The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

"Have you ever doubted it?"

"No."

And hiding their blushes on each other's shoulders, the two girls sat breathlessly waiting, while the clock ticked away in the music-room and the moments came and went that determined their fate. Suddenly they both rose. Mr. Stuyvesant and Mr. Sylvester were descending the stairs. Mr. Sylvester came in first. Walking straight up to Paula, he took her in his arms and kissed her on the forehead.

"My betrothed wife!" he whispered.

With a start of incredulous joy, Paula looked up. His glance was clear but strangely solemn and peaceful.

"He has heard all I had to say," added he; "he is a just man, but he is also a merciful one. Like you he declares that not what a man was, but what he is, determines the judgment of true men concerning him." And taking her on his arm, he stood waiting for Mr. Stuyvesant who now came in.

"Where is my daughter?" were that gentleman's words, as he closed the door behind him.

"Here, papa."

He held out his hand, and she sprang towards him. "Cicely," said he, not without some tokens of emotion in his voice, "it is only right that I should inform you that we were all laboring under a mistake, in charging Mr. Bertram Sylvester with the words that were uttered in the Dey Street coffee-house two years ago. Mr. Sylvester has amply convinced me that his nephew neither was, nor could have been present there at that time. It must have been some other man, of similar personality."

"Oh thank you, thank you!" Cicely's look seemed to say to Mr. Sylvester. "And he is quite freed from reproach?" she asked, with a smiling glance into her father's face.

A hesitancy in Mr. Stuyvesant's manner, struck with a chill upon more than one heart in that room.

"Yes," he admitted at last; "the mere fact that a mysterious robbery has been committed upon certain effects in the bank of which he is cashier, is not sufficient to awaken distrust as to his integrity, but – "

At that moment the door-bell rung.

"Your father would say," cried Mr. Sylvester, taking advantage of the momentary break, to come to the relief of his host, "that my nephew is too much of a gentleman to desire to press any claim he may imagine himself as possessing over you, while even the possibility of a shadow rests upon his name."

"The man who stole the bonds will be found," said Cicely.

And as if in echo to her words the parlor door opened, and a messenger from the bank stepped briskly up to Mr. Stuyvesant.

"A note from Mr. Folger," said he, with a quick glance at Mr. Sylvester.

Mr. Stuyvesant took the paper handed him, read it hastily through, and looked up with an air of some bewilderment.

"I can hardly believe it possible," cried he, "but Hopgood has absconded."

"Hopgood absconded?"

"Yes; is not that the talk at the bank?" inquired Mr. Stuyvesant, turning to the messenger.

"Yes sir. He has not been seen since yesterday afternoon when he left before the bank was closed for the night. His wife says she thinks he meant to run away, for before going, he came into the room where she was, kissed her and then kissed the child; besides it seems that he took with him some of his clothes."

"Humph! and I had as much confidence in that man – "

"As I have now," came from Mr. Sylvester as the door closed upon the messenger. "If Hopgood has run away, it was from some generous but mistaken idea of sacrificing himself to the safety of another whom he may possibly believe guilty."

"No," rejoined Mr. Stuyvesant, "for here is a note from him that refutes that supposition. It is addressed to me and runs thus:

"Dear Sir. – I beg your pardon and that of Mr. Sylvester for leaving my duties in this abrupt manner. But I have betrayed my trust and am no longer worthy of confidence. I am a wretched man and find it impossible to face those who have believed in my honesty and discretion. If I can bring the money back, you shall see me again, but if not, be kind to my wife and little one, for the sake of the three years when I served the bank faithfully.

"John Hopgood."

"I don't understand it," cried Mr. Sylvester, "that looks – "

"As if he knew where the money was."

"I begin to hope," breathed Cicely.

Her father turned and surveyed her. "This puts a new aspect on matters," said he.

She glanced up beaming. "Oh, will you, do you say, that you think the shadow of this crime has at last found the spot upon which it can rightfully rest?"

"It would not be common sense in me to deny that it has most certainly shifted its position."

With a radiant look at Cicely, Paula crossed to Mr. Stuyvesant's side, and laying her hand on his sleeve, whispered a word or two in his ear. He immediately glanced out of the window at the carriage standing before the door, then looked back at her and nodded with something like a smile. In another moment he stood at the front door.

"Be prepared," cried Paula to Cicely.

It was well she spoke, for when in an instant later Mr. Stuyvesant re-entered the parlor with Bertram at his side, the rapidly changing cheek of the gentle girl showed that the surprise, even though thus tempered, was almost too much for her self-possession.

Mr. Stuyvesant did not wait for the inevitable embarrassment of the moment to betray itself in words. "Mr. Sylvester," said he, to the young cashier, "we have just received a piece of news from the bank, that throws unexpected light upon the robbery we were discussing yesterday. Hopgood has absconded, and acknowledges here in writing that he had something to do with the theft!"

"Hopgood, the janitor!" The exclamation was directed not to Mr. Stuyvesant but to Mr. Sylvester, towards whom Bertram turned with looks of amazement.

"Yes, it is the greatest surprise I ever received," returned that gentleman.

"And Mr. Sylvester," continued Mr. Stuyvesant, with nervous rapidity and a generous attempt to speak lightly, "there is a little lady here who is so shaken by the news, that nothing short of a word of reassurance on your part will comfort her."

Bertram's eye followed that of Mr. Stuyvesant, and fell upon the blushing cheek of Cicely. With a flushing of his own brow, he stepped hastily forward.

"Miss Stuyvesant!" he cried, and looking down in her face, forgot everything else in his infinite joy and satisfaction.

"Yes," announced the father with abrupt decision, "she is yours; you have fairly earned her."

Bertram bowed his head with irrepressible emotion, and for a moment the silence of perfect peace if not of awe, reigned over the apartment; but suddenly a low, determined "No!" was heard, and Bertram turning towards Mr. Stuyvesant, exclaimed, "You are very good, and the joy of this moment atones for many an hour of grief and impatience; but I have not earned her yet. The fact that Hopgood admits to having had something to do with the robbery, does not sufficiently exonerate the officers of the bank from all connection with the affair, to make it safe or honorable in me to unqualifiedly accept the inestimable boon of your daughter's regard. Till the real culprit is in custody and the mystery entirely cleared away, my impatience must continue to curb itself. I love your daughter too dearly to bring her anything but the purest of reputations. Am I not right, Miss Stuyvesant?"

She cast a glance at her father, and bowed her head. "You are right," she repeated.

And Mr. Stuyvesant, with a visible lightening of his whole aspect, took the young man by the hand, and with as much geniality as his nature would allow, informed him that he was at last convinced that his daughter had made no mistake when she expressed her trust in Bertram Sylvester.

And in other eyes than Cicely's, shone the light of satisfied love and unswerving faith.

XLV

"THE HOUR OF SIX IS SACRED."

"Mightier far