The Douglas independent. [volume] (Roseburg, Or.) 187?-1885, 1878-07-27
A MANS STORY.


I loved her, that woman you
see going down the street, with
the child clinglng to haud. You
..ook at me wonderingly, for you
have probably come to the same
conclusion that most of my friend
have, that I never loved any wo-
man. But / tell you, Rothernel,
| loved that women as [ shall
never love any cne else IN this
wide world. So you. see [ have
my romance hidden away from
curious eyes, as we'll as the rest
of you. 1 sometimes wonder if
the;e can be life so prosale that
it does not have q touch OF ro>
nance in 1t somewhere. I think
not. But the world does not see
it and concludes 1t does not exist.
Let me tell you about the ro>
nance, Rothermel. [ know you
well enough to be quite sure you
will not tell it TO any one. 1t
would not interest them, if You
were to do So, and there is some>
something about it, as there
is always about our sorrows,
which prompts me 10 keep it out
of sight OF all but those who can
understand me.
[ met Alice Graem at the
White mountains SIX years ago,
and / Lived her from the very
first time I saw her. There was
something about her which SEEM
ed different f ON any woman |
had ever met before. She is the
first and only woman who ever
could set my heart III a futter By
her glance Or the touch OF her
hand. If you ever love a woman
as | loved her, you will under,
stand what [ msan when | tell
you that, that summer was the
summer time of lite aud all the
worl,l to me. The mountains
seemed to have caught that eight
that never was on land or sea,
that ! heard you reading to Miss
Flnlay about last uight. The sky
was tender as her eyes. The sun
shine seemed to have a new
brightness. The world was new
world to me, and all because /
loved Alice Graem.
I saw her every day, and vas
with her great deal. we walk
cd together in the wild, delights
fui oath that wound about the
feet of the mountains; what we
said to each other I cannot tell,
but | know that these long hours
spent with her in the silence aud
grandeur OF the old rocks and the
trees, with far above ug the great
h1lls, whose SUBMITS seemed to
pierce heaven itself, We're the
sweetest hours I ever knew.
The summer went by. and |
did not tell her that | loved her.
[ could not. Of.e and often the
words came to my lips bnt I con d
not utter them. A wild, foolish
tear would strike me dumb.
[ have wondered often, since
then. why felt as I did, when !
tried to tell her the truth. Il
was not because / was afraid of
her frowning on my wooing, for
/ was sure that she loved ne. |
had read 1t In her eyes, and IN the
teIl>tale color which would rise to
her cheeks, sometimes, at word
or look OF mine. But, for all 1
had nothing to fear and every
thing to encourage me-, | was a
pit.tul coward, and thelove [ had
to offer was kept to myself.
But I told my self that there
was no use in hnrrying matters.
I would see her BY and by, when
the winter came, and that would
be time enough.
The winter came and we met
again. | shall never forget that
meeting any more than I shall
forget our parting. It was at a
party. | saw her standing apart
from the crowd, and went toward
her. She saw rae coming, and
her eyes lit up as mornlng>glcry