The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

"The panel where Cousin Ona's picture used to hang, has been filled by one of Meissonier's most interesting studies; and though I never thought Mr. Sylvester particularly fond of the French style of art, he seems very well satisfied with the result. I cannot understand how Cousin Ona can regard the misfortune to her portrait so calmly. I think it would break my heart to see a husband look with complacency on any picture, no matter how exquisite, that took the place of my own, especially if like her's, it was painted in my bridal days. I sometimes wonder if those days are as sacred to the memory of husband and wife as I have always imagined them to be."

"Why does Cousin Ona never speak of Grotewell, and why, if by chance I mention the name, does she drop her eyes and a shadow cross the countenance of Mr. Sylvester?"

"There is a word Mr. Sylvester uses in the most curious way; it is fuss. He calls everything a fuss that while insignificant in size or character has power either to irritate or please. A fly is a fuss; so is a dimple in a girl's cheek or a figure that goes wrong in accounts. I have even heard him call a child, 'That dear little fuss.' Bertram unconsciously imitates his uncle in this peculiar mannerism and is often heard alluding to this or that as a fuss of fusses. Indeed they say this use of the word is a peculiarity of the Sylvester family."

"I think from the way Mr. Sylvester spoke yesterday, that he must have experienced some dreadful trouble in his life. We were walking in the wards of a hospital – that is, Miss Stuyvesant, Mr. Sylvester and myself – when some one near us gave utterance to the trite expression, 'O it will heal, but the scar will always remain.' 'That is a common saying,' remarked Mr. Sylvester, 'but how true a one no one realizes but he who carries the scar.'"

"It may be imagination or simply the effect of increased appreciation on my part, but it does seem as if Miss Stuyvesant grew lovelier and more companionable each time that I meet her. She makes me think of a temple in which a holy lamp is burning. Her very silences are eloquent, and yet she is never distraite but always cheerful and frequently the brightest of the company. But it is a brightness without glitter, a gentle lustre that delights you but never astonishes. I meet many sweet girls in the so-called heartless circles of society, but none like her. She is my white lily on which a moonbeam rests."

"This house contains a mystery, as Ona is pleased to designate the room at the top of the house to which Mr. Sylvester withdraws when he desires to be alone. And indeed it is a sort of Bluebeard's chamber, in that he keeps it rigidly under lock and key, allowing no one to enter it, not even his wife. The servants declare that no one but himself has ever crossed its threshold, but I can scarcely believe that. Ona has not, but there must surely be some trusty person to whom he allots the care of its furniture. Am I only proving myself to be a true member of my sex when I allow that I cannot hinder my own curiosity from hovering about a spot so religiously guarded? Yet what should we see if its doors were thrown open? A study surrounded with books it displeases him to see misplaced, or a luxurious apartment fitted with every appointment necessary to rest and comfort him when he comes home tired from business."

"I never saw Mr. Sylvester angry till to-day. By some inadvertence he went down town without locking the door of his private room, and though he returned immediately upon missing the key from his pocket, he was barely in time to prevent Cousin Ona from invading the spot he has always kept so sacred from intrusion. I was not present and of course did not hear what was said, but I caught a glimpse of his face as he left the house, and found it quite sufficient to assure me of his dissatisfaction. As for Ona, she declares he pulled her back as if she had been daring the plague. 'I do not expect to find five beautiful wives hanging up there by their necks,' concluded she with a forced laugh, 'but I shall yet see the interior of that room, if only to establish my prerogative as the mistress of this house.'

"I do not now feel as if I wished to see it."

"There is one thing that strikes me as peculiar in Miss Stuyvesant, and that is, that as much pleasure as she seems to take in my society when we meet, she never comes to see me in Mr. Sylvester's house. For a long time I wondered over this but said nothing, but one day upon receiving a second invitation to visit her, I mentioned the fact as delicately as I could, and was quite distressed to observe how seriously she took the rebuke, if rebuke it could be called. 'I cannot explain myself,' she murmured in some embarrassment; 'but Mr. Sylvester's house is closed against me. You must not ask me to seek you there or expect me to do myself the pleasure of attending Mrs. Sylvester's receptions. I cannot. Is that enough for me to say to my dearest friend?' I hardly knew what to reply, but finally ventured to inquire if she was restrained by any fact that would make it undignified in me to seek her society and enjoy the pleasures she is continually offering me. And she answered with such a cheerful negative I was quite reassured. And so the matter is settled. Our friendship is to be emancipated from the bonds of etiquette and I am to enjoy her company whenever I can. To-morrow we are going to take our first ride in the park. The horses have been bought, and much to Cousin Ona's satisfaction, the groom has been hired."

"I was told something the other day, of a nature so unpleasant that I should not think of repeating it, if you had not expressly commanded me to confide to you everything that for any reason produced an effect upon me in my new home. My informant was Sarah, the somewhat gossiping woman whom Ona has about her as seamstress and maid. She said – and she had spoken before I could prevent her – that the way Mrs. Sylvester took on about her mourning at the time of little Geraldine's death was enough to wear out the patience of Job. She even went so far as to tell the dressmaker that if she could not have her dress made to suit her she would not put on mourning at all! Aunty, can you wonder that Mr. Sylvester looks so bitterly sombre whenever mention is made of his child? He loved it, and its own mother could worry over the fit of a dress while his bereaved heart was breaking! I confess I can never feel the same indulgence towards what I considered the idiosyncrasies of a fashionable beauty again. Her smooth white skin makes me tremble; it has never flushed with delight over the innocent smiles of her firstborn."

"Mr. Sylvester is very polite to Cousin Ona and seems to yield to her wishes in everything. But if I were she I think my heart would break over that very politeness. But then she is one who demands formality even from the persons of her household. I have never seen him stoop for a kiss or beheld her even so much as lay her hand on his shoulder. But I have observed him wait on her at moments when he was pale from weariness and she flushed with long twilight reclinings before her sleepy boudoir fire."

"There are times when I would not exchange my present opportunities for any others which might be afforded me. General – dined here to-day, and what a vision of a great struggle was raised up before me by his few simple words in regard to Gettysburg. I did not know which to admire most, the military bearing and vivid conversation of the great soldier, or the ease and dignity with which Mr. Sylvester met his remarks and answered each glowing sentence. General – spoke a few words to me. How gentle these lion-like men can be when they stoop their tall heads to address little children or young women!"

"What a noble-hearted man Mr. Sylvester is! Mr. Turner in speaking of him the other night, declared there is no one in his congregation who in a quiet way does so much for the poor. 'He is especially interested in young men,' said he, 'and will leave his own affairs at any time to aid or advise them.' I knew Mr. Sylvester was kind, but Mr. Turner's enthusiasm was uncommon. He evidently admires Mr. Sylvester as much as every one else loves him. And he is not alone in this. Almost every day I hear some remark made of a nature complimentary to my benefactor's character or ability. Even Mr. Stuyvesant who so seldom appears to notice us girls, once interrupted a conversation between Cicely and myself to inquire if Mr. Sylvester was quite well. 'I thought he looked pale to-day,' remarked he, in his dry but not unkindly way, and then added, 'He must not get sick; he is too valuable to us.' This was a great deal for Mr. Stuyvesant to say, and it caused a visible gratification to Mr. Sylvester when I related it to him in the evening. 'I had rather satisfy that man than any other I know,' declared he. 'He is of the stern old-fashioned sort, and it is an honor to any one to merit his approval. I did not tell him that I had also heard Mr. Stuyvesant observe in a conversation with some business friend of his, that Edward Sylvester was the only speculator he knew in whom he felt implicit confidence. Somehow it always gives me an uncomfortable feeling to hear Mr. Sylvester alluded to as a speculator. Besides since he has entered the Bank, he has I am told, entirely restricted himself to what are called legitimate operations."

"Mr. Sylvester came home with a dreadful look on his face to-day. We were standing in the hall at the time the door opened, and he went by us without a nod, almost as if he did not see us. Even Ona was startled and stood gazing after him with an anxiety such as I had never observed in her before, while I was conscious of that sick feeling I have sometimes experienced when he came upon me suddenly from his small room above, or paused in the midst of the gayest talk, to ask me some question that was wholly irrelevant and most frequently sad.

"'He has met with some heavy loss,' murmured his wife, glancing down the handsome parlors with a look such as a mother might bestow upon the face of a sick child. But I was sure she had not sounded his trouble, and in my impetuosity was about to fly to his side when we saw him pause before the image of Luxury that stands on the stair, look at it for a moment with a strange intentness, then suddenly and with a gesture of irrepressible passion, lift his arm as if he would fell it from its place. The action was so startling, Ona clutched my sleeve in terror, but he passed on and in another moment we heard him shut the door of his room.

"Would he be down to dinner? that was the next question. Ona thought not; I did not dare to think. Nevertheless it was a great relief to me when I saw him enter the dining-room with that set immovable look he sometimes wears when Ona begins one of her long and rambling streams of fashionable gossip. 'It is nothing,' flashed from his wife's eyes to mine, and she lapsed at once into her most graceful self, but she nevertheless hastened her meal and I was quite prepared to observe her follow him, as with the polite excuse of weariness, he left the table before desert. I could not hear what she asked him, but his answer came distinctly to my ears from the midst of the library to which they had withdrawn. 'It is nothing in which you have an interest, Ona. Thank heaven you do not always know the price with which the splendors you so love are bought.' And she did not cry out, 'O never pay such a price for any joy of mine! Sooner than cost you so dear I would live on crusts and dwell in a garret.' No, she kept silence, and when in a few minutes later I joined her in the library, it was to find on her usually placid lips, a thin cool smile that struck like ice to my heart, and made it impossible for me to speak.

"But the hardest trial of the day was to hear Mr. Sylvester come in at eleven o'clock – he went out again immediately after dinner – and go up stairs without giving me my usual good-night. It was such a grief to me I could not keep still, but hurried to the foot of the stairs in the hopes he would yet remember me and come back. But instead of that, he no sooner saw me than he threw out his hand almost as if he would push me back, and hastened on up the whole winding flight till he reached the refuge of that mysterious room of his at the top of the house.

"I could not go back to Ona after that – she had been to make a call somewhere with a young gentleman friend of hers; – yes on this very night had been to make a call – but I took advantage of the late hour to retire to my own room where for a long time I lay awake listening for his descending step and seeing, as in a vision, the startling picture of his lifted arm raised against the unconscious piece of bronze on the stair. Henceforth that statue will possess for me a still more dreadful significance."

"It is the twenty-fifth of February. Why should I feel as if I must be sure of the exact date before I slept?"

The next extract followed close on this and was the last which Miss Belinda read.

"Mr. Sylvester seems to have recovered from his late anxiety. He does not shrink from me any more with that half bitter, half sad expression that has so long troubled and bewildered me, but draws me to his side and sits listening to my talk until I feel as if I were really of some comfort to this great and able man. Ona does not notice the change; she is all absorbed in preparing for the visit to Washington, which Mr. Sylvester has promised her."

Miss Belinda calmly folded up the letters and locked them again in the little mahogany box, after which she covered up the embers and quietly went to bed. But next morning a letter was despatched to Mr. Sylvester which ran thus:

"Dear Mr. Sylvester:

"For the present at least you may keep Paula with you. But I am not ready to say that I think it would be for her best good to be received and acknowledged as your daughter – yet. Hoping you will appreciate the motives that actuate this decision,

"I remain, respectfully yours,

"Belinda Ann Walton."

XV

AN ADVENTURE – OR SOMETHING MORE

"Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
But to be young was very heaven." – Wordsworth.
Oph.– What means this, my lord?
Ham.– Marry, this is the miching mallecho; it means mischief." – Hamlet.

A ride in the Central Park is an every-day matter to most people. It signifies an indolent bowling over a smooth road all alive with the glitter of passing equipages, waving ribbons and fluttering plumes, and brightened now and then by the sight of a well known face amid the general rush of old and young, plain and handsome, sad and gay countenances that flash by you in one long and brilliant procession.

But to Paula and her friend Miss Stuyvesant starting out in the early freshness of a fair April morning, it meant new life, reawakening joy, the sparkle of young leaves just loosed from the bonds of winter, the sweetness and promise of spring airs, and all the budding glory of a new year with its summer of countless roses and its autumn of incalculable glories. Not the twitter of a bird was lost to them, not the smile of an opening flower, not the welcome of a waving branch. Youth, joy, and innocence lived in their hearts and showed them nothing in the mirror of nature that was not equally young, joyous and innocent. Then they were alone, or sufficiently so. The stray wanderers whom they met sitting under the flowering trees, were equally with themselves lovers of nature or they would not be seated in converse with it at this early hour; while the laugh of little children startled from their play by the prance of their high-stepping horses, was only another expression of the sweet but unexpressed delight that breathed in all the radiant atmosphere.

"We are two birds who have escaped thralldom and are taking our first flight into our natural ether," cried Miss Stuyvesant gaily.

"We are two pioneers lit by the spirit of adventure, who have left the cosy hearth of wintry-fires to explore the domains of the frost king, and lo, we have come upon a Paradise of bloom and color!" responded the ringing voice of Paula.

"I feel as if I could mount that little white cloud we see over there," continued Cicely with a quick lively wave of her whip. "I wonder how Dandy would enjoy an empyrean journey?"

"From the haughty bend of his neck I should say he was quite satisfied with his present condition. But perhaps his chief pride is due to the mistress he carries."

"Are you attempting to vie with Mr. Williams, Paula?"

Mr. Williams was the meek-eyed, fair complexioned gentleman, whose predilection for compliment was just then a subject of talk in fashionable circles.

"Only so far as my admiration goes of the most charming lady I see this morning. But who is this?"

Miss Stuyvesant looked up. "Ah, that is some one with whom there is very little danger of your falling in love."

Paula blushed. The gentleman approaching them upon horseback was conspicuous for long side whiskers of a decidedly auburn tinge.

"His name is – " But she had not time to finish, for the gentleman with a glance of astonished delight at Paula, bowed to the speaker with a liveliness and grace that demanded some recognition.

Instantly he drew rein. "Do I behold Miss Stuyvesant among the nymphs!" cried he, in those ringing pleasant tones that at once predispose you towards their possessor.

"If you allude to my friend Miss Fairchild, you certainly do, Mr. Ensign," the wicked little lady rejoined with a waiving of her usual ceremony that astonished Paula.

Mr. Ensign bestowed upon them his most courtly bow, but the flush that mounted to his brow – making his face one red, as certain of his friends were malicious enough to observe on similar occasions – indicated that he had been taken a little more at his word than perhaps suited even one of his easy and proverbially careless temperament. "Miss Fairchild will understand that I am not a Harvey Williams – at least before an introduction," said he with something like seriousness.

But at this allusion to the gentleman whose name had been upon their lips but a moment before, both ladies laughed outright.

"I have just been accused of attempting the rôle of that gentleman myself," exclaimed Paula. "If the fresh morning air will persist in painting such roses on ladies' cheeks," continued she, with a loving look at her pretty companion "what can one be expected to do?"

"Admire," quoth the red bannered cavalier with a glance, however, at the beautiful speaker instead of the demure little Cicely at her side.

Miss Stuyvesant perceived this look and a curious smile disturbed the corners of her rosy lips. "What a fortunate man to be able to do the right thing at the right time," laughed she, gaily touching up her horse that was beginning to show symptoms of restlessness.

"If Miss Stuyvesant will put that in the future tense and then assure us she has been among the prophets, I should be singularly obliged," said he with a touch of his hat and a smiling look at Paula that was at once manly and gentle, careless and yet respectful.