The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

Than strength of nerve or sinew, or the sway
Of magic potent over sun and star,
Is love, though oft to agony distrest,

And though its favorite seat be feeble woman's breast." – Wordsworth.

It was at the close of a winter afternoon. Paula who had returned to Grotewell for the few weeks preceding her marriage, sat musing in the window of her aunt's quaint little parlor. Her eyes were on the fields before her all rosy with the departing rays of the sun, but her thoughts were far away. They were with him she best loved – with Cicely, waiting in patience for the solution of the mystery of the stolen bonds; with Bertram, eagerly, but as yet vainly, engaged in searching for the vanished janitor; and last but not least, with that poor, wretched specimen of humanity moaning away her life in a New York hospital; – for the sight of the Japha house, in a walk that day, had reawakened her most vivid remembrances of Jacqueline. All that had ever been done and suffered by this forsaken creature, lay on her heart like a weight; and the question which had disturbed her since her return to Grotewell, viz., whether or not she ought to acquaint Mrs. Hamlin with the fact that she had seen and spoken to the object of her love and prayers, pressed upon her mind with an insistence that required an answer. There was so much to be said for and against it. Mrs. Hamlin was not well, and though still able to continue her vigil, showed signs of weakening, day by day. It might be a comfort to her to know that another's eyes had rested on the haggard form for whose approach she daily watched; that another's kiss had touched the scarred and pallid forehead she longed to fold against her breast; that the woman she loved and of whose fate she had no intimation, was living and well cared for, though her shelter was that of a hospital, and her prospects those of the grave.

On the other hand, the awful nature of the circumstances which had brought her to her present condition, were such as to make any generous heart pause before shocking the love and trust of such a woman as Mrs. Hamlin, by a relation of the criminal act by which Jacqueline had slain her child and endangered her own existence. Better let the poor old lady go on hoping against hope till she sinks into her grave, than destroy life and hope at once by a revelation of her darling's reckless depravity.

And yet if the poor creature in the hospital might be moved to repentance by some word from Mrs. Hamlin, would it not be a kindness to the latter to allow her, though even at the risk of her life, to accomplish the end for which she indeed professed to live?

The mind of Paula was as yet undecided, when a child from the village passed the window, and seeing her sitting there, handed her a small package with the simple message that Mrs. Hamlin was very ill. It contained, as she anticipated, the great key to the Japha mansion, and understanding without further words, what was demanded of her, Paula prepared to keep the promise she had long ago made to this devoted woman. For though she knew the uselessness of the vigil proposed to her, she none the less determined to complete it. Easier to sit an hour in that dark old house, than to explain herself to Mrs. Hamlin. Besides, the time was good for prayer, and God knows the wretched object of all this care and anxiety, stood in need of all the petitions that might be raised for her.

Telling her aunts that she had a call to make in the village, she glided hurriedly away, and ere she realized all to which she was committed, found herself standing in the now darkened streets, before the grim door of that dread and mysterious mansion. Never had it looked more forbidding; never had the two gruesome poplars cast a deeper shadow, or rustled with a more woful sound in the chill evening air. The very windows seemed to repel her with their darkened panes, behind which she could easily imagine the spirits of the dead, moving and peering. A chill not unlike that of terror, assailed her limbs, and it was with a really heroic action that she finally opened the gate and glided up the path made by the daily steps of her aged friend. To thrust the big key into the lock required another effort, but that once accomplished, she stilled every tumultuous beating of her heart, by crying under her breath, "She has done this for one whom she has not seen for fifteen years; shall I then hesitate, who know the real necessity of her for whom this hour is made sacred?"

The slow swinging open of the door was like an ushering into the abode of ghosts, but she struck a light at once, and soon had the satisfaction of beholding the dismal room with its weird shadows, resolve into its old and well remembered aspect. The ancient cabinet and stiff hair-cloth sofa, Colonel Japha's chair by the table, together with all the other objects that had attracted her attention in her former visit, confronted her again with the same appearance of standing ready and waiting, which had previously so thrilled her. Only she was alone this time, and terror mingled with her awe. She scarcely dared to glance at the doors that led to other portions of the house. In her present mood it would seem so natural for them to swing open, and let upon her horrified gaze the stately phantom of the proud old colonel or the gentler shade of Jacqueline's mother. The moan of the wind in the chimney was dreadful to her, and the faint rumbling sounds of mice scampering in the walls, made her start as though a voice had spoken.

But presently the noise of a sleigh careering by the house recalled her to herself, and remembering it was but early night-fall, she sat down in a chair by the door, and prepared to keep her vigil with suitable patience and equanimity. Suddenly she recollected the clock on the mantel-piece and how she had seen Mrs. Hamlin wind it, and rising up, she followed her example, sighing unconsciously to find how many of the sixty minutes had yet to tick themselves away, "Can I endure it!" she thought, and shuddered as she pictured to herself the dim old staircase behind those doors, and the empty rooms above, and the little Bible lying thicker than ever with dust, on the yellowed pillows of Jacqueline's bed.

Suddenly she stood still; the noise she had just heard, was not made by the pattering of mice along the rafters, or even the creaking of the withered vines that clung against the walls! It was a human sound, a clicking as of the gate without, a crunching as of feet dragging slowly over the snow. Was Mrs. Hamlin coming after all, or – she could not formulate her fear; a real and palpable danger from the outside world had never crossed her fancy till now. What if some stranger should enter, some tramp, some – a step on the porch without made her hair rise on her forehead; she clasped her hands and stood trembling, when a sudden moan startled her ears, followed by the sound of a heavy fall on the threshold, and throwing aside all hesitation, she flung herself forward, and tearing open the door, saw – oh, angels that rejoice in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, let your voices go up in praise this night, for Jacqueline Japha has returned to the home of her fathers!

She had fainted, and lay quite still on the threshold, but Paula, who was all energy now, soon had her in the centre of the sitting-room, and was applying to her such restoratives as had been provided against this very emergency. She was holding the poor weary head on her knee, when the wan eyes opened, and looking up, grew wild with a disappointment which Paula was quick to appreciate.

"You are looking for Margery," said she. "Margery will come by-and-by; she is not well to-night and I am taking her place, but when she hears you have returned, it will take more than sickness to keep her to her bed. I am Paula, and I love you, too, and welcome you – oh, welcome you so gladly."

The yearning look which had crept into the woman's bleared and faded eyes, deepened and softened strangely.

"You are the one who told me about Margery," said she, "and bade me bring my baby here to be buried. I remember, though I seemed to pay no heed then. Night and day through all my pain, I have remembered, and as soon as I could walk, stole away from the hospital. It has killed me, but I shall at least die in my father's house."

Paula stooped and kissed her. "I am going to get your bed ready," said she. And without any hesitation now, she opened the door that led into those dim inner regions that but a few minutes before had inspired her with such dread.

She went straight to Jacqueline's room. "It must all be according to Mrs. Hamlin's wishes," she cried, and lit the fire on the hearth, and pulled back the curtains yet farther from the bed, and gave the benefit of her womanly touch to the various objects about her, till cheerfulness seemed to reign in a spot once so peopled with hideous memories. Going back to Jacqueline, she helped her to rise, and throwing her arm about her waist, led her into the hall. But here memory, ghastly accusing memory, stepped in, and catching the wretched woman in its grasp, shook her, body and soul, till her shrieks reverberated through that desolate house. But Paula with gentle persistence urged her on, and smiling upon her like an angel of peace and mercy, led her up step after step of that dreadful staircase, till at last she saw her safely in the room of her early girlhood.

The sight of it seemed at first to horrify but afterwards to soothe the forlorn being thus brought face to face with her own past. She moved over to the fire and held out her two cramped hands to the blaze, as if she saw an altar of mercy in its welcoming glow. From these she passed tottering and weak to the embroidery-frame, which she looked at for a moment with something almost like a smile; but she hurried by the mirror, and scarcely glanced at a portrait of herself which hung on the wall over her head. To sink on the bed seemed to be her object, and thither Paula accompanied her. But when she came to where it stood, and saw the clothes turned down and the pillows heaped at the head, and the little Bible lying open for her in the midst, she gave a great and mighty sob, and flinging herself down upon her knees, wept with a breaking up of her whole nature, in which her sins, red though they were as crimson, seemed to feel the touch of the Divine love, and vanish away in the oblivion He prepares for all His penitent ones.

When everything was prepared and Jacqueline was laid quiet in bed, Paula stole out and down the stairs and wended her way to Mrs. Hamlin's cottage. She found her sitting up, but far from well, and very feeble. At the first sight of Paula's face, she started erect and seem to forget her weakness in a moment.

"What is it?" she asked; "you look as though you had been gazing on the faces of angels. Has – has my hope come true at last? Has Jacqueline returned? Oh, has my poor, lost, erring child come back?"

Paula drew near and gently steadied Mrs. Hamlin's swaying form. "Yes," she smiled; and with the calmness of one who has entered the gates of peace, whispered in low and reverent tones: "She lies in the bed that you spread for her, with the Bible held close to her breast."

There are moments when the world about us seems to pause; when the hopes, fears and experiences of all humanity appear to sway away and leave us standing alone in the presence of our own great hope or scarcely comprehended fear. Such a moment was that which saw Paula re-enter Jacqueline's presence with Mrs. Hamlin at her side.

Leaving the latter near the door, she went towards the bed. Why did she recoil and glance back at Mrs. Hamlin with that startled and apprehensive look? The face of Jacqueline was changed – changed as only one presence could change it, though the eyes were clearer than when she left her a few minutes before, and the lips were not without the shadow of a smile.

"She is dying," whispered Paula, coming back to Mrs. Hamlin; "dying, and you have waited so long!"

But the look that met hers from that aged face, was not one of grief; and startled, she knew not why, Paula drew aside, while Mrs. Hamlin crossed the room and quietly knelt down by her darling's side.

"Margery!"

"Jacqueline!"

The two cries rang through the room, then all was quiet again.

"You have come back!" were the next words Paula heard. "How could I ever have doubted that you would!"

"I have been driven back by awful suffering," was the answer; and another silence fell. Suddenly Jacqueline's voice was heard. "Love slew me, and now love has saved me!" exclaimed she. And there came no answer to that cry, and Paula felt the shadow of a great awe settle down upon her, and moving nearer to where the aged woman knelt by her darling's bedside, she looked in her bended face and then in the one upturned on the pillow, and knew that of all the hearts that but an instant before had beat with earth's deepest emotion in that quiet room, one alone throbbed on to thank God and take courage.

And the fire which had been kindled to welcome the prodigal back, burned on; and from the hollow depths of the great room below, came the sound of a clock as it struck the hour, seven!

XLVI

THE MAN CUMMINS

Oh day and night, but this is wondrous strange." – Henry V.
"Shut up in measureless content." – Othello.

The lights were yet shining in Mr. Stuyvesant's parlors, though the guests were gone, who but a short time before had assembled there to witness the marriage of Cicely's dear friend, Paula.

At one end of the room stood Mr. Sylvester and Bertram, the former gazing with the eyes of a bridegroom, at the delicate white-clad figure of Paula, just leaving the apartment with Cicely.

"I have but one cause for regret," said Mr. Sylvester as the door closed. "I could have wished that you and Cicely had participated in our joy and received the minister's benediction at the same moment as ourselves."

"Yes," said Bertram with a short sigh. "But it will come in time. It cannot be but that our efforts must finally succeed. I have just had a new idea; that of putting the watchman on the hunt for Hopgood. They are old friends, and he ought to know all the other's haunts and possible hiding-places."

"If Fanning could have helped us, he would have told us long ago. He knows that Hopgood is missing and that we are ready to pay well for any information concerning him."

"But they are old cronies, and possibly Fanning is keeping quiet out of consideration for his friend."

"No; I have had a talk with Fanning, and there was no mistaking his look of surprise when told the other had run away under suspicion of being connected with a robbery on the bank's effects. He knows no more of Hopgood than we do, or his wife does, or the police even. It is a strange mystery, and one to which I fear we shall never obtain the key. But don't let me discourage you; after a suitable time Mr. Stuyvesant will – "

He paused, for that gentleman was approaching him.

"There is a man outside who insists upon seeing me; says he knows there has just been a wedding here, but that the matter he has to communicate is very important, and won't bear putting off. The name on his card is Cummins; I am afraid I shall have to admit him, that is, if you have no objection?"

Mr. Sylvester and Bertram at once drew back with ready acquiescence. They had scarcely taken their stand at the other end of the apartment, when the man came in. He was of robust build, round, precise and business-like. He had taken off his hat, but still wore his overcoat; his face in spite of a profusion of red whiskers and a decided pair of goggles, was earnest and straightforward. He walked at once up to Mr. Stuyvesant.

"Your pardon," said he, in a quick tone. "But I hear you have been somewhat exercised of late over the disappearance of certain bonds from one of the boxes in the Madison Bank. I am a detective, and in the course of my duty have come upon a few facts that may help to explain matters."

Mr. Sylvester and Bertram at once started forward; this was a topic that demanded their attention as well as that of the master of the house.

The man cast them a quick look from behind his goggles, and seeming to recognize them, included them in his next question.

"What do you think of the watchman, Fanning?"

"Think? we don't think," uttered Mr. Stuyvesant sharply. "He has been in the employ of the bank for twelve years, and we know him to be honest."

"Yet he is the man who stole your bonds."