-from windows farther ap the steep. 
-right oblongs of light. 
glimmer of lights came down to them 
There was no mistaking the three up- 
They were tall 
windows in a house, the occupants of 
which doubtless had been aroused at 
this unearthly hour by the fierceness 
of the storm. 
“By Jove,” lamented the duke, water 
running down his neck in (floods, 
-“what a luxury a home is, be it ever 
so humble, on a night like this.” 
“Mon Dieu. mon Dieu,’’ groaned the 
count, “how comfortab’ zey look! And 
here? Eh bien! Qui fait trembler la 
terre! I am seeck! I die!” 
_ “Penelope is out in all this,” moaned 
his lordship. 
“T am not so sure of that. Trust a 
‘woman to find a place where she can’t 
ruin her hat. My word for it, Cecil, 
she’s found a safe roost. I say, by 
Jove!” The duke was staring more 
intently than ever at the windows far 
above. “I have it! Isn’t it rather odd 
that a house should be lighted so bril- 
-Hantly at this hour of night?” 
-shelter from the storm. Now, 
+ are. 
“Demmed servants forgot to put out 
‘the lamps,”” groaned Bazelhurst with- 
out interest. 
“Nonsense! I tell you what—some 
one has roused the house and asked 
who 
could that be but Penelope?” 
“By Jove, you’re a ripping clever 
ass, after all, Barminster—a regular 
Sherlock Holmes. That’s just it. 
She’s up there where the windows 
Come on. It’s easy sailing 
‘now,” cried his lordship, but the duke 
restrained him. 
“Don’t fush off like a fool. Whose 
«house is it?” 
“How the devil do 1 know? This is 
Shaw’s land, and he hasn’t been espe- 
- cially .cordia! about”— 
“Aha! See what I mean? Shaw’s 
land, to be sure. Well, hang your 
stupidity, don’t you know we're look- 
ing at Shaw’s house this very instant? 
He lives there and she’s arrived, dem 
it all. She’s up there with him—dry 
clothes, hot drinks and all that, and 
we're out here catching pneumonia. 
Fine, isn’t it?” 
“Gad! You’re right! She’s with that 
confounded villain. My God, whats 
to become of her?” groaned Lord Cecil, 
sitting down suddenly and covering 
his face with his hands. 
“We must rescue her!” shouted the 
duke. “Brace up, Cecil! Don’t be a 
baby. We’ll storm the place.” 
“Not in zis rain!’ cried the count. 
“You stay in the shade and hold the 
horses, that’s what you do,’ said the 
duke scornfully. 
After many minutes there came a 
break in the violence of the storm and 
preparations were at once made for 
the climb up the hill. Deveaux was to 
remain behind in charge of the horses. 
With their bridle reins in his hands he 
cheerfully maintained this position of 
trust, securely sheltered from the full 
force of the elements. Right bravely 
NORTH SHORE BREEZE 
I Hite ae 
Qancse— - 
*] say, Deveaux, step up and pound on 
Sr, the door.” 
did the duke and his lordship venture 
forth into the spattering rain. They 
had gone no more than three rods up 
the path when they were brought to a 
halt by the sounds of a prodigious 
struggle behind them. There was a 
great trampling of horses’ hoofs, ac- 
companied by the frantic shouts of the 
count. 
“T cannot hold zem! Mon Dieu! Zey 
are mad! Ho! ho! Help!’ 
“Hold to ‘em!” shouted Lord Cecil. 
Help!" shouted the count, at the 
same moment releasing his grip on the 
reins. Away tore the horses, kicking 
great chunks of mud over him as he 
tumbled aimlessly into the underbrush. 
Down the road clattered the animals, 
leaving the trio marooned in the wil 
derness. Groaning and half dead, the 
unfortunate count was dragged from 
the brush by his furious companions. 
What the duke said to him was suffi- 
cient without being repeated, here or 
elsewhere. The count challenged him 
as they all resumed the march up the 
hill to visit the house with the lighted 
windows. 
‘Here is my card, m’sieur,” he grat- 
ed furiously. 
“Demme, | know you!’ roared the 
duke. “Keep your card, and we’ll send 
it in to announce our arrival to Shaw.” 
In due course of time, after many 
slips and falls, they reached the front 
yard of the house on the hillside. It 
was stil! raining lightly. The thunder 
and lightning were crashing away nois- 
ily farther up the valley. Cautiously 
they approached through the weeds 
and brush 
“By Jove!” exclaimed his lordship, 
coming to a standstill. He turned the 
light of his lantern toward the front 
elevation of the house. “Every door 
and window except these three are 
boarded up_ It can’t be Shaw’s home.” 
“That’s right. old chap. Deuced 
queer, eh? | say, Deveaux. step up 
and pound on the door. You’ve got & 
ecard, you know.” 
“Que diable!”” exclaimed the count, 
sinking into the background. 
“We might reconnoiter a bit.” said 
Bazelhurst. “Have a look at the rear, 
you know.” 
Around the corner of the house they 
trailed, finally bringing up at the back 
steps. The windows were not only 
dark, but boarded up While they 
stood there amazed and uncertain, the 
raid came down again in torrents, 
worse than before if possible They 
scampered for cover, plunging three 
abreast beneath the same steps that 
had sheltered Penelope and Shaw such 
a short time before. 
“Ouch! Get off my foot!” roared the 
duke, 
“Zounds! Who are you punching, 
demme! dHuilo! What’s this? A door 
and open, as | live!” The trio enter- 
ed the cellar door without ceremony. 
“Thank God. we're out of the rain at 
feast!” 
It was not until they had explored 
the basement and found it utterly 
without signs of human occupancy 
that the trutb of the situation began 
to dawn upon them. Barminster’s 
face was white, and his voice shook as 
he ventured the horrid speculation: 
“The good Lord save us—it’s that 
demmed haunted house Pen was talk- 
ing about!” 
“But ze lights?” queried the count 
“Ghosts!” 
“Let’s get out of this place,” said 
Lord Bazelhurst, moving toward the 
door. “It’s that beastly Renwood 
house. They say he comes back and 
murders her every night or so.” 
“Mon Dieu!” 
“Penelope isn’t here. Let’s move on,” 
agreed the duke readily. But even 
fear of the supernatural was not 
strong enough to drive them out into 
the blinding storm. “I say, look ahead, 
there’s Shaw’s place!” 
{To BE CONTINUED.) 
A Little Bit Late. 
Briggs—Everybody should lay up 
something for a rainy day. Griggs— 
True. But too many wait until it be 
gins to sprinkle before starting to do 
so.—Boston Transcript. 
Gluck’s Operas. 
In opera writing Gluck established 
the tradition of five acts to each work, 
with ballets in the second and fourth 
acts. 
