The Providence news. (Providence [R.I.]) 1891-1906, 1893-09-14
CHAPTER X.

A year went by unmarked for Virginia
u by single incident out of the common,
gray as the wastes Of sea unruffled by
storm, unmarked by the approach of a
sail.
Another year came, and when the opu-
lent sunlight of early summer was del
uging with its gold the dusty streets
coupe stopped one day at the door of the
house in Chelsea square, and man, a
stranger, asked for Virginia Kent.
N 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-
giuia had often heard her father speak Of
him, especially Of his meeting with him
in the auction room the day he had pur-
chased "The Masker."
The first glance at 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 yonth
faded, brown as sere grass, under the
shorn, glittering frost of his hair. His hu-
manity was deep, strong, farreaching,
as one could see who looked into his
eyes, and his smile had a 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 a
scrowded 40 years, in the sowing and har-
vest time, had garnered barren hopes and
pain, yet without bitterness had tied the
eheaves.
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 paralytic stroke resembling
death. He had drifted to Monklow's
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 Monllow'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 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,
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 placidi-
lty, but with this difference--that bent
and shrunken figure lay Imply in
great chair, and the energy and pride in
her fathers still stubborn heart could
only be read now in the hollow, moroso
eyes flashing beneath the puckered
brows.
She stood beside the window one Sep
tember morning, a letter crushed be-
tween her hot hands. A mild rain was
drifting like tengled skeins through the
gray air. Beyond lay the college grounds,
vista Of damp greenness.
She eopened the crumpled sheet, smooth
ing ont its creases almost tenderly. Her
lips quivered like childs.
"You know what am going 10 say"
she read again. During the summer
that has been like no other 10 me. many
times the words longed to speak have
trembled upon my lips, but something In
your eyes always siIenced me. Virginia.
lean be silent no longer. love you so.
The years are dark before you, dear, but
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 ask for your
youth. Yes, yes, know. But, ohl child,
your eyes lurcd me 20 dream again. You
woke my poor, chilled soul, and II is
yours. 1t bat responded to your uncon-
fcious call. Turn from me. IL You must.
and I viii put away my dream, but my