? "It doesn’t seem credible.”
"Aro you wondering why I tell you
niy age?"
“Yes,” said Lydia, bluntly.
"In order that you may realize that
I am ten years wiser than you, and
that you may not again make the mis
take of underestimating my lnlelll-
i gence." -’
The color faded from Lydia’s face.
She grew cold from head to foot. In-,
voluntarily she moved ’back a pace.
The next instant, to her unbounded
surprise, Mrs. Brood’s handswere out
stretched in'a gesture of appeal, and
a quick, wistful smile took the place
of the- imperious stare.
“There! I am a nasty, horrid thing.
Forgive me. Cornel, Don’t be stub
born. Shake, hands with me and say
that you’re sorry I, said what I did."
It was a quaint way of putting it, and
her voice was' so genuinely appealing
that Lydia, after a moment’s hesita
tion, extended her hands. Mrs. Brood
grasped them in hers and gripped
them tightly. "1 think I should like to
know that you are my, friend, Lydia.
Has it occurred to you that I am ut
terly without friends in'this great city
of yours? I have my husband, that
is all."
The girl could no more withstand
thq, electric charm of the woman-than
she could have fought off the sun
shine. She was bewildered, and com-,
pletely fascinated.
"It’s—It’s very good of you," she
murmured, her own eyes softening as
they "looked into the deep, velvet}’
ones that would, not be denied. Even
' as she wondered whether sho could-
ever really like this magnetic. crea
ture, she felt herself surrendering to
the spell of her. “But perhaps'you
will not like me when you know, me
,' better."
.“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Brood, calmly,
almost'indifferently, and dismissed the
subject. “What an amazing room!
One can almost feel the presence of
the genii that created it at the wish
of the man with the enchanted lamp.
As a rule, oriental rooms are abomi
nations, but. this—ah, this is not an
oriental room after all. It Is a part
of the East Itself—of the real' East,
I have sat in emperors’ houses .out
W} there; my dear, and I have slept in
the. palaces of kings. I have seen
' l Just such things as these, and I know
t that they could not have been trans
ported to this room except by.magic.
My husband is a magician.”
, “These came from the palaces of
kings, Mrs. Brood,” said-Lydia enthu
siastically. “Kings in the days* when
kings were real. Tills rug—’’
“I know,” interrupted the other. “My
husband told me the story. It muBt
have cost him a fortune.”
“It was worth a fortune,” said Lydia
y, calculating squint liad_come into
Rrs. Brood’s eyes while she was
spaking. To Lydia it appeared as if
Bki were trying to fix upon the value
of lie wonderful carpet.
“I collector has offered him—how
muti? A hundred thqusand dollars,
is u that it? Ah, how rich he must
be!”
“Tu collector you refer to—"
“I 'as referring to my husband, 1
said V Brood, unabashed. “He is
very -ft, Isn’t-he?"
LydltmahUged to conceal her an
noyance. "i think not, as American
fortunesvo rated.”
"It doiyt matter,” said the other,
carelessly "I have my own fortune,
And it tsot my face,” she added,
with a quliamlie. “Now lot us.look
further. I ist see all these wonder
ful things, ye will not be missed,
and it is at half an hour till tea-
time; My h%nd is now telling his
son all there t 0 be Sold about me—
who and whatijn, and how he came
to. marry me. it, mind you, how
CHAPTER V.
“Some day, Lydia,-you will tell-me
about Mr. Brood's other wife.”
“She died many years ago," said tho
girl, evasively.
"I know," said Mrs. Brood. “Still I
should like to hear more of the woman
he could not forget in all those years—
until he met me."
She grew silent and preoccupied, a
slight frown marking her forehead as
she resumed her examination of the
room and its contents.
Great lanterns hung suspended be
side the shrine, but were now un
lighted. On the table at which Brood
professed to work stood a huge lamp
with a lacelike screen of gold. When
lighted a soft, mellow glow oozed
through the shade* to create a circle of
golden brilliance over a radius that
extended but little beyond the edge
of the table, yet reached to the benign
countenance of Buddha close by.
Over all this fairylike splendor
reigned the serene, melting influence
the god to whom James Brood was
wont to confess himself! Tho spell
the golden image dominated every
thing.
In the midst of the magnificence
moved the two women, one absurdly
out of touch with her surroundings,
yet a thing of beauty; the other blend
ing intimately with the warm tones
that enveloped lier. She was lithe,
sinuous with the grace of the most se
ductive of dancers. Her dark eyes re
flected the mysteries of the Orient;
her pale, smooth skin shone with the
clearness of alabaster; the crimson
in ker lips was like the fresh stain
“I Must See These Wonderful Things.
of blood; the very fragrance of her
person seemed to steal out of the un
known. She was a part of the mar
velous setting, a gem among gems.
She had "attired herself in a dull In
dian red afternoon 'gown of chiffon..
The very fabric seemed to cling to.her
supple body with the sensuous joy of
contact. Even Lydia, who watched her
with appraising eyes, experienced, a
swift unaccountable desire to hold this
intoxicating creature close to her <).wn
body'.
There were two windows in the
room, broad openings that ran from
near the floor almost'to the edge of
the canopy. They were so heavily cur
tained that the light of day failed to
penetrate to the interior of the apart
ment. Mrs. Brood approached one of
these windows. Drawing, the curtain
apart, she let in an ugly gray light,
from the outside world.
She looked down into' a sort of court
yard and garden that might have been
transplanted from distant Araby. Ut
tering an exclamation of 'wonder, she
turned to Lydia.
’Is fliis New York or am I be
witched?"
Mr. Brood transformed the old car
riage yard into a—I think Mr. Dawes
calls it a Persian garden. It is rather
bleak in wintertime, Mrs. Brood, but
in the summer it Is really enchanting.
See, across the court on the second
floor where the windows are lighted,
those are your rooms. It is an enor
mous house, you’ll find. Do you sea
the little balcony outside your .win
dows, and the vines creeping up to it?
You can’t imagine how sweet it Is of
Husband and Wife.
The ensuing fortnight brought the
expected ohanges in the household;
James Brood, to the surprise of not
only himself but others, lapsed into a
curious state of adolescenco. His in
fatuation was complete. The once
dominant Influence of the man seemed
to slink away from him as the passing
days brought up the new problems of
life. Where.he had lived"to command
ho now was, content to serve. His
friends, his son, his servants viewed
the transformation with wonder, not
to say apprehension
It would not be true to say that tho
remarkable personality of the man
had suffered. He was still the man of
steel, but retempered. The rigid
broad-sword was made over into the
fine flexible blade of Toledo. He could
be bent but not broken.
It pleased him to submit to Yvon
ne’s commands. Not that they were
arduous or peremptory; on the con
trary, they were suggestions in which
his own comfort and pleasure appeared
to be the inspiration. She was too
wise to demand, too clever to resort to
cajolery. She was -a Latin. Diplo
macy was hers as a birthright. Com
plaints, appeals, sulks would have
gained nothing from James Brood. Nor
would it have occurred to her to em
ploy these methods. From the day-she
entered the house she was its mis
tress. .
There were no false notions of senti
ment to restrain or restrict her in the
rearrangement of her household. She
wont about the matter calmly, sen
sibly, firmly; even the most prejudiced
could not but feel the justice of her
decisions. The serene way in which
she both achieved and accepted con
quest proved one thing above all oth
ers: She was born to put&HKg&j
To begin with, she miraculously
transferred the.sleeping quarters of
Messrs. Dawes and Riggs from the
second floor front to the third floor
back without arousing the slightest
sign of antagonism on the part of the
crusty old gentlemen,- who had occu
pied one of the choice rooms in the
house with uninterrupted, security for
a matter of nine or ten years. Mrs.
Brood explained the situation to them
so graciously, so convincingly, that
they even assisted the servants in
moving their heterogeneous belong
ings to the small, remote room on the
third floor, and applauded her plan to
make a large sitting-room of the cham
ber they were deserting. It did -not
occur to them for at least three days
that they had been imposed upon,
cheated, maltreated, insulted, and then
it was too late. The decorators were
in the big room on tho second floor,
They had been betrayed by the wife
of their bosom friend. Is it small cause
for wonder, then, that the poor gentle
men as manfully turned back to the
tipple and got gloriously, garrulously
drunk In the middle of the afternoon
and also in the middle of the library,
where tea was to "have been served to
a few friends asked in to meet the
bride?
The next morning a fresh edict was
issued. It came from-James Brood and
it was so staggering that the poor gen
tlemen were loath to believe their ears.
As a result of this new command, they
began to speak of Mrs. Brood -in the
privacy of their own.room as “that
woman.” Of course.it was entirely'
due to her mischievous, malevolent in
fluence that a spineless husband put
forth the order-that they were to have
nothing more to drink while they re-
i in htsi.ouse. This cc
was modified to a slight extent later
on. Brood felt sorry for the victims,
He loved them and he knew that their
pride was injured a great deal more
than their appetite. In its modified
form, the edlot allowed them a small
drink in the morning and another at
bedtime, but Jones, the butler, held
the key to the situation and—the side
board. And after that they looked up
on Mrs. Brood as the common enemy
of all three.
The case of Mrs. John DeBmond was
disposed of in a summary but tactful
manner.
“If Mrs. Desmond is willing to re
main, James, as housekeeper instead
of frlenfl, all well and good,” said Mrs,
Brood, discussing the matter in the
seclusion of her boudoir. "I doubt,
hewever, whether she can descend to
that. You have spoiled her, my deaf:''
He flushed. "I trust you do not
mean to Imply that—"
"I should llko to have Mrs. Desmond
as my friend, not as my housekeeper,"
said Ills wlto simply.
"By Jove, and that’s just what I
should like," lie cried.
"There is but one way, you know."
"She must bo ono or the other, eh?”
"Precisely,” she said with firmness.
'-‘In my country, James, tho wives of
best friends haven’t the samo moral
standing that they appear to have in
yours. Oh, don’t scowl sol Shall I
tell you that I do not meau to reflect
on Mrs. Desmond's virtue—or discre
tion? Far from it, It sho Is to bo my
frloud, she cannot-bo your housekeep
er. That’s tho point. Has sho any
moans of her own? Can she—”
"Sho has a small Income, and an an
nuity which I took out for her soon
after hor poor husband's death. Wo
wero tho closest of friends—”
"I understand, James. You are very
generous and very loyal. I quite un
derstand. Losing her position here,
then, will not bo a hardship?"
"No,” said ho soberly.
"1 am quite competent, James," Bho
said brightly. "You will not miss hor,
I am sure."
"Aro you laughing at me, darling?"
She gave him one of her searching,
unfathomable glances, and then smiled
with roguish mirth.
"Isn't it your mission in life to
amuse and entertain mo?”
“I love you, Yvonne—Good God, how
I love you!" he cried abruptly. His
eyes burnt with sudden flame of pas
sion. as he bent over her. His face
quivered; his whole being tingled with
the fierce spasm of an uncontrollable
desire to crush the warm, adorable
body to his broaBt in the Bupreme
ecstasy of possession.
She surrendered herself to hJs pas
sionate embrace. A little later, she
withdrew herself from his arms, her
lips still quivering with the fierceness
of his kisses. Her eyes, dark with
wonder and perplexity, regarded his
transfigured face for a long, tense
moment.
“Is this love, James?” she whis
pered. "Is this the real, true love?”
"What else, in heaven’s name, can it
be?" he cried. He was sitting upon
“You Will Not Miss Her, I am. Sure.”
the arm of her chair, looking down at
the singularly pallid face.
But should loye have the power to
frighten one?”
“Frighten, my darling?”
“Oh, it is not you who are fright
ened,” she cried. "You are the man.
But I—ah, I am only the woman.”
He stared. “What an odd way to
put it, dear.” Then ho drew back,
struck by the curious gleam of mock
ery in her eyes.
“Was it like this twenty-five years
ago?” she asked.
He managed to smile. "Are you
jealous?"
“Tell me about her.'/’
His face hardened. “Some other
time, not now."
You have never told me her
name—”
^le. faced her, his eyes as cold as
steel. “I may as well tell you now,
Yvonne, that her name is never men
tioned in this house."
She seemed to shrink down farther
in the chair.
‘Why?" she asked, an Insistent note
in her voice.
It isn’t necessary to explain." He
walked away from her to the window,
and stood looking out over the bleak
little courtyard. Neither spoke foi
many minutes, and yet he knew that
her questioning gaze was upon him
and that when he turned to her again
she would ask still another question.
He tried to think of something to say
that would turn her away from this
hated subject.
sensing of danger that more than onee
he had experienced In tho silent, tran
quil depths of great forests.
"I wonder what could havo hap
pened to mnko you so bitter toward
hor," sho went on, still watching him
through half closed eyes., “Was she
unfaithful to you? .Was—"
“Good God, Yvonnot" ho cried, all
angry light jumping into his eyes—the
eyes that so recently had beeu ablaze
with lovo.
"We must never speak of—of that
again," he said, a queer note of hoarse
ness In his voico. “Nevor, do you un
derstand?" Ho was very much shaken.
“Forgive me,” she pleaded, stretch
ing out her hand to him. "I am fool
ish, but I did not dream that I was be
ing cruel or unkind. Perhaps,, dear,
it Is because I am—jealous.”
"There Is no onu—nothing to bo
Jealous of," he said, passing a hand
over Ills moist brow. Then he drew
nearer and took hor hand in his. Ho
lounged again bn tho arm of her chair.
Sho leaned back and sighed contented
ly, the smile on lier red lips growing
sweeter with each breaUi that sho
took. Ho felt the blood warming once
more In his veins.
For a long time they sat thus, look
ing into each other’s eyes without
speaking, He was trying to fathom
tho mystery that lurked at the bottom
of those smiling wells; she, on the
other hand, deluded herself with the
idea that sho was reading his. inner
most thoughts.
‘I have been considering the advis
ability of sending Frederic abroad for
a year or two,” said ho at last.
Sho started. Sho had been far front
right In her reading. “Now? This
winter?”
“Yes. He has never been abroad."
“Indeed? And he Is half European,
too. It seems—forgive me, James
Really, you know, I cannot always
keop my thoughts from Blipping out,
You shouldn’t expect It, dear."
“I suppose it is only natural that
you should Inquire," he said resignedly.
“Of my servants,” Bho added point
edly.
He flushed slightly. "I dare say
deserve the rebuke. It will not bo
necessary to pursue that line of in
quiry, however. I shall tell you the
story myself some day, Yvonne. Will
you not bear with me?"
Sho met tho earnest appeal in Ills
oyes with a slight frown of annoyance
“Who Is to tell me the wife's side
of tho story?"
Tho question was like a blow to him,
Ho stared at her as if he had not heard
aright. Beforo lie could speak, sho
went on cqolly:
“I dare say there are two sides to
it, James. It's usually the case."
He winced. “There is but ono side
to this one,” he said, a harsh note In
his voice
"That is why I began my inquiries
with Mrs. Desmond," she said eulg
matically. "But I slia'n't pursue them
any farther. You love mo; that is all
I care to know’—or that I require.”
I do love you,” he said, almost im
ploringly.
She stroked his gaunt cheek. “Then
o may let the other woman—go
hang, eh?”
He felt the cold sweat start on his
brow. Her callous romark slashed his
finer sensibilities like tho thrust of
dagger. He tried to laugh, but only
succeeded in producing a painful gri
mace.
“And now,”-she went on," as if tho
matter were fully disposed of, “we will
discuss something tangible, eh? Fred
eric.”
“Yes,” said he, rather dazedly,
’Frederic.”
“I am very, very fond of your son
James,” she said. "How proud you
must bq to have such a son.”
He eyed her narrowly. How much
of the horrid story did she know? How
much of it had John Desmond told
his wife?
”1 am surprised at your. liking him
Yvonne. He is what I'd call a diffi
cult young man.’’
“I haven’t found him difficult.”
“Morbid and unresponsive.”
"Not by nature, however. There
joyousness, a llght-hoartedness
his character that has never got be
yond the surfaco until now, James./'
'Until now?”
‘Yes. And you talk of sending him
away. Why?/’
He has wanted to go abroad for
years. This is a convenient time for
him to go.”
“But I am quite sure ho will not
care to go at present—not for awhile
at least.”
“And why not, may I ask?’
"Because he is in love."
“In love!” he exclaimed, his jaw set
ting hard.
"He is in love with Lydia."
“I'll put a stop to that!”
“And why, may I ask?" she
mimicked.
“Because—why—" he burst out, but
Instantly collected himself. “He
not in a position to marry, that's all.
"Financially?”
I-Ie swallowed hard. “Yes
"Poof!” she exclaimed, dismissing
tho obstacle with a wave of her slim
hand. “A cigarette, please. There
another reason why he shouldn’t go—
an excellent one.”
“Tho reason you've already given
sufficient to convince mo that he ought
Ono can be lonely eve« Ik the heart
a throng," she said cryptically. “No,
James, 1 will not havo him sent away."
Ho was sllont for a moment. "We
ill leavo it to Frederic," ho said.
Her face brightened. "That Is all I
ask. Ho will stay."
There was another pause. "You two
havo become very good friends,
onno.”
Ho Is devoted to mo.”
She blew cigarette smoke in Ills face
name," said he lev'elly. The knuckles
of his hands, clenched tightly behind
his back, were white. “He has never
heard me utter it."
She looked at him darkly. There
was something in her eyes that caused
him to shift his own steady gaze un
comfortably. He could not have ex
plained what It was, but it gave him a
curiously uneasy feeling, ns of im
pending peril. It was not unlike the
queer, inexplicable though definite
Isn’t it time for you to dress, dear
est? The Gunning3 live pretty far up
north and the going will be bad with
Fifth avenue piled up with snow—”
"Doesn't Frederic ever mention his
mother’s name?" came the question
that he feared before it was uttered.
“I' am not certain that he knows her 'to go at once. W hat Is the other one,
pray?”
Sho lighted the cigarette from the
match lie held. “What would you say
if I were to tell you that I object
his going away—at present?”
“I should ask the very obvious ques
tion.”
“Becauso I like him, I want him to
like me, and I shall bo very lonely
without him,” she answered calmly
“You?” he orled. “Why, .you
never known anything but-
He Was Silent for a Moment.
and laughed. There was a knock tt
the door.
"Conio In,” she called.
Frederic entered.
CHAPTER VI. j
The Spreading Glow.
Yvonne Lestrange, in a way, bad
been born to purple and fine linen. She
had never known deprivation of any
description. Neither money, position
nor lovo had been denied her during
tho few years in which her charm and
beauty had flashed across the great
European capitals, penetrating even to
tho recesses of royal courts. It Is
doubtful if Jamils Brood know very
much concerning hor family when he
proposed marriage to her, but It Is cer
tain that he did not qare. He first saw
her at tho home 11 a British nobleman,
but did not meek her. Something in
tho vivid, brilliant face of the woman
made a deep and lusting Impression
on him. There was an Instant when
their eyes mot through an opening In
tho throng which separated them. He
was not only conscious of the fact that
lie. was staring at her, but that sho
was looking at him in a curiously pene
trating way. Tlioro was a mocking
smile on her lips at the tlnip. He saw
It fade away, oven as tho crowd came
between. He know that the smile had
not been Intended for him, but for
some of the eagor cavaliers who sur
rounded hor, and yet there was nom«-
thlng singularly direct In' the look sho
gave him.
That single glance in the dukeli
house proved to be a fateful one for
both. They were married inside of ■
month. The virile, confident American
had conquered where countless sup
pliants of a more or less noblo char
acter had gone down to defeat.
Ho asked but one question of her,
sho asked none of him. The fact th»t
Bhc was the intimate friend and asso
ciate of tho woman In whoso home h«
met her, was sufficient proof of hor
standing in society, although that
would have counted for llttlo so far as
Brood was concerned.
She was the daughter of a br.ron;
she had spent much of her life In
Paris, coming from St. Peterrburg
when a young girl; and nlie was an
orphan with an Independent fortune of
her own. Such common details as
these came to Brood In tho natural
way and were not derived from af.y ef
fort on his part to secure information
concerning Mademoiselle Lestrsmge.
Like the burnt child, he asked a ques
tion which harked back to an unfor-
gotten pain.
Have you ever loved a man deeply,
devotedly, Yvonne—so deoply that
there is pain in the thought of him?”
She replied without hesitation.
“There is no such man, Janies. You
may be sure of that."
“I am confident that I can hold your
love against the future', but no man ii
vital enough to compete with the past.
Love doesn’t really die, you know. If
a man cannot hold a woman’s lov*
against all newcomers, he deserves t»
lose it. It doesn’t follow, however, that
he can protect himself against the
man who appears out of the past and
claims his own.”
"You speak as though the past had
played you an evil trick," she said.
He did not mince words. ‘‘Year*
ago a mail came out of tho past and
took from me the woman 1 loved and
cherished."
"Your—your wife?" she asked la •
voice suddenly lowered.
"Yes," he said quietly.
She was silent for a long time. ”1
wondor at your courage In taking th«
risk again,” she said.
'“I think I wonder at it myself," said
lie. “No, I am not afraid." he went ok,
as if convincing himself that tliers
was no risk. “X shall make you lov*
me to the end, Yvonne. I am net
afraid. But why do you not ask tftl
for all the Wretched story?’
(TO BE CONTINUED^
