Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1906-06-30

He could not have found a more congenial
task upon all the continents.
There can be no Journey more pleasant
than that which carries US stage upon
the road to our ambitions Every event OF
the wayside Is then adventure to us;
every inn at which we rest seems to offer
us ambrosia. Here was Gavin Ord, at 10
o clock of the night, as good walker upon
the road to Melbourne Hall as any trained
athlete out with the lark for a morning
breather. Five or ten miles to go, 1t mat
tered nothing to him. He had forgotten al
ready the five hours in stuffy traini his
mind was set upon the beauties or the
moonlit landscape, the fine wooded slopes
of the hills, the twinkling lights in the hol-
lows. the dark towers OF the scattered
churches-more than all, upon the distant
goal and the reception which would await
him there.
How earnestly had the old earl implored
him to go to the manor!
Here is the finest Tudor house In Eng
land" he had written; you can save It.
Make II your home and learn to love 1t as
l do. They tell me that in your leisure you
ride and shoot. / will introduce you to the
finest fencer in Derbyshire. and you shall
tell me what you think I the pheasants.
Don't expect to find house party l see
few people. I desire to see fewer. My
daughter will play tennis with you, and, II
you are a golfer. there lean, long wo-
men on the hills who talk Of nothing else
but hazards and whins. These preach SER
mons in stones. Come and hear them, and
my motor shall show you Derbyshire But,
above ALL become the servant of the Man
or, every true artist must be-"
The letter of a man, Gavin said to him
self when he read it. He liked il best be-
cause there was no gilt-edge of money
upon it. The earls prodigious wealth had
been the one blot hitherto upon the fair
panorama of his desires. There will be a
host of fiunkies in red breeches," he had
thought, "and every one of them Will look
the question, How much is he good forH' y
IL. T. fh1t - Vol
bourne Hall had come to the estate and
the title almost by accident late in life,
and after an adventurous career which men
spoke of openly in clubs, but rarely in pri-
vate life. A wild man who had been every
thing from a discredited attache at Bukha-
rest to equally unsuccessful miner in
Australia-this was the third Earl OF Mel
bourne.
And what of his daughter, the Lady
Evelyn?
There were but wild fables spoken about
this unknown girl and the secluded life
her father compelled her to live at the
manor house Some said she was the
daughter OF a Roumanian gypsy whom the
earl had married after his disgrace at Buk-
harest. Others declared that her dead
mother had been an actress who had en-
ioN ed a brief spell of notoriety in Vienna
and thence had been driven out by the in
fatuation of an archduke. None knew the
truth, but there were many to suggest what
the truth might be. Openly and scandal
ously as the world VIII, idle tongues limited
that the earl must have some good reason
for his eccentric conduct There were even
stories that the Lady Evelyn was unmis-
Jakably gypsy girl herself AS brown as
n walnut chiffonier,'' said little Backbiter
at the club The fellow had never been
within Atty miles of Melbourne Hail. and
if he had met the earl, he would have gone
down on his marrow bones to him.
Gavin Ord recalled some OF these stories
he the tOrtnOn9
the solitary village still farther behind
him. They did not interest him. He had
gone into Derbyshire to see not a woman
but a house Delight that he should be
treasure as Melbourne Hall went with him
upon his way. He must be now, he
thought, but mile from the manor gates.
The road had become narrow and closely
bordered by leafy elms. No longer could
he see the moonlit heights the twinkling
lights in the valleys. There were no kindly
beams TO guide his steps. In weird dark
ness he followed the dusty track and
pressed on toward the manor The rustiing
of leaves sounded almost like a human
voice In his ears. He liked to think that
nature was still awake and speaking to
him.
SO II Is evident that he possessed that
| quasi-dvine attribute-imagination His
| mood of thought responded instantly to
| any change. atmospheric or of the light of
! the heavens. The sunshine could ever
! build temples OF success for him; the twi-
! light rarely failed to bring the question.
| What is the good OF 1t ali. of ambition and
| the stress and strife of the arenas7 In the
| night he would awake to remember that ali
| men must die In the daytime he would
| laugh at death and all the vain problems
| of the hereafter That Melbourne Hall. APP
| preached in this gloom Of a summer
| night. should provoke no evil thoughts but
J only those OF good omen seemed a new wit
| ness TO the pleasure with which he con-
| templated Ills stay there. He would ac-
| complish something amid those ancient
| stones by which men should remember him
| The aspiration Quickened his step. A turn
| of the road revealed the lodge gates, with
lighted window and q pleasant cottage
/ He entered Lord Melbourne's park and dis
cerned the Hall. dim and stately and
\ starred with lights across the little river
| which stood for nioat before it's walls.
| This, then. was his goal, this superb
fabric which the genius of the mediaeval
| age had hedCeataed to England and to
posterity. No words could rightly have
| described the emstions which stirred his
! imagination as he stood TO contemplate the
/ jagged line ef luilding and battiement
| chapel. tower and stable. which his hand
should snatch from the greedy hand OF