The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

He grasped it with a man's impetuosity and pressed it to his heart, but he did not retain it. "Blessings upon you, dear and noble heart!" he cried. "God will hear my prayers and make you happy – but not with me. Paula," he passionately continued, taking her in his arms and holding her to his breast, "it cannot be. I love you – I will not, dare not say, how much – but love is no excuse for wronging you. My remorse is not all that separates us; possible disgrace lies before me; public exposure at all events; I would indeed be lacking in honor were I to subject you to these."

"But," she stammered, drawing back to look into his face, "I thought that was all over; that the man had promised silence; that you were henceforth to be relieved from his persecutions? I am sure he said so."

"He did, but he forgot that my fate no longer rested upon his forbearance. The letter which records my admission of sin was in his lawyer's hands, Paula, and has already been despatched to Mr. Stuyvesant. Say what we will, rebel against it as we will, Cicely's father knows by this time that the name of Sylvester is not spotless."

The cry which she uttered in her sudden pain and loss made him stoop over her with despairing fondness. "Hush! my darling, hush!" cried he. "The trial is so heavy, I need all my strength to meet it. It breaks my heart to see you grieve. I cannot bear it. I deserve my fate, but you – Oh you – what have you done that you should be overwhelmed in my fall!" Putting her gently away from his breast, he drew himself up and with forced calmness said, "I have yet to inform Mr. Stuyvesant upon which of the Sylvesters' should rest the shadow of his distrust. To-night he believes in Bertram's lack of principle, but to-morrow – "

Her trembling lips echoed the word.

"He shall know that the man who confessed to having done a wrong deed in the past, is myself, Paula."

The head which had fallen on her breast, rose as at the call of a clarion. "And is it at the noblest moment of your life that you would shut me away from your side? No, no. Heaven does not send us a great and mighty love for trivial purposes. The simple country maid whom you have sometimes declared was as the bringer of good news to you, shall not fail you now." Then slowly and with solemn assurance, "If you go to Mr. Stuyvesant's to-morrow, and you will, for that is your duty, you shall not go alone; Paula Fairchild accompanies you."

XLIV

IN MR. STUYVESANT'S PARLORS

"Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud

Turn forth her silver lining on the night?" – Comus.

"Unworthy?"

"Yes."

Cicely stared at her father with wide-open and incredulous eyes. "I cannot believe it," she murmured; "no, I cannot believe it."

Her father drew up a chair to her side. "My daughter," said he, with unusual tenderness, "I have hesitated to tell you this, fearing to wound you; but my discretion will allow me to keep silence no longer. Bertram Sylvester is not an honest man, and the sooner you make up your mind to forget him, the better."

"Not honest?" You would scarcely have recognized Cicely's voice. Her father's hand trembled as he drew her back to his side.

"It is a hard revelation for me to make to you, after testifying my approval of the young man. I sympathize with you, my child, but none the less I expect you to meet this disappointment bravely. A theft has been committed in our bank – "

"You do not accuse him of theft! Oh father, father!"

"No," he stammered. "I do not accuse him, but facts look very strongly against some one in our trust, and – "

"But that is not sufficient," she cried, rising in spite of his detaining hand till she stood erect before him. "You surely would not allow any mere circumstantial evidence to stand against a character as unblemished as his, even if he were not the man whom your daughter – "

He would not let her continue. "I admit that I should be careful how I breathed suspicion against a man whose record was unimpeached," he assented, "but Bertram Sylvester does not enjoy that position. Indeed, I have just received a communication which goes to show, that he once actually acknowledged to having perpetrated an act of questionable integrity. Now a man as young as he, who – "

"But I cannot believe it," she moaned. "It is impossible, clearly impossible. How could he look me in the face with such a sin on his conscience! He could not, simply could not. Why, father, his brow is as open as the day, his glance clear and unwavering as the sunlight. It is some dreadful mistake. It is not Bertram of whom you are speaking!"

Her father sighed. "Of whom else should it be? Come my child, do you want to read the communication which I received last night? Do you want to be convinced?"

"No, no;" she cried; but quickly contradicted herself with a hurried, "Yes, yes, let me be made acquainted with what there is against him, if only that I may prove to you it is all a mistake."

"There is no mistake," he muttered, handing her a folded paper. "This statement was written two years ago; I witnessed it myself, though I little knew against whose honor it was directed. Read it, Cicely, and then remember that I have lost bonds out of my box at the bank, that could only have been taken by some one connected with the institution."

She took the paper in her hand, and eagerly read it through. Suddenly she started and looked up. "And you say that this was Bertram, this gentleman who allowed another man to accuse him of a past dishonesty?"

"So the person declares who forwarded me this statement; and though he is a poor wretch and evidently not above making mischief, I do not know as we have any special reason to doubt his word."

Cicely's eyes fell and she stood before her father with an air of indecision. "I do not think it was Bertram," she faltered, but said no more.

"I would to God for your sake, it was not!" he exclaimed. "But this communication together with the loss we have sustained at the bank, has shaken my faith, Cicely. Young men are so easily led astray nowadays; especially when playing for high stakes. A man who could leave his profession for the sake of winning a great heiress – "

"Father!"

"I know he has made you think it was for love; but when the woman whom a young man fancies, is rich, love and ambition run too closely together to be easily disentangled. And now, my dear, I have said my say and leave you to act according to the dictates of your judgment, sure that it will be in a direction worthy of your name and breeding." And stooping for a hasty kiss, he gave her a last fond look and quietly left the room.

And Cicely? For a moment she stood as if frozen in her place, then a great tremble seized her, and sinking down upon a sofa, she buried her face from sight, in a chaos of feeling that left her scarcely mistress of herself. But suddenly she started up, her face flushed, her eyes gleaming, her whole delicate form quivering with an emotion more akin to hope than despair.

"I cannot doubt him," she whispered; "it were as easy to doubt my own soul. He is worthy if I am worthy, true if I am true; and I will not try to unlove him!"

But soon the reaction came again, and she was about to give full sway to her grief and shame, when the parlor door opened – she herself was sitting in the extension room – and she saw Mr. Sylvester and Paula come in. She at once rose to her feet; but she did not advance. A thousand hopes and fears held her enchained where she was; besides there was something in the aspect of her friends, which made her feel as though a welcome even from her, would at that moment be an intrusion.

"They have come to see father," she thought "and – "

Ah what, Cicely?

Paula, who was too absorbed in her own feelings to glance into the extension room beyond, approached Mr. Sylvester and laid her hand upon his arm. "Whatever comes," said she, "truth, honor and love remain."

And he bowed his head and seemed to kiss her hand, and Cicely observing the action, grew pale and dropped her eyes, realizing as by a lightning's flash, both the nature of the feeling that prompted this unusual manifestation on his part, and the possible sorrows that lay before her dearest friend, if not before herself, should the secret suspicions she cherished in regard to Mr. Sylvester prove true. When she had summoned up courage to glance again in their direction, Mr. Stuyvesant had entered the parlor and was nervously welcoming his guests.

Mr. Sylvester waited for no preamble. "I have come," said he, in his most even and determined tones, "to speak to you in regard to a communication from a man by the name of Holt, which I was told was to be sent to you last evening. Did you receive such a one?"

Mr. Stuyvesant flushed, grew still more nervous in his manner and uttered a short, "I did," in a tone severer than he perhaps intended.

"It will not be too much for me, then, to conclude, that in your present estimation my nephew stands committed to a past dishonesty?"

"It has been one of my chief sources of regret – one of them I say," repeated Mr. Stuyvesant, "that any loss of esteem on the part of your nephew, must necessarily reflect upon the peace if not the honor of a man I hold in such high regard as yourself. I assure you I feel it quite as a brother might, quite as a brother."

Mr. Sylvester at once rose. "Mr. Stuyvesant," declared he, "my nephew is as honest a man as walks this city's streets. If you will accord me a few minutes private conversation, I think I can convince you so."

"I should be very glad," replied Mr. Stuyvesant, glancing towards the extension-room where he had left his daughter. "I have always liked the young man." Then with a quick look in the other's face, "You are not well, Mr. Sylvester?"

"Thank you, I am not ill; let us say what we have to, at once, if you please." And with just a glance at Paula, he followed the now somewhat agitated director from the room.

Cicely who had started forward at their departure, glanced down the long parlor before her, and hastily faltered back; Paula was praying. But in a few moments her feelings overcame her timidity, and hurrying into her friend's presence, she threw her arms about her neck and pressed her cheek to hers. "Let us pray together," she whispered.

Paula drew back and looked her friend in the face. "You know what all this means?" she asked.

"I guess," was the low reply.

Paula checked a sob and clasped Cicely to her bosom. "He loves me," she faltered, "and he is doing at this moment what he believes will separate us. He is a noble man, Cicely, noble as Bertram, though he once did – " She paused. "It is for him to say what, not I," she softly concluded.

"Then Bertram is noble," Cicely timidly put in.