Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1893-12-02
her deep eyes an expression of fear.

her deep eyes an expression of fear.
But she loved the old man. Her pity
for what she termed his misfortunes
made her tender to his faults. Not so
Tom, who had watched the pitiful little
tragedy for two years. This exhausted
spendthriii. this cold materialist with a
dreamer's eyes, this autocrat with voice
of honey, saave, dainty, well hammered,
he disliked rs much as his native genial
ity permitted.
Tom threw himself on a lounge and
shading his moody eyes from the lamp
light watched Virginia as she went light
ly from cupboard TO table, noted the
streak of wavering pink staining her
cheek, the eagerneSS with which she hur-
ried to anticipate her fathers maudlin
requests.
"Ah, Virginia, how stoical you are;
how steadfnst! how tender and passion
Ate!' he thought, a deep. warm pity rush.
ing into his heart.
And he had been impatient with her
for telling him an unpalatable truth,
had ragged ut one more defeat and turned
from her in bitterness. He had dared
to do this! Had he forgotten how often
he had seen her smile in the face Of de-
spair?
His repentance, like all his moods, was
quick and intense, the desire to make
amends tormenting, unappeasable. He
wanted to tell her what brute he felt
himself. He was conscious of a sudden
warm impulse to fold her in his arms
and comfort her.
The physical helplessness of woman!
What n lovable misfortune il must al
ways seem to a strong man! Every move
ment of Nirginia's young figure, the sub
dued expression of Aer proud little
mouth, the dauntless pose of her head
appealed to him, awaking the instinct of
protection until it throbbed an impor-
tunatc fire in his heart
III l could help her!" he thought, with
savage longing.
While regarding her more intently
than he knew, her eyes, those lovely eyes
more green than brown and tonight
more golden than green. met his in a
questioning. entreating fashion, and the
look stirred him strangely. y warm flood
poured over his heart. His veins pulsed
heavily with an incomprehensible fever
never known before, and the pain of it
was nervous and sweet.
As he had felt for brief moment when
he stood by her side in the mysterious
twilight, SO he felt now, only the strange
ness, the pain, the delight, were intensi-
fed a hundredfold. He drew his breath
with feeling of awe
After dinner he sat down to read. 1t
was useless. His hcartbeats We're hot
and thick. y medley of indefinite spec
ulations crept between him and the
printed page.
He threw himself upon his bed and
tried to think what he should do, now
that he had forsworn the ministry and
the possibility of success as a dramatist
had shriveled under that days blight.
But that was useless too. He started to
his elbow and looked with excited eyes
into the darkness.
He felt he was not alone. 1t was as if
a presence stood at his side, new truth
upon its lips, gift within its hand.
do You not know me- voice of crys-
tai sweetness seemed TO whisper. Il
come tOall men sooner or later. Some find
me early and some when youth is gone
| come by strange ways. Iweave strange
spells. The heart that once feels my
lava touch is never the same again
There is naught TO withstand me- For
am Love"