The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

What was there on her dressing-table that made her pause with such a start, and cast that look of half beseeching inquiry at her own image in the glass? Only another envelope with her name written upon it. But the way in which she took it in her hand, and the half guilty air with which she stole back with it to the fire, would have satisfied any looker-on I imagine, that conscience or no conscience, debate or no debate, the writer of these lines had gained a hold upon her heart, which no other could dispute.

It was a compactly written note and ran thus:

"A man is not always responsible for what he does in moments of great suspense or agitation. But if, upon reflection, he finds that he has spoken harshly or acted unwisely, it is his duty to remedy his fault; and therefore it is that I write you this little note. Paula, I love you; not as I once did, with a fatherly longing and a protective delight, but passionately, yearningly, and entirely, with the whole force of my somewhat disappointed life; as a man loves for whom the world has dissolved leaving but one creature in it, and that a woman. I showed you this too plainly to-night. I have no right to startle or intimidate your sweet soul into any relation that might hereafter curb or dissatisfy you; if you can love me freely, with no back-lookings to any younger lover left behind, know that naught you could bestow, can ever equal the world of love and feeling which I long to lavish upon you from my heart of hearts. But if another has already won upon your affections too much for you to give an undivided response to my appeal, then by all the purity and innocence of your nature, forget I have ever marred the past or disturbed the present by any word warmer than that of a father.

"I shall not meet you at breakfast and possibly not at dinner to-morrow, but when evening comes I shall look for my soul's dearer and better half, or my childless manhood's nearest and most cherished friend, as God pleaseth and your own heart and conscience shall decree.

"Edward Sylvester."

Miss Belinda was very much surprised to be awakened early the next morning, by a pair of loving arms clasped yearningly about her neck.

Looking up, she descried Paula kneeling beside her bed in the faint morning light, her cheeks burning, and her eyelids drooping; and guessing perhaps how it was, started up from her recumbent position with an energy strongly suggestive of the charger, that smells the battle afar off.

"What has happened?" she asked. "You look as if you had not slept a wink."

For reply Paula pulled aside the curtain at the head of her bed, and slipped into her hand Mr. Ensign's letter. Miss Belinda read it conscientiously through, with many grunts of approval, and having finished it, laid it down with a significant nod, after which she turned and surveyed Paula with keen but cautious scrutiny. "And you don't know what answer to give," she asked.

"I should," said Paula, "if – Oh aunt, you know what stands in my way! I have seen it in your eyes for some time. There is some one else – "

"But he has not spoken?" vigorously ejaculated her aunt.

Without answering, Paula put into her hand, with a slow reluctance she had not manifested before, a second little note, and then hid her head amid the bedclothes, waiting with quickly beating heart for what her aunt might say.

She did not seem in haste to speak, but when she did, her words came with a quick sigh that echoed very drearily in the young girl's anxious ears. "You have been placed by this in a somewhat painful position. I sympathize with you, my child. It is very hard to give denial to a benefactor."

Paula's head drew nearer to her aunt's breast, her arms crept round her neck. "But must I?" she breathed.

Miss Belinda knitted her brows with great force, and stared severely at the wall opposite. "I am sorry there is any question about it," she replied.

Paula started up and looked at her with sudden determination. "Aunt," said she, "what is your objection to Mr. Sylvester?"

Miss Belinda shook her head, and pushing the girl gently away, hurriedly arose and began dressing with great rapidity. Not until she was entirely prepared for breakfast did she draw Paula to her, and prepare to answer her question.

"My objection to him is, that I do not thoroughly understand him. I am afraid of the skeleton in the closet, Paula. I never feel at ease when I am with him, much as I admire his conversation and appreciate the undoubtedly noble instincts of his heart. His brow is not open enough to satisfy an eye which has accustomed itself to the study of human nature."

"He has had many sorrows!" Paula faintly exclaimed, stricken by this echo of her own doubts.

"Yes," returned her aunt, "and sorrow bows the head and darkens the eye, but it does not make the glance wavering or its expression mysterious."

"Some sorrows might," urged Paula tremulously, arguing as much with her own doubts as with those of her aunt. "His have been of no ordinary nature. I have never told you, aunt, but there were circumstances attending Cousin Ona's death that made it especially harrowing. He had a stormy interview with her the very morning she was killed; words passed between them, and he left her with a look that was almost desperate. When he next saw her, she lay lifeless and inert before him. I sometimes think that the shadow that fell upon him at that hour will never pass away."

"Do you know what was the subject of their disagreement?" asked Miss Belinda anxiously.

"No, but I have reason to believe it had something to do with business affairs, as nothing else could ever arouse Cousin Ona into being at all disagreeable."

"I don't like that phrase, business affairs; like charity, it covers entirely too much. Have you never had any doubts yourself about Mr. Sylvester?"

"Ah, you touch me to the quick, aunt. I may have had my doubts, but when I look back on the past, I cannot see as they have any very substantial foundation. Supposing, aunt, that he has been merely unfortunate, and I should live to find that I had discarded one whose heart was darkened by nothing but sorrow? I should never forgive myself, nor could life yield me any recompense that would make amends for a sacrifice so unnecessary."

"You love him, then, very dearly, Paula?"

A sudden light fell on the young girl's face. "Hearts cannot tell their love," said she, "but since I received this letter from him, it has seemed as if my life hung balancing on the question, as to whether he is worthy of a woman's homage. If he is not, I would give my life to have him so. The world is only dear to me now as it holds him."

Miss Belinda picked up Mr. Ensign's letter with trembling fingers. "I thought you were safe when the younger man came to woo," said she. "Girls, as a rule, prefer what is bright to what is sombre, and Mr. Ensign is truly a very agreeable as well as worthy young man."

"Yes, aunt, and he came very near stealing my heart as he undoubtedly did my fancy, but a stronger hand snatched it away, and now I do not know what to do or how to act, so as to awaken in the future no remorse or vain regrets."

Miss Belinda opened the letters again and consulted their contents in a matter-of-fact way. "Mr. Ensign proposes to come this afternoon for his answer, while Mr. Sylvester defers seeing you till evening. What if I seek Mr. Sylvester this morning and have a little conversation with him, which shall determine, for once and all, the question which so troubles us? Would you not find it easier to meet Mr. Ensign when he comes?"

"You talk to Mr. Sylvester, and upon such a topic! Oh, I could not bear that. Pardon me, aunt, but I think I am more jealous of his feelings than of my own. If his secret can be learned in a half-hour's talk, it must be listened to by no one but myself. And I believe it can," she murmured reverently; "he is so tender of me he would never let me go blindfold into any path, concerning which I had once expressed anxiety. If I ask him whether there is any good reason before God or man why I should not give him my entire faith and homage, he will answer honestly, though it be the destruction of his hopes to do so?"

"Have you such trust as that in his uprightness as a lover, and the guardian of your happiness?"

"Have not you, aunt?"

And Miss Belinda remembering his words on the occasion of his first proposal to adopt Paula, was forced to acknowledge that she had.

So without further preliminaries, it was agreed upon that Paula should refrain from making a final decision until she had eased her heart by an interview with Mr. Sylvester.

"Meantime, you can request Mr. Ensign to wait another day for his answer," said Miss Belinda.

But Paula with a look of astonishment shook her head. "Is it you who would counsel me to such a piece of coquetry as that?" said she. "No, dear aunt, my heart is not with Mr. Ensign, as you know, and it is impossible for me to encourage him. If Mr. Sylvester should prove unworthy of my affection, I must bear, as best I may, the loss which must accrue; but till he does, let me not dishonor my womanhood by allowing hope to enter, even for a passing moment, the breast of his rival."

Miss Belinda blushed, and drew her niece fondly towards her. "You are right," said she, "and my great desire for your happiness has led me into error. Honesty is the noblest adjunct of all true love, and must never be sacrificed to considerations of selfish expediency. The refusal which you contemplate bestowing upon Mr. Ensign, must be forwarded to him at once."

And with a final embrace, in which Miss Belinda allowed herself to let fall some few natural tears of disappointment, she dismissed the young girl to her task.

XXXIV

PAULA MAKES HER CHOICE

"Good fortune then,
To make me bless't or cursed'st among men." – Merchant of Venice.

It was evening in the Sylvester mansion. Mr. Sylvester who, according to his understanding with Paula, had been absent from his home all day, had just come in and now stood in his library waiting for the coming footfall that should decide whether the future held for him any promise of joy.

He had never looked more worthy of a woman's regard than he did that night. A matter that had been troubling him for some time had just been satisfactorily disposed of, and not a shadow, so far as he knew, lay upon his business outlook. This naturally brightened his cheek and lent a light to his eye. Then, hope is no mean beautifier, and this he possessed notwithstanding the disparity of years between himself and Paula. It was not, however, of sufficiently assured a nature to prevent him from starting at every sound from above, and flushing with quite a disagreeable sense of betrayal when the door opened and Bertram entered the room, instead of the gentle and exquisite being he had expected.

"Uncle, I am so full of happiness, I had to stop and bestow a portion of it upon you. Do you think any one could mistake the nature of Miss Stuyvesant's feelings, who saw her last night?"

"Hardly," was the smiling reply. "At all events I have not felt like wasting much but pleasant sympathy upon you. Your pathway to happiness looks secure, my boy."

His nephew gave him a wistful glance, but hid his thought whatever it was. "I am going to see her to-night," remarked he. "I am afraid my love is something like a torrent that has once burst its barrier; it cannot rest until it has worked its channel and won its rightful repose."

"That is something the way with all love," returned his uncle. "It may be dallied with while asleep, but once aroused, better meet a lion in his fury or a tempest in its rush. Are you going to test your hope, to-night?"

The young man flushed. "I cannot say." But in another moment gayly added, "I only know that I am prepared for any emergency."