IX.
PAULA.
"The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face."
--WORDSWORTH.
A wintry scene. Snow-piled hills stretching beyond a frozen river. Onthe bank a solitary figure tall, dark and commanding, standing with eyesbent sadly on a long narrow mound at his feet. It is Edward Sylvesterand the mound is the grave of his mother.
It is ten years since he stood upon that spot. In all that time nomemories of his childhood's home, no recollection of that lonely graveamong the pines, had been sufficient to allure him from the city and itsbusy round of daily cares. Indeed he had always shrunk at the very nameof the place and never of his own will alluded to it, but the reveriesof a night had awakened a longing that was not to be appeased, and inthe face of his wife's cold look of astonishment and a secret dread inhis own heart, had left his comfortable fireside, for the scenes of hisearly life and marriage, and was now standing, in the bleak Decemberair, gazing down upon the stone that marked his mother's grave.
But tender as were the chords that reverberated at this sight, it wasnot to revisit this tomb he had returned to Grotewell. No, that othervision, the vision of young sweet appreciative life has drawn him morestrongly than the memory of the dead. It was to search out and gazeagain upon the innocent girl, whose eloquent eyes and lofty spirit hadso deeply moved him in the past, that he had braved the chill of theConnecticut hills and incurred the displeasure of his wife.
Yet when he turned away from that simple headstone and set his facetowards the village streets it was with a sinking of the heart thatfirst revealed to him the severity of the ordeal to which he had thuswantonly subjected himself. Not that the wintry trees and snow coveredroofs appealed to him as strongly as the same trees and homes would havedone in their summer aspect. The land was bright with verdure when thatshadow fell whose gloom resting upon all the landscape, made a walk downthis quiet road even at this remote day, a matter of such pain to him.But scenes that have caught the reflection of a life's joy or a heart'ssorrow, lose not their power of appeal, with the leaves they shake fromtheir trees, and nothing that had met the eyes of this man from the hourhe left this spot, no, not the glance of his wife as his child fell backdead in his arms, had shot such a pang to his soul as the sight of thatlong street with its array of quiet homes, stretching out before himinto the dim grey distance.
But for all that he was determined to traverse it, ay to the very end,though his steps must pass the house whose ghostly portals were fraughtwith memories dismal as death to him. On then he proceeded, walking withhis usual steady pace that only faltered or broke, as he met the shyeyes of some hurrying village maiden, speeding upon some errand down thesnowy street, or encountered some old friend of his youth who despitehis altered mien and commanding carriage, recognized in him the slimyoung bank cashier who had left them now ten long years ago to make aname and fortune in the great city.
It was noon by the time he gained the heart of the village, and schoolwas out and the children came rushing by with just the same shout andscamper with which he used to hail that hour of joyous release. How itcarried him back to the days when those four red walls towered upon himwith awful significance, as with books on his back and a half eatenapple in his pocket he crept up the walk, conscious that the bell hadrung its last shrill note a good half hour before. He felt half temptedto stop and make his way through the crowd of shouting boys and dancinggirls to that same old door again, and see for himself if the huge LATEwhich in a fit of childish revenge he had cut on its awkward panels, wasstill there to meet the eyes of tardy boys and loitering girls. But thewondering looks of the children unused to behold a figure so stately intheir simple streets deterred him and he passed thoughtfully on. Soengrossed was he by the reminiscences of Tom and Elsie which the schoolhouse had awakened, that he passed the ominous mansion which had beenhis dread, and the bank where he had worked, and the arbor by the sideof the road where he had sat out the first hours of his fatal courtship,almost without realizing their presence, and was at the end of thestreet and in full view of the humble cottage which the little Paula hadpointed out as her home on that day of their first acquaintance.
"Good heaven! and I do not even know if she is alive," he suddenlyejaculated, stopping where he was and eying the lowly walls before himwith a quick realization of the possibilities of a great disappointment."Ten years have strown many a grave on the hillside and Ona would notmention it if she lost every relative she had in this town. What a foolI have been," thought he.
But with the stern resolution which had carried him through many adifficulty, he prepared to advance, when he was again arrested by seeingthe door of the house he was contemplating, suddenly open and a girlishfigure issue forth. Could it be Paula? With eager, almost feverishinterest he watched her approach. She was a slight young thing and cametowards him with a rapid movement almost jaunty in its freedom. If itwere Paula, he would know her by her eyes, but for some reason he hopedit was not she, not the child of his dreams.
At a yard or two in front of him she paused astonished. This grave, tallfigure with the melancholy brow, deep eyes and firmly compressed lipswas an unaccustomed sight in this primitive town. Scarcely realizingwhat she did she gave a little courtesy and was proceeding on when hestopped her with a hurried gesture.
"Is Mrs. Fairchild still living?" he asked, indicating the house she hadjust left.
"Mrs. Fairchild? O no," she returned, surveying him out of the corner ofa very roguish pair of brown eyes, with a certain sly wonder at thesuspense in his voice. "She has been dead as long as I can remember. OldMiss Abby and her sister live there now."
"And who are they?" he hurriedly asked; he could not bring himself tomention Paula's name.
"Why, Miss Abby and Miss Belinda," she returned with a puzzled air."Miss Abby sews and Miss Belinda teaches the school. I don't knowanything more about them, sir."
The courteous gentleman bowed. "And they live there quite alone?"
"O no sir, Paula lives with them."
"Ah, she does;" and the young girl looking at him could not detect theslightest change in his haughty countenance. "Paula is Mrs. Fairchild'sdaughter."
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you," said he, and allowed the pretty brown-eyed miss to pass on,which she did with lingering footsteps and many a backward glance of theeye.
Halting at the door of that small cottage, Edward Sylvester reasonedwith himself.
"She may be just such another fresh-looking, round-faced,mischievous-eyed school-girl. Spiritual children do not always makeearnest-souled women. Let me beware what hopes I build on a foundationso unsubstantial." Yet when in a moment later the door opened and aweazen-faced dapper, little woman appeared, all smiles and welcome, heowned to a sensation of dismay that sufficiently convinced him what ahold this hope of meeting with something exceptionally sweet and high,had taken upon his hitherto careless and worldly spirit.
"Mr. Sylvester I am sure! I thought Ona would remember us after a while.Come in sir, do, my sister will be home in a few moments." And with adeprecatory flutter comical enough in a woman at least seventy odd yearsold, she led her distinguished guest into a large unused room where inspite of his remonstrances she at once proceeded to build a fire.
"It is a pleasure sir," she said to every utterance of regret on hispart at the trouble he was causing. And though her vocabulary was thusmade to appear somewhat small, her sincerity was undoubted. "We havecounted the days, Belinda and I, since we sent the last letter. It mayseem foolish to you, sir; but Paula is growing so fast and Belinda saysis so uncommon smart for her age that we did think that it was time Onaknew just what a straight we were in. Do you want to see Paula?"
"Very much," he returned, shocked and embarrassed at the position inwhich he found himself put by the reticence of his wife on the subjectof her rela
tions. "They think I have come in reply to a letter," hemused, "and I did not even know my wife had received one."
"You will be surprised," she exclaimed with a complacent nod as the fireblazed up brightly; "every one is surprised who sees her for the firsttime. Is my niece well?" And thus it was he learned the relation betweenhis wife of ten years and these simple inhabitants of the little cottagein Grotewell.
He replied as in duty bound, and presently by the use of a few dexterousquestions succeeded in eliciting from this simple-minded old lady, thefew facts necessary to a proper understanding of the situation. MissAbby and Miss Belinda were two maiden ladies, sisters of Mrs. Fairchildand Ona's mother, who on the death of the former took up their abode inthe little cottage for the purpose of bringing up the orphan Paula. Theyhad succeeded in this by dint of the utmost industry, but Paula was nota common child, and Belinda, who was evidently the autocrat of thehouse, had decided that she ought to have other advantages. She hadtherefore written to Mrs. Sylvester concerning the child, in the hopesthat that lady would take enough interest in her pretty little cousin tosend her to boarding-school; but they had received no reply till now,all of which was perfectly right of course, Mrs. Sylvester beingundoubtedly occupied and Mr. Sylvester himself being better than anyletter.
"And does Paula herself know what efforts you have been making in herbehalf," asked Mr. Sylvester upon the receipt of this information.
The little lady shook her head with vivacity. "Belinda advised me to saynothing," she remarked. "The child is contented with her home and we didnot like to raise her expectations. You will never regret anything youmay do for her," she went on in a hurried way with a peep now and thentowards the door as if while enjoying a momentary freedom of speech, shefeared an intrusion that would cut that pleasure short. "Paula is agrateful child and never has given us a moment of concern from the timeshe began to put pieces of patchwork together. But there is Belinda,"she suddenly exclaimed, rising with the little dip and jerk of her leftshoulder that was habitual to her whenever she was amused or excited."Belinda," she cried, going to the door and speaking with greatimpressiveness, "Mr. Sylvester is in the parlor." And almost instantly atall middle aged lady entered, whose plain but powerful countenance anddignified demeanor, stamped her at once as belonging to a very differenttype of woman from her sister.
"I am very glad to see you sir," she exclaimed in a slow determinedvoice as dissimilar as possible from the piping tones of Miss Abby. "Isnot Mrs. Sylvester with you?"
"No," returned he, "I have come alone; my wife is not fond of travellingin winter."
The slightest gleam shot from her bright keen eye. "Is she not well?"
"Yes quite well, but not over strong," he rejoined quietly.
She gave him another quick look, settled some matter with herself andtaking off her bonnet, sat down by the fire. At once her sister ceasedin her hovering about the room and sitting also, became to allappearance her silent shadow.
"Paula has gone up stairs to take off her bonnet," the younger womansaid in a straightforward manner just short of being brusque. "She is avery remarkable girl, Mr. Sylvester, a genius I suppose some would callher, a child of nature I prefer to say. Whatever there is to be learnedin this town she has learned. And in a place where nature speaks andgood books abound that is not inconsiderable. I have taken pride in hertalents I acknowledge, and have endeavored to do what I could tocultivate them to the best advantage. There is no girl in my school whocan write so original a composition, nor is there one with a truer heartor more tractable disposition."
"You have then been her teacher as well as her friend, she owes you adouble debt of gratitude."
A look hard to understand flashed over her homely face. "I have neverthought of debt or gratitude in connection with Paula. The only effortwhich I have ever made in her behalf which cost me anything, is this onewhich threatens me with her loss." Then as if fearing she had said toomuch, set her firm lips still firmer and ignoring the subject of thechild, astonished him by certain questions on the leading issues of theday that at once betrayed a truly virile mind.
"She is a study," thought he to himself, but meeting her on the groundshe had taken, replied at once and to her evident satisfaction in thedirect and simple manner that appeals the most forcibly to a strong ifsomewhat unpolished understanding, while the meek little Miss Abbyglanced from one to the other with a humble awe more indicative of herappreciation for their superiority than of her comprehension of thesubject.
But what with Miss Belinda's secret anxiety and Mr. Sylvester'sunconscious listening for a step upon the stair, the conversation, briskas it had opened, gradually languished, and ere long with a sort ofclairvoyant understanding of her sister's wishes, Miss Abby arose andwith her customary jerk left the room for Paula.
"The child is not timid but has an unaccountable aversion to enteringthe presence of strangers alone," Miss Belinda explained; but Mr.Sylvester did not hear her, for at that moment the door re-opened andMiss Abby stepped in with the young girl thus heralded.
Edward Sylvester never forgot that moment, and indeed few men could havebeheld the picture of extraordinary loveliness thus revealed, without ashock of surprise equal to the delight it inspired. She was not pretty;the very word was a misnomer, she was simply one of nature's mostexquisite and undeniable beauties. From the crown of her ebon locks tothe sole of her dainty foot, she was perfect as the most delicatecoloring and the utmost harmony of contour could make her. And not inthe conventional type either. There was an individuality in her stylethat was as fresh as it was uncommon. She was at once unique andfaultless, something that can be said of few women however beautiful oralluring.
Mr. Sylvester had not expected this, as indeed how could he, and for amoment he could only gaze with a certain swelling of the heart at theblooming loveliness that in one instant had transformed the odd littleparlor into a bower fit for the habitation of princes. But soon hisnatural self-possession returned, and rising with his most courteousbow, he greeted the blushing girl with words of simple welcome.
Instantly her eyes which had been hitherto kept bent upon the floorflashed upward to his face and a smile full of the wonder of an unlookedfor, almost unhoped for delight, swept radiantly over her lips, and hesaw with deep and sudden satisfaction that the hour which had made suchan impression upon him, had not been forgotten by her; that his voicehad recalled what his face failed to do, and that he was recognized.
"It is Mr. Sylvester, your cousin Ona's husband," Miss Belindainterposed in a matter-of-fact way, evidently attributing the emotion ofthe child to her astonishment at the imposing appearance of their guest.
"And it was _you_ who married Ona!" she involuntarily murmured, blushingthe next moment at this simple utterance of her thoughts.
"Yes, dear child," Mr. Sylvester hastened to say. "And so you rememberme?" he presently added, smiling down upon her with a sense of new lifethat for the moment made every care and anxiety shrink into thebackground.
"Yes," she simply returned, taking the chair beside him with theunconscious grace of perfect self-forgetfulness. "It was the first timeI had found any one to listen to my childish enthusiasms; it is naturalsuch kindness should make its impression."
"Little Paula and I met long ago," quoth Mr. Sylvester turning to thesomewhat astonished Miss Belinda. "It was before my marriage and she wasthen--"
"Just ten years old," finished Paula, seeing him cast her an inquiringglance.
"Very young for such a thoughtful little miss," he exclaimed. "And havethose childish enthusiasms quite departed?" he continued, smiling uponher with gentle encouragement. "Do you no longer find a fairy-land inthe view up the river?"
She flushed, casting a timid glance at her aunt, but meeting his eyesagain seemed to forget everything and everybody in the inspiration whichhis presence afforded.
"I fear I must acknowledge that it is more a fairy-land to me thanever," she softly replied. "Knowledge does not always bring disillusion,and though I have lear
ned one by one the names of the towns scatteredalong those misty banks, and though I know they are no less prosaic intheir character than our own humdrum village, yet I cannot rid myself ofthe notion that those verdant slopes with their archway of clouds, hidethe portals of Paradise, and that I have only to follow the birds intheir flight up the river to find myself on the verge of a mystery, thebanks at my feet can never disclose."
"May the gates of God's Paradise never recede as those would do, mychild, if like the birds you attempted to pierce them."
"Paula is a dreamer," quoth Miss Belinda in a matter-of-fact tone, "butshe is a good girl notwithstanding and can solve a geometrical problemwith the best."
"And sew on the machine and make a very good pie," timidly put in MissAbby.
"That is well," laughed Mr. Sylvester, observing that the poor child'shead had fallen forward in maidenly shame at her aunts' elogiums as wellas at the length of the speech into which she had been betrayed. "Itshows that her eyes can see what is at hand as well as what is beyondour reach." Then with a touch of his usual formal manner intended torestore her to herself, "Do you like study, Paula?"
In an instant her eyes flashed. "I more than like it; it feeds me.Knowledge has its vistas too," she added with an arch look, the first hehad seen on her hitherto serious countenance. "I can never outgrow myrecognition of the portals it discloses or the fairy-land it opens up toevery inquiring eye."
"Even geometry," he ventured, more anxious to probe this fresh youngmind than he had ever been to sound the opinions of the most notable menof the day.
"Even geometry," she smiled. "To be sure its portals are somewhatmethodical in shape, allowing no scope to the fancy, but from itstriangles and circles have been born the grandeurs of architecture, andupright on the threshold of its exact laws and undeviating calculations,I see an angel with a golden rod in his hand, measuring the heavens."
"Even a stone speaks to a poet," said Mr. Sylvester with a glance atMiss Belinda.
"But Paula is no poet," returned that lady with strict and impartialhonesty. "She has never put a line on paper to my knowledge. Have youchild?"
"No aunt, I would as soon imprison a falling sunbeam or try to catch thebreeze that lifts my hair or kisses my cheek."
"You see," continued Mr. Sylvester still looking at Miss Belinda.
She answered with a doubtful shake of the head and an earnest glance atthe girl as if she perceived something in that bright young soul, thateven she had never observed before.
"Have you ever been away from home?" he now asked.
"Never, I know as little of the great world as a callow nestling. No, Ishould not say that, for the young bird has no Aunt Belinda to tell ofthe great cathedrals and the wonderful music she has heard and theglorious pictures she has seen in her visits to the city. It is almostas good as travelling one's self to hear Aunt Belinda talk."
It was now the turn of the mature plain woman to blush, which she didunder Mr. Sylvester's searching eye.
"You have then been in the habit of visiting New York?"
"I have been there twice," she returned evasively.
"Since my marriage?"
"Yes sir;" with a firm closing of her lips.
"I did not know you were there or I should have insisted upon yourremaining at my house."
"Thank you," said she with a quick triumphant glance at her demurelittle shadow, who looked back in amaze and was about to speak when MissBelinda proceeded. "My visits usually have been on business; I shouldnot think of troubling Mrs. Sylvester." And then he knew that his wifehad been aware of those visits if he had not.
But he refrained from testifying to his discovery. "You speak of music,"said he, turning gently back to Paula. "Have you a taste for it? Wouldit make you happy to hear such music as your aunt tells about?"
"O yes, I can conceive nothing grander than to sit in a church whoseevery line is beauty and listen while the great organ utters its song oftriumph or echoes in the wonderful way it does, the emotions you havetried to express and could not. I would give a whole week of my life onthe hills, dear as it is, for one such hour, I think."
Mr. Sylvester smiled. "It is a rare kind of coin to offer for such asimple pleasure, but it may meet with its acceptance, nevertheless;" andin his look and in his voice there was an appearance of affectionateinterest that completed the subjugation of the watchful Miss Belinda,who now became doubly assured that whatever neglect had been shown herby her niece was not due to that niece's husband.
Mr. Sylvester recognized the effect he had produced and hastened tocomplete it, feeling that the good opinion of Miss Belinda would bevaluable to any man. "I have been a boy on these hills," said he, "andknow what it is to long for what is beyond while enjoying what ispresent. You shall hear the organ my child." And stopped, wondering tohimself over the new sweet interest he seemed to take in the prospect ofpleasures which he had supposed himself to have long ago exhausted.
"Hear the organ, I? why that means--O what does it mean?" she inquired,turning with a look of beaming hope towards her aunt.
"You must ask Mr. Sylvester," that uncompromising lady replied, with astraightforward look at the fire.
And he with a smile told the blushing girl that according to hisreading, mortals went blindfold into fairy-land; and she understood whathe meant and was silent, whereupon he turned the conversation upon morecommon-place subjects.
For how could he tell her then of the intention that had awakened in hisbreast at the first glimpse of her grand young beauty. To make her hischild, to bequeath to her the place of the babe that had perished in hisarms three long years before--That meant to give Ona a care if not arival in his affections, and Ona shrank from care, and was not a subjectfor rivalry. And the _if_ which this implied weighed heavily on hisheart as moment after moment flew by, and he felt again the revivingpower of an unsullied mind and an aspiring nature.
The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life Page 10