THE ZEBULON RECORD, ZEBULON, NORTH CAROLINA, FRIDAY, APRIL 22,1938.
SHINING
PALACE
By
CHRISTINE
WHITING
PARMENTER
Copyi'i<|Hl by
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W\l' SI KVICK
THE STORY
CHAPTER I—James Lambert tries In
vain to dissuade hls beautiful foster
daughter, Leonora, from marrying Don
Mason, young ‘‘rolling stone," whom he
likes but of whom he disapproves ac
cording to his conventional business-man
standards. He tells her. “Unless a house
Is founded upon a rock. It will not sur
vive." Leonora suspects the Influence of
her half-brother, Ned, always Jealous of
the girl since the day his father brought
her home from the deathbed of her
mother, abandoned by her Italian bari
tone lover. Don arrives In the midst of
the argument, and Lambert realizes the
frank understanding between the two.
CHAPTER ll—Sitting up late Into the
night, Lambert reviews the whole story,
of Nora as a child, at boarding school,
studying music abroad, meeting Don oft
the return trip. In the morning he de
livers his ultimatum, to give Don a Job
with Ned for a year’s showdown. When
Nora suggests the possibility of running
away with Don, Lambert threatens dis
inheritance. Don agrees to the Job. but
before a month is over, his nerves are
lumpy, he cannot sleep at night, he is
too tired to go out much with Nora, and
admits to her that he feels stifled. Nora
soothes him with her music. He falls
asleep and hls face is more peaceful than
it has been in many weeks.
CHAPTER lll—Nora grows quieter,
and broods over Don, complains to her
father of Ned's spying on him, and de
cides that rather than see Don’s spirit
broken, she will run away. She urges
her father to put an end to the futile ex
periment. James Lambert is obdurate
and angry. Lambert tells her that if
Eton quits she will quit with him; that he
will be through with her. He adds that
if she tires of her bargain it will be use
toss t* come to him for heln
CHAPTER IV—With the coming of
spring, Don is full of unrest and wander
lust, and takes long walks at night. One
evening a poor girl speaks to him, and
in his pity for her, he gives her money.
A car passes at that moment, flashes
headlights and moves on. A terrific heat
wave ushers in the summer, and Nora
refuses to go to the country with her
father. Ned, meanwhile, insinuates to
his father about Don s evenings away
from Nora, but Lambert refuses to lis
ten. Meanwhile, Don broods over the un
denrHninc of his moral*
CHAPTER V—At the height of the
heat wave, when Don is finding every
thing Insupportable. Ned speaks of hav
ing the goods on him, having seen him
give a girl money. When Ned scoffs
at the true story of the episode, Don
knocks him down, and is through. He
calls Nora, who insists on running away
with him to get married, realizing it is
her Job to restore Don's faith in himself.
Her good-by to her father is met with
complete silence
CHAPTER Vl—Don and Nora go to
Maine and settle down in the studio of
Carl Venable, a famous artist friend of
Don’s, whose daughter he saved from
drowning. Nora writes her father. There
is no answer, except her baggage, con
taining her entire wardrobe, and SI,OOO
hidden in a gold mesh bag.
CHAPTER Vll—After a tranquil sum
mer, which partly restores Don’s health.
Don and Nora accept the Venables’ in
vitation to Capri for the winter. Nora
realizes she is to have a baby, but says
nothing to change their plans. She is
also reluctant to go so far from her fa
ther, and writes him of their sailing. At
the dock, Nora, feeling that her father is
there, waves good-by.
CHAPTER VIII—Ned, reading of the
Masons’ sailing, goes to see his father,
and has a talk with Martha, the old
housekeeper, who bemoans Lambert's
stubbornness which is breaking his own
heart and Nora’s. Ned finds his father
in Nora’s old room, and when he offers
to buy her old bed. Lambert asserts it
is not his to sell, but belongs to his
daughter. After Ned's departure. Lam
bert reads Nora's letter again, and won
hat*> i# cow h<m nn the pier.
CHAPTER IX
It is a wise Providence that blinds
our eyes to what lies ahead. Nora
little thought as she stood on the
deck of the Larino with Don’s hand
on hers, that she would be twice a
mother before she saw her native
land again—that she was to descend
into the shadow of death herself—
that she was to watch fine lines
etched by the ruthless hand of Care
gather about Don's happy, sea-blue
eyes—that she was to fight for the
life of a little boy tossing with fever
in far off Cape Town.
Her first son was born in England
on a May night. The winter had
gone well As Carl Venable prom
ised, Don’s “Letters from Capri”
were welcomed with enthusiasm by
the London editor; and the same
letters (supplemented by thumbnail
•ketches by the great Venable)
found a ready market in America.
And living in Italy was inexpen
sive. Nora soon made • home of
the tiny pink villa with its glimpse
of sapphire waters and rocky hill
sides, which Constance Venable had
ready for their arrival.
“This is the most heavenly spot,”
(she wrote her father) “and I’m
fast becoming a thrifty Italian
housewife, or should be if I weren’t
compelled to stop' my work every
few minutes to drink in the beau
ties of this twin-humped camel of
an island, kneeling so gently in
the blue, blue waters of the Medi
terranean. It’s well worth the ef
fort of climbing the million or so
steps that lead to our front door (I
can hear you say, ‘Don’t exagger
ate, Nora. It’s a bad habit!’), to
gaze down on this wealth of flowers
and foliage. Nature was in a lavish
mood when she fashioned Capri. I
wish you could see it, Dad. In fact,
the only thing needed to make me
supremely happy would be to look
out some day and discover that
my handsome father had overcome
his prejudice against every country
not flying the stars and stripes, and
was climbing that rocky path,
though he wouldn’t have breath
enough to kiss me when he reached
the top . . .
“The Venables are only five min
utes walk (perhaps I should say
climb!) away; and if you could look
upon the seascape Ven’s painting
now, you’d mortgage the house to
possess it. Incidentally, they have
a beautiful piano on which they
seem to consider it an honor for me
to practice; so my Angers won’t
grow stiff, as I had feared they
might. There are four young Ven
ables ranging from sixteen to six—
such Jolly youngsters! And their
mother is every bit as good a moth
er to me as she is to them, though
she can’t be fifteen years my sen
ior . .
That was quite true. Nora had
not counted on Constance Venable
in vain. “You say it’s to be in
May?” the older woman questioned
thoughtfully. And then: “We must
take you to England. Not that bam
binos don’t arrive daily in Italy!”
she smiled; “but my Phil was bom
in London and I had a most skilful
doctor. The nurse was a wonder,
too. I’ll write at once and engage
her for you, Nora. I’ll arrange ev
erything. You’ll want a room in a
nursing home; and I’ll write the doc
tor. We were planning to sail for
New York the first of May. I must
tell Carl to put it off another
month.”
And no protest on the part of
Leonora would make her change.
“Os course I shall stay with you!”
she said, almost indignantly. “Don’t
you know that our Alice wouldn’t
be here if it weren’t for Don? He
kept on working over her when ev
erybody told him it was useless.
Nothing you ever ask of us, Nora,
will be too much.’
What Don and Nora never knew,
was that half the expenses incurred
by the arrival of this first son of
theirs, were paid by Carl Venable,
who would have paid them all had it
been possible Jo do so without arous
ing Don’s suspicions. All the young
couple ever knew was that the bills
were far, far less than they’d antici
pated; for Nora was very sick in
deed.
Don sometimes wished he could
forget that nightmare time when the
firm hand of an English doctor
thrust him unceremoniously from
the bare, white room which shel
tered Nora.
“Get outside and sit down, my
dear chap,” he commanded brisk
ly. “She won’t suffer any more.”
He had a very English accent,
that doctor, which made Don won
der if the man were quite efficient!
There was a bench in the corridor
and he sank down on it, very weak
as' to knees, wondering how long
this horrible business would go on;
I
why the universe had to be popu
lated in such a manner; and what
for had they sent him out and let
Connie Venable stay inside?
And after an interval which
seemed hours, there came from be
yond that door a cry like nothing
he had ever heard before, but Don
knew it instantly for the wail of his
first-born. It was then that all the
remaining strength went out of him,
and he wiped the sweat from his
forehead and said: “Thank God it’a
over!" But no one came from
Nora’s room except a nurse. She
had a blanket-wrapped bundle in
her arms,and was hurrying so fast
she didn’t see him; but when she
returned a minute later without
the bundle, Don caught her skirt,
and though his question wouldn’t
seem to come, the girl appeared to
underatand and told him hastily:
“It's s boy. A splendid little boy,
but . . .”
>ith that "but” he was left
alone again. The door closed,
though during the moment it had
opened a strong and sickish scent
of ether drifted out to him. It was
Constance Venable who came next
(after a lifetime, it seemed to Don,
with that nurse’s ominous ’’but”
still ringing in his ears); and with
one look into Connie’s face his
heart stopped beating. Literally,
I
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“What do I care abont a son.”
He told Nora afterwards that he
died for a minute. And then Con
stance sat down and took his hand.
She said: “You’ve a son, Don—a
beautiful little boy—” and he broke
in harshly: “What do I care about
a son? What’s happened to Nora?”
Constance was still stroking his
hand as he’d seen her stroke the
hands of her children when she
wished to calm them. She an
swered: “Nora will be all right,
Don, I don’t care what they say,
she will be all right! There were—
complications something no one
had forseen. Just at the last we
very nearly—lost her; but she will
be all right.”
Then, after another aeon, the door
opened. It was the English doctor
—the man with the accent He
threw one significant glance at Con
nie and laid his hand gently on
Don’s shoulder.
“She needs you, old man,” he
said—just that—but Don knew, and
Constance knew, what he was think
ing; and Connie still held Don’s
hand when he crossed the thresh
old of that quiet room.
He stood there looking down on
Nora, a Nora as white as the bed
on which she lay—as white as mar
ble. Her eyes were closed. Don
could not see her breathe. He won
dered . . . And then the doctor
spoke softly: “I’d take her hand,
my dear fellow, if I were you.”
His voice, despite the accent
which had sounded so la-de-da an
hour before, was very kind. And
because no one had thought to bring
a chair, Don dropped to his knees
beside the bed and took that white,
strangely transparent hand into his
own. He had forgotten the nurses,
the doctors, and Constance Vena
ble. He said (so Connie told him
later), "Come back, Nora. I can’t
go on without you. Come back,
dearest . . .”
So Nora came back, though it was
all of two days before she spoke.
Her first real sentence was: “Have
you cabled to Father?” Her second:
“What have they done to you, Don?
You look five years older!” Her
third. “I think his hair will wave
like yours, darling.”
Not until then did Don feel that
she had come back to stay.
(Continued Next Week)
FOR SALE
Fryinfc-Size Chickens
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Near Wakelon Dormitory
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SPECIAL PRICES
This Week, Bag Lots—Cow
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$1.40 Bu. Screen W ire.
A. G. KEMP—ZEBULON. N. C.
WAKELON THEATRE
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Thursday and Friday, April 21 & 22
ALICE FAYE, TONY MARTIN
MARJORIE WEAVER, JIMMY DURANTE
“SALLY, IRENE AND MARY”
Saturday, April 23 —
808 CUSTER “The Singing Cowboys’’
“SANTAFE RIDES”
Sunday, April 24 —•
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“MERRILY WE LIVE”
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WAYNE MORRIS, PRISCILLA LANE
“LOVE, HONOR AND BEHAVE”
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“DIVORCE OF LADY X”
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see
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