j BREEME HOUSE
[ 1 By Katherine Newlin Burt f
M
She took it and read a hurried,
Irregular scrawl, permitting Mr.
Otto Cardoni to copy the Van
Dyke, signed carelessly, “Alec
Tremont. ’ ’
“Why do you come to me!”
smiled Claire.
The old servant flushed sweet
ly all over his wrinkled face.
“You do take such an interest,
miss, and seem part of the
house,’’ said he. “And then, I
don’t wish for to get Lord Tre
mont into trouble by taking this
here to Lord ltreeme. Not that
it would, miss, you understand;
but, only, it’s written a bit wild
like, and if I may make so bold
—you’ll pardon me I'm sure, but
as it is with young men, and I’m
sure Lord Tremont is steadier
every day.”
“Oh, Robins, wliat are you
driving atf”
“Well, miss, you sec, some of
Lord Tremont’s company is not
jut what his father would choose*
and though copying the picture is
all very well miss—perfectly
sale, too, me being here to watch
-—this note, now—that is, if Lord
Tremont knew this—er—gentle
man, and—”
“I see. Very well. I’d just let
him get to work and make his
-copy without more ado. You have
my permission.” She laughed a
little, “i think Mr. Cardoni will
be rather an addition to tho
beauty of the hall.”
Robins took this somewhat to
heart and rubbed his chin dubi
ously as he followed her to the
painter, who stood cringingly
aside to let Claire pass. Near-by
the pieturesqueness vanished and
left only a disagreeable impres
sion, of meanness and servility.
Claire began to hate the notion
of his sitting day by day before
the beautiful Lady Jane. She
wondered that Alec had given
permission.
‘I’ll just speak of it,” she
thought, “to see if it’s all
right,” and meeting Alee as he
came from his desk, she put it to
Jiim at once.
“Mr. Cardoni is in the picture
gallery,” said she, “copying the
Van Dyke l”
Alee, who was putting a letter
into his pocket, looked at her
with a startled, bewildered air.
He was very pale, his narrow
jaw set hard. There was harass
ment in every line of his face and
well-groomed person. His eyes
were blank with introspective
distress.
“Cardoni!” be repeated
■vaguely, “lie’s here, is he!”
“In the hall. Do you allow
copyists! ’ ’
“Oh, yes. But only by very
special permission, and for some
specific order that father has ap
proved.”
Tremont thrust his long hands
deep into his pockets • and bent
iiis head. Even Claire’s presence
couldn’t keep him from the ne
cessity of thought. She stood
looking curiously at him till, per
functorily, he smiles at her.
“Sorry,” said he, “I’m poor
company. Rotten bad mail this
morning. What—” Here he
paused and gave Claire a hunted
ind appraising look. She had
turned her eyes, when he spoke,
to an open window and a lovely
summer scene. “What are you
going to do today t”
“It a a day,” said Claire, “for
pilgrims and for palfreys. We
are going out of doors for all
day long. Didn’t you know that!
Jane and I planned it last night.
We’ll ride to Lone Tree Hill and
eat under the trees. Mr. Tremont
has promised us camp coffee,
broiled bacon, and something
that he calls ‘dough-gods’! Miss
Meriden and Mr. MacBurney are
coming.”
“But—there are not enough
Worses, are there!” asked the
future earl, his pride suffering
at the thought of the many emp
ty stalls.
“Sir Geoffrey will take Aline
*nd Vi and Humphrey and Miss
Meriden in his car. Mr. Tremont
lias a couple of horses of his own
at the Arms, and Jane—”
“Jane scarcely ever rides.
She’s afraid of horses. But Sir
Oeoffrey can tuck her in, I fan
cy. I’ll go to the stables.”
He went. The morning was
green-gold, after a light shower,
and color was brilliant. Alec saw
nothing but the wet, clear ground
(wd his own wretchedness. The
letter in his pocket was heavy
with its threat from the impor
tunate money-lender, Unterberg.
m
Something must be quickly done.
If his creditors could hear of an
engagement to American mil
lions; if he could promptly raise
a couple of thousand pounds!
“Good morning, your lord
ship,” said the old stableman
cheerily. “Fine morning. Horses,
your lordship?”
Alec gave his orders, leaning
on a gale and listening heavily
to the old fellow’s talk as he led
out the few horses and groomed
them dowm.
“They ain’t much for looks,
are they, my lord? In the old’
day, now, ’twas a fine sight when
we had ’em out of a hunting day.
It do go against me to give Miss
Wilton this nag, my lord, she be
ing used to a fine mount and
ridin’ like a queen. Well, your
lordship, there’ll be better times
a-comin’ for us all.”
Claire laughed, an^ on her
laughter slipped away past him
into the grccn-biack yew passage
that led from their retreat.
Her laughter left a deep si
lence, and in it stood Aline and
Lord Tremont, their hearts beat
ing hard. At last, very gently,
more gently than she had ever
heard him, he spoke.
“Are you afraid of me,
Aline t” he asked her.
“Have them ready before ten,
will you! Alec out in, and
walked rapidly away. It seemed
to him nowadays that the whole
world of his acquaintance had
formed itself into a sort of Greek
chorus to his tragedy, and sang
the prophecy of Claire, Countess
of Breeme. There had been his
father again, hinting and hope
ful ; his stepmother, somewhat
sternly prompting him; Jane,
with timidly wistful looks;
another letter from his aunt,
promising an early visit to “look
over the American heiress." The
smile and bow of every tenant
he passed around Five Pastures
was a congratulation and a bid
for remembrance in the hour of
prosperity. Robins all but spoke
of Claire as “my lady." There
was, moreover, in her eyes a
growing look of ownership. Alec
sometimes felt possessed. The
current was running strong
towards his marriage with this
white-skinned, gold-haired wo
man. It might be easier, after
all to let himself go.
They rode off together, Claire
and he, everyone making this an
easy arrangement, and Alec be
came gradually, recklessly, in
fected by her gay mood. All the
cool, sweet brightness of the day
danced in her eyes. She talked
bright nonsense. She laughed
so that the meadow larks were
startled by the outlandish music.
Alec forgot the pressure of his
trouble, am! yielded to the en
chantment of her effervescence.
“When you go away from
here,” he said, “it will be lights
out for all of us."
At this she turned a little in
her saddle and looked sad.
“Don’t remind ms cf going.
It will be so soon now."
“Soon!”
Alec’s pulses gave a startled
jump. His father’s kind, impa
tient look seemed to be bent up
on him. Hateful phrases in that
letter pounced at his mind. She
would go soon, /lashing all her
golden beauty and wealth into
some other man’s life. What a
fool he would be to let her go!
“How soon?" he asked her
quickly.
In a week. I mustn’t wear
out your splendid hospitality.”
“It hasn’t been hospitality,”
cried Alee, reining his horse
closer to hers. “I never knew
anyone to be less like a guest
than you have been at Breeme
House. We’ve all said it a hun
dred times. You’ve seemed quite
one of us. You belong. You—it’s
hard tq describe, but it’s all
seemed your frame, your natural
setting. It’s as if—our old home
had onee held a precious stone,
and now it had come back. Very
often I feel, you know, that I
can’t let you go.”
She put out her hand to him
as frankly as a boy.
“Thank you.”
He gripped her fingers.
“I wish you could hear father
about you.”
“Dear Lord Breeme! I mind
leaving him most.”
‘Don’t say that.”
“I must say it. Him and—the
Lady Jane.”
“T t leave,” said Alec—he
had lost her hand, but kept his '
flushed, excited face turned to
her—“you leave your Lady Jane
in great danger.”
At once she was the sentinel,
alarmed.
“No!”
“Yes; in very great danger.
From—” .
“From Mr. Tremont! Then he
has dared. Oh, what a barbarian!
But, Lord Tremont”—she looked
at him with almost fantastic in
credulity—“you wouldn’t sell
it?”
Alec shrugged his shoulders.
“It may come to that.”
Claire actually paled.
“What has he done to you?”
“Tremont? Nothing in life but
inordinately admire my posses
sions. lie hasn’t even directly
approached me yet.”
“Then how do you know?”
“If youJknew—■”
“Ah!” said Claire. “I heard
him threaten her. I was in the
gallery. Since then I’ve watched
him like a hawk. But I thought
Lady Jane as unapproachable as
a star. ‘I wouldn’t do so-and-so
—not to save the Van Dyke.’
Why, it’s a by-word with Lord
Breeme. Lord Tremont,, truly,
you wouldn’t sell her? It’s none
of my business, but you wouldn’t
let her go?”
iNot to the banished earl s
descendant? There’s a certain
poetic justice.”
“No! No! No! She belongs
there in the hall. She’s the very
soul of Breeme House. I^-I could
n’t bear it.”
“My dear lady, you will be on
the other side—”
“Please don’t. I suppose I’m
absurd, but to me—<”
“You’re not absurd. Do you
know, since you’ve been here
everything has taken on a new
aspect to me. You care. You seem
to care so much for it all.”
“I do. I do. You couldn’t un
derstand unless you could put
yourself in just my homeless,
wandering place. This will al
ways—don’t laugh, Lord Tre
mont—this will always seem
home to me.”
“I should like Breeme House
to be so,” he said hurriedly,
looking not at her now, but at
his horse’s neck. “I shoudl like
Breeme House to be, indeed, your
home.”
Claire flung up her Siead. She
was for a moment vividly illumi
nated from within. Her eyes
deepened in their cold sea-blue.
She pressed her lips together.
Alec looked at her and held his
breath. Was it anger? Was it
pride? Was it joy?
Therecame a shout—a wild
call:
“Yoop-ee! Yoop-ee! Yoop-ee!”
Hoofs beat the earth behind
them. Claire and Alec, startled,
turned in their saddles, reining
in. A beautiful black horse
whirled past them, its rider bent
sideways low along its neck. It
was Rufus Trcmont, riding cow
boy style, laughing and shouting,
a high color in his cheeks. Not
the grave and gentle, rather
stately Tremont of the drawing
room, but a reckless young hot
blood, spurred and hatless, lithe
as an Indian, wild as a storm
wind. And beside him, on a horse
unknown to Breeme House, her
silvery-brown hair streaming, her ,
eyes wide and starry, her face
like a rose, a creature bewitched
and beside herself, gallopped
Jane.
They went by with a ringing
clatter. Alec's horse shied,
Claire’s reared; their riders
looked at each other open eyed.
“Not Jane !” said Alec. “Sure
ly not Jane!”
And so great w’as his mystifi
cation and her astonishment that
for the rest of the way to Lone
Tree Hill their talk was of this
fragmentary sort.
“She’s never ridden before?”
“She’s been afi'aid of horses
all her life.”
“It wasn’t Jane!”
“We dreamed it.”
On Lone Tree Hill, under the
trees, whero Miss Meriden and
Aline had spread a cloth and
Violet and Humphrey under Sir
Geoffrey’s instructions were un
packing lunch baskets, Jane was
found, a breathless, shaking,
transfigured being, watched by a
grave, composed young Rufus,
soberly useful with fire building.
Jane sprang from the grass to
meet Claire.
“Oh!” she cried, “I never
really enjoyed riding before 1
Just for an instant I was sick
with fright. But when we were
off—Oh, Claire, isn’t it fun?”
But after that she became shy
again, and having twisted up her
hair and put on the hat Alec had
rescued from the hill-side, she
was quite the eld Jane end
seemed anxious to avoid the com
rade of her adventure.
At noon another horseman
joined them—a sunburt young
man, red haired, blue-eyed, and
slow of speech. He was intro
duced as Mr. MacBurney, and he
possessed himself at onec of Miss
Meriden—Claire hoped it wras not
the new rector’s Miss Meriden—
taking her off for a serious
minded walk.
“Feeling blue, Lord Tre
mont?” asked Rufus as they
were going to fetch water from
a stream.
“That swine Unterberg again.
Look at this,” and Alec handed
Treraont a letter from, his
pocket.
“You .are in a tight place,
aren’t you?” said he carelessly.
Alec’s pride tingled, and, sit
ting on the bank, he flicked a
pebble moodily into the brook.
“Been ashamed of myself for
speaking to you about it at all,”
said he. “Don’t know how I hap
pened to do it. A man can stand
just so much pressure, then he’s
got to let off somewhere—safe
ty-valve, you know.”
“Surely I know.”
‘It’s been worse since. I’m
pretty well treed. By Jove, I am I
There seems only one way out,
and I hate—”
You can have from me, any
(lay you say so, twenty thousand
pounds.”
Every nerve in Alec’s body
jumped. He glanced up, meet
ing a kind, grim, downward
look, which held, somewhere at
the back of it, a gieam of excite
ment.
‘‘What do you mean, Tre
montf ”
Rufus let himself down be
side Alec with one long, simple
movement.
“I want,” said he, and paused,
staring through the willows and
the hedges and the hiils to far,
far distances. “I want the Van
Dyke.”
Then a queer thing happened.
Just the expression of that wish
in words turned Alec’s temper,
so given to volte-face action. He
was expecting i*, wishing for it,
angling for it. The mention of
that twenty thousand pounds had
been like a breath from Heaven,
and now Rufus' blunt statement
of his desire was like a blow in
the face. If the man had asked
for Jane herself in exchange for
that twenty thousand pounds,
Alec could not have flinched
more violently. He got to his
feet, flushed to the eyes. He
was furious with himself, with
the American—with all the
world. His jaw looked long. He
faced Rufus Tremont, tvho had
risen also.
(TO BE CONTINUED) *
DISABLED MEN
GIVEN $200,000
Jeremiah Milbank Establishes
Fund to Aid in Voca
tional Training
-- \
New York.—A gift of $200,000 has
been made to the Institute for Crip
pled and Disabled Men by Jeremiah
Milbank,
The Income frpm the gift will he
used In the work of training men
whi) are physically handicapped to
enable them to earn their own living.
Milbank always has been promin
ently Identified with the work of the
organization. He is a member of the
board of trustees.
The institution, since 1917, has
found jobs for 4,430 disabled men
and has saved them $65,000 In em
ployment fees. The 840 men trained
in its classes earn more than $1,000,
000 a year. The main objects of the
organization are a free employment
service, the production of artificial
limbs and the furnishing of work ta
home-bound cripples.
HIS OLD TUXEDO.
AS OFFICE COAT,
CAUSES COMMENT
Cincinnati, Ohio.—Irving S. Cobb
is believed to have solved the problem
of what to do with used safety razor
blades when he advocated dropping
them into the Grand Canyon.
Now comes City Engineer Prank S.
Krug, of Cincinnati, with a sugges
tion as to what to do with old tux
edos. Wearing a tuxedo coat, Krug
appeared at a meeting of the Rapid
Transit Commission.
Business was suspended until he
could explain. “1 am not insane, gen
tlemen," he began. “I am only in
genious. I could not sell or give this
coat away. Glancing at myself in a
mirror the other day. I noticed that
my office coat was positively in rags.
The happy thought occurred to me
that the old tuxedo would make an
excellent substitute. And here I am."
Most of the details of her con
struction have been kept rigidly se
cret, but it is known that she is 30
feet wide and 3G0 feet long, has a
speed of 33 knots, and carried a com
plement of 100 men.
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Harry Tate Is a well-known English
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Powell—Mean? He’d rob ills own
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Egyptians Study Farming
Egyptian tillers of the soil are be*
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