The Roanoke times. [volume] (Roanoke, Va.) 1890-1895, 1893-09-28
THE KISS OF GOLD.
BY KATE JORDAN.
JCopyright 1898 by j. b. Lippncott Company
and published by special arrangement with
thcm.]
CONTINUED from last Sunday.1
CHAPTER x.

by single incident out of the common.
gray as the wastes Of q sea unruffied by
storm. unmarked by the approach of q
SAIL
Another year came, and when the opu-
lent sunlight of early summer was del
uglng with its gold the dusty streets O
coupe stopped one day at the door of the
house in Chelsea square, and man, q
stranger, asked for Virginia Kent
Crossing the threshold of her home, he
had entered her life. Looking into her
eyes, full of unforgotten days, something
of his lost youth had awakened in his
heart that could only die with death.
This man was Richard Monklow. Vir-
ginia had often heard her father speak of
him, especially of his meeting with him
In the auction room the day he had pur-
chased 1.-THE Masker."
The first glance ut him gave an i'm
preston that forever remained. He had
followed the sea and followed it as a
commander. His straight, powerful
shoulders had fearless poise. His glance
was level. soft; his face, its first youth
faded, brown as sere grass. under the
shorn, glittering frost of his hair. His hui
mainly was deep. strong, farreaching,
as one could see who looked into his
eyes, and his smile had warm, bright
sympathy. There were times when he
looked startlingly youthful! with his
white hair. There were unguarded mo-
ments of sadness when the chronicle of
his years hared eloquently-a confession
in every deepened line. Then one knew
he had lived the full life of man in
crowded 40 years, in the sowing and har-
vest time, had garnered barren hopes and
pain, yet without bitterness had tied the
sheaves.
He had come to bring Virginia to her
fathers bedside. The tremors against
which the old man had struggled SO long
had eliminated after an excessive de-
bauch in O paralytic stroke resembling
death. He had drifted to Monklows
rooms and lay where he had fallen.
AS she drove away with him that day
Virginia did not dream that the summer
would be past ere she returned to live
again at Chelsea square, but SO it was.
In Richard Monklow's home, where the
softness and fragrance of modern luxury
were moro caressing than the breath of
the perfect summer mornings she nursed
her father to semblance of health.
Her lonely heart won back little Of
its freshness in these surroundings. Her
lips again voiced joyous laughter.
Friendship that rang like gold had been
generously poured into her life. Her
gratitude went out with equal strength
to Richard Monklow, and to his sister, u
soft voiced, sympathetic woman, who
made her dimly realize what her moth
ers love might have meant to her.
Then she came home again, and the
days settled back to their wonted placidi-
ty, but with this difference-that q bent
and shrunken figure lay Imply in a
great chair, and the energy and pride in
her fathers still stubborn heart could
only be read now i'll the hollow, morose
eyes flashing beneath the puckered
brows.
She stood beside the window one Sep
TENDER morning, q letter crushed be-
tween her hot hands. A mild rain was
drifting like tangled skeins through the
gray air. Beyond lay the college grounds.
vista of damp greenness.
She opened the crumpled sheet, smooth
Ing out its creasos almost tenderly. Her
lips quivered like child's.
"You know what l am going to saw"
she read again. During tho summer
hat he's. been like.no other to me, many
times the words Ionged 10 spcali have
trembled upon my lips, but something in
your eyes always silenced me. Virginia.
lean be silent no longer. l love you so!
The years are dark before you dear, but
l would keep you safe. No harm, no
pain, should touch you. Too old and
sad, perhaps, you think me- The years
have left their ashes on my hair. am
asking too much when I ask for your
youth Yes, yes, know. But, oh! child,
your eyes lured me to dream again. You
woke my poor, chilled soul, and it is
yours. 1t but responded to your uncon-
scious call. Turn from me, if you must,
and will put away my dream, but my
soul is forever yours. You possess it,
and would not have it back. But. oh.
IT you would come to me, Virginia."
How the words awoke all the old pain!
She drew her breath in hard, the lips fell
over her heavy eyes, and reading Rich
ard Monklow's letter she thought of
Tom. These words of searching strength.
quivering with the rejuyenating breath
OF love, had been the lever that rolled
the stone from the old grave, and sine
stood looking at memories she had be-
ieyed were crucifed.
my soul is forever yours. would
not have it back"
The words were in her mind. She
seemed speaking them in the darkness to
that other who had not listened. Was
1t so always? Must one speak and one
not hearP One live, the other wait?
You have q very interesting letter
there, Virginia. You haven't made a