Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1878-08-10
a LOVE STORY.
BY EpEN =. RExF So1

/ loved her-that woman you see
going down the street, with the
child clinging to her hand. You
look at me wonderingly, for you
have probably come to the same
conclusion that most of my friends
have, that never loved any wom-
an. But / tell you, RotherInel, /
loved that woman as / shall never
love any one else in this wide world.
So you see / have my romance hid
den away from curious eyes, as well
as the rest of you. l sometimes
wonder if there can be a life so pro-
sale that it does not have touch of
romance in it somewhere. think
not. But the world does not see it
and concludes it does not exist.
Let me tell youabout my romance,
Rothermel. l know you well en-
ough to be quite sure you will not
tell it to any one. 1t would not in
terest them, if you were to do so,
and there is something about it, as
there is about our sorrows, which
prompts me to keep it out of sight
of all but those who can understand
me.
l met Alice Graeme at the White
Mountains six years ago, and L.
loved her from the very first time l
saw her. There was something
about her which seemed different
from any woman / had ever met be-
fore. She is the first and only wOm-
an who ever could set my heart in
a flutter by a glance or the touch of
her hand. If you ever love a Wom-
an as loved her, you will under
stand what | mean when tell you
that that summer was the summer
time of life and all the world to me.
The mountains seemed to have
caught that " light that never was
on land or sea-" that l heard you
reading to Miss Finley about last
night. The sky was tender as her
eyes. The sunshine seemed to have
a new brightness. The world was
a new world to me, and all because
/ loved Alice Graeme.
/ saw her every, day, and was
with her a great deal. We walked
together in the wild, delightful path
that wound about the feet of the
mountains. What we said to each
other / cannot tell, but know those
long hours spent with her in the ST.
ence and grandeur of the old rocks
and the trees, with far above us the
great hills, WhOsesummits seemed to
pierce heaven itself, were the sweet
est hours / ever knew.
The summer went by, and / did
not tell her that / loved her. i
could not. Often and often the
words came to my lips, but / could
not utter them. A wild, foolish
fear would strike me dumb.
/ have often wondered, since
then, why / felt as l did, when /
tried to tell her the truth. 1t was
not because / was afraid of her
frOwning on my wOOing, for / was
sure that she loved me. had read
it in her eyes, and in the tell-tale
color which would rise to her cheek
sometimes, at word or look of mine.
But, for all 1 had nothing to fear
and everything to encourage me, l
was a pitiful coward, and the love
that l had to offer was kept to my
self.
But I told myself that there was
no use hurrying matters. / would
see her by and by, when the winter
came, and that would be time en-
cugh.
The winter came and we met
again. I shall never forget that
meeting any more than / shall for
! get our parting. 1t was at a party.
l saw her standing apart from the
crowd, and went toward her. She
saw me coming, and her eyes lit up
as a morning-glOry does when the
sun strikes it suddenly. Her face
was radiant for one moment. Then
her eyes wavered and fell, and she
did not look up until l was close by
her and held out my hand with a
few words of greeting. My heart
was in flutter of gladness. She was
near-and / loved heri
After that we met often. Once /
came near showing her my heart,
and would to God | had done so,
ROthermel! / was very near heav-
en-the gates were almost open
but I dared not venture in, and
they will never unclose for me again.
Don't accuse me of talking senti-
ment, for / am not. IfyOu ever love
a woman you will find that her love
is to you on earth what heaven will
be when you are dead. / believe
| that. So will you.
/ said that | came near showing
her my heart. We were alone.
had been reading some poem to her,
and its story of love had carried my
heart along on It's tide of passion,
until I felt that it was my own stO-
ry. / shut the book and turned to
her with my heart upon my lips.
Her eyes were strangely tender with
the feeling which the poem / had
been reading had awakened in her
breast. She smiled into my eyes
| touched her hand as you might
touch a rOse-and was dumb
If had only spoken! But that
wild, cursed fear was upon me, and
the happiness of a lifetime slipped
from my grasp, and was lost for
ever. ...
did not see her again Ormonths.
She had gone South to visit some
friends. Il
But / dreamed of her in my day
dreams, and laid my plans for the
future, and not one plan was woven
in which she was not the central
thought. When she came back i
would speak out. would daily no
longer. s
By and by heard that she had a
lover in that Southern city where
her friends lived. wild fear sprang
up in my heart. What if / should
lose her, after all? But the thought
that she loved me quieted me.
/ waited anKiOusly for her coming
| home. She came at last, and they
told me that she did not come
alone.
would go to her. | would speak
out now. | would make my happi-
/ ness sure.
went to her. She met me with
a touch of the old brightness in her
face. Then it grew pale, and fam
cied that she was i'll at ease. She
did not seem like her old self. True,
| / could call the color to her cheek
for a moment, at some low word of
mine, and her eyes would light up
with the old tenderness, but a swift
shadow would fall and hide it all.
At last | spoke out:
"Alice," l said, 81 love you. I
have come to tell you so at last"
Her face grew pale as death. Her
eyes filled with a darker shadow.
"Oh, why have you told me this
noun Orj che Oria1 IF Won bod OnIvy