Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1893-10-15
CHAPTER x.

by a single incident cut Of the common,
gray as the waists OF sea unruffisd by
a storm, unmarked by the approach OF
sail.
Another year came, and when the
opulent sunlight Of early summer was
deluging with it's gold the dusty streets
a coupe stopped one day at the door Of
the house in Chelsea square, and man,
a stranger, asked for Virginia Kent.
Crossing the threshold Of her home,
he had entered her life. Looking into
her eyes, full of unforgotten days, some
thing Of his lost youth had awakened
in his heart that could only die with
| death.
The man was Richard Monklow.
Virginia had often heard her father
speak of him, especially Of his meeting
with him In the auction room the day
he had purchased THE Masker."
The first glance at him gave an i'm
preston that forever remained. He had
followed the sea and followed 1t as 8
commander. His straight, powerful
shoulders had a fearless poise. His
glance was level soft; his face, its first
youth faded, brown as sere grass, under
the shorn, gittering frost OF his hair.
His humanity was deep, strong. far
reaching, as one could see who 10 red
into his eyes, and his smile had warm,
bright sym pathy. There were times
when he looked startlingly youthful
with his white hair. There were I'M
guarded moments OF sadness when the
chronicle Of his years flared eloquently
"a confession in every deepened line.
Then he knew he had lived the full life
OF a man In crowded forty years, In
the sowing and harvest time, had gar
nered barren hopes and pain, yet with
out 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
debauch in 3 paralytic stroke resem-
bling death. He had drifted to Monk
lows rooms and he lay whore he had
fallen.
AS she drove away with him that day
Virginia did not dream that the sum-
mer would be past ere she returned TO
was. In Richard Monklow's home,
where the softness and fragrance OF
modern luxury were more caressing
than the breath OF the perfect summer
mornings, she nursed her father to a
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, a
soft voiced, sympathetic woman, who
made her dimly realize what her moth
er's love might have meant to her.
Then she came home again, and the
days settled back to their wonted pla-
cidity, but with this difference-that a
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 in the hollow, mo-
rose eyes flashing beneath the puckered
brows.
She stood beside the window one Sep
TENDER morning, letter crushed be-
tween 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,
smoothed out its creases almost tender
ly. Her lips quivered like chIld's.
"You know what am going to say"
she read again. During the summer
that has been like no other TO me,
many times the words l longed 10 speak
have trembed upon my lips,
but something in your eyes
always silenced me. Virginia, 1 can
be silent no longer. / 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 l ask for
your youth. Yes, yes, l know. But,
oh! child, your eyes lured me TO dream
again. You woke my poor, chilled
soul, and 1t is yours. It but responded
to your unconscious 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 1t
lack. But, oh, II you would come to
me, Virginia"
How the words aWoke all the old
pain! She drew her breath In hard,
the lids fell over her heavy syes, and
reading Richard Monklow's letter she
thought of Tom. These words Of
searching strength, quivering with the
rejuvenating breath of love, had been
the lever that rolled the stone from the
old grave, aud she stood looking at
memories she had believed we're cruel
fed.
MY soul Is forever yours. 1 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 it so always? Must one speak and
one not hear? One live, the other
walt?
"You have a very interesting letter
there, Virginia. You haven't made a
sound for half an hour" And at her
fathers voice, reduced now to petu
liant piping that anger made shrill. she
started guiltily and thrust it in her
pocket.
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