The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1891-02-18
JOHN DARCYS ONE LOVE,

JOHN DARCYS ONE LOVE.
Ten years ago to-day the light of
love and hope went out of my heart.
Each succeeding anniversary brings
no abatement, but rather an increase
of the pain and sorrow 1 have borne so
silently within my soul.
In all those long years no gleam of
sunshine has for an instant frightened
my path. The world, which calls me
misanthrope, hurls its darts in baff1ed
curiosity against the armor of pride
that shields me from its sting, and in
my heart still RACES the conflict of the
good and evil powers.
never loved but once; I could not,
for when opened the chambers of nv
heart and enthroned therein the object
of my passion, it was for lifetime. I
do not think that those happy men to
whom it is given the power to love
deeply more than once can even i'm
agine the wild delirium and intensity
of my one love.
was boy when I met Grace Hun
ter, and. seeing her frequently, 1 first
admired, then wondered at, and finally
ended by worshiping her.
In figure she was rather below the
medium height, but possessed form
so perfect that she lost the appearance
of being under-sized. Her hair was of
the dusky golden hue of a summer twi-
light, features of regular type, and
a mouth whose sweetness of express
sion made one forget the weakness be-
trayed in her chin. Her eyes were
the one beauty / have never seen
equaled by woman. They were of
deep blue, with an expression so in
tense and magnetic that would gaze
into them for hours, and live life
apart from earth. In conversation,
she was at times sparkling, and with
an insight into the heart of man that
betrayed mind of power and origin
ality.
The one passion of her life was
music. Endowed with voice not re-
markable for its power, but only for
its magnetism and sympathetic quail
tiles, she would move to tears any be-
ing with a soul; and herself often melt
into flood of tears. caused by an en-
joyment so perfect and ecstatic as to
be almost painful. Her piano was her
refuge for the relief of her emotions,
and one who knew the workings of
her heart could read the thoughts that
were expressing her in the notes that
came almost like human voice from
under her hands.
I was a frequent visitor at her
fathers house, and it was but few
months ere l knew that l loved that
woman better, far better, than my life.
One morning, in a large assemblage
of people, at reception, chanced to
turn and see at distance Grace lean-
ing on the arm of a gentleman, who
seemed to be perfectly oblivious of the
fact that many people were watching
the evident fascination which she ex-
ercised over him. A quick pang of
jealousy shot through my heart, and l
turned to leave the rooms.
As passed group of ladies stand
ing in the doorway, a single sentence
that reached my ears almost stunned
me, and / clutched at the door foE sup
port.
Il hope Grace will be happy with
him!"
These words went through my brain
during all the watches of the night.
Ere nightfall the next day was on my
way to foreign climes.
l look back on those days of absence
from this distance and wonder at the
passive giving of myself up to men,
ory. Every word or look I had re-
ceived from her / gloated over and fed
my love upon. Her bright face was
with me on the moonlight Rhine. Her
words rang in nay ears above the
ominous thunders of the Valley of the
Chamounix.
Wearied at length of the Continent,
once more 1 turned my face home
ward. I had no definite idea of my
course after my return, but the long
ing to be near Grace once more was
unconquerable.
The evening of my return l bent my
footsteps involuntarily toward Grace's
house. The door stood open. and,
hearing the notes of Bethoven's moon
light sonata, passed into the parlor.
At one end of the room lamps burned
dimly; at the other extremity, Grace
was seated at the piano, her fingers
sweeping the keys mechanically, and
her whole soul bound up in the music
and the moonlight, which wrapped her
up in cloud of glory.
Maddened with her beauty and the
thought of losing her, without word
of warning, 1 caught her to my heart,
and poured out flood of passionate
words of love. She struggled from my
arms, and looked at me with an ex-
preston of tender sadness shall re-
member until death.
God knows, John Darcy, 1 would
suffer much to save you from the pain
/ must inflict on you tonight"
And burying her head in her hands,
she wept long and bitterly. Then,
controlling her emotions, she told me
how she had loved a man who was un-
| worthy, and when her respect for him
was gone her love died with it. Since
that time she had seemed to lose the
ability to love again.
And, rising, she laid her little white
hand on my heated forehead, and,
| gazing into my eyes, said: John
Darcy, admire and respect you more
| than any man 1 know, but 1 do not
think that 1 love you and we must
| part. 'Tis better so. Through life l
Shall be your true friend. God grant
you the happiness and peace l wish for
YOU"
And in an instant she was gone.
| Before the next morning dawned
was miles on my way to my birthplace.
1 sought for happiness where my boy
ish dreams had given it in the past,
and spent the succeeding weeks in q
life of days without yesterdays, that
died into nights without morrows."
could not think was so prostrated by
] the blow, and l was only conscious ol
dull sense of suffering.