The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

by Anna Katharine Green

  XI.

  MISS STUYVESANT.

  "She smiled; but he could see arise Her soul from far adown her eyes."

  --MRS. BROWNING.

  "She is a beauty; it is only right I should forewarn you of that."

  "Dark or light?"

  "Dark; that is her hair and eyes are almost oriental in their blackness,but her skin is fair, almost as dazzling as yours, Ona."

  Mrs. Sylvester threw a careless glance in the long mirror before whichshe was slowly completing her toilet, and languidly smiled. But whetherat this covert compliment to her greatest charm or at some passing fancyof her own, it would be difficult to decide. "The dark hair and eyescome from her father," remarked she in an abstracted way while she triedthe effect of a bunch of snow-white roses at her waist with a backwardtoss of her proud blonde head. "His mother was a Greek. 'Tell it not inGath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon,'" she exclaimed in avoice as nearly gay as her indolent nature would allow. For this lady offashion was in one of her happiest moods. Her dress, a new one, fittedher to perfection and the vision mirrored in the glass before her wasnot lacking, so far as she could see in one charm that could captivate."Do you think she could fasten a ribbon, or arrange a bow?" she furtherinquired. "I should like to have some one about me with a knack forhelping a body in an emergency, if possible. Sarah is absolutely thedestruction of any bit of ribbon she undertakes to handle. Look at thatknot of black velvet over there for instance, wouldn't you think a rawIrish girl just from the other side would have known better than to tieit with half the wrong side showing?"

  With the habit long ago acquired of glancing wherever her ivory fingerchanced to point, the grave man of the world slowly turned his head fullof the weightiest cares and oppressed by the burden of innumerableresponsibilities, and surveyed the cluster of velvet bows thusindicated, with a mechanical knitting of the brows.

  "I pay Sarah twenty-five dollars a month and that is the result," hiswife proceeded. "Now if Paula--"

  "Paula is not to come here as a waiting maid," her husband quicklyinterposed, a suspicion of color just showing itself for a moment on hischeek.

  "If Paula," his wife went on, unheeding the interruption save by castinghim a hurried glance over the shoulder of her own reflection in theglass, "had the taste in such matters of some other members of ourfamily and could manage to lend me a helping hand now and then, why Icould almost imagine I had my younger sister back with me again, whowith her skill in making one look fit for the eyes of the world, wassuch a blessing to us in our old home."

  "I have no doubt Paula could be taught to be equally efficient," herhusband responded, carefully restraining any further show of impatience."She is bright, I am certain, and ribbon-tying is not such a verydifficult art, is it?"

  "I don't know about that; by the way Sarah succeeds I should say it wasabout on a par with the science of algebra or--what is that horrid studythey used to threaten to inflict me with at the academy whenever Icomplained of a headache? Oh I remember--conic sections."

  "Well, well," laughed her husband, "she ought soon to to be an expert init then; Paula is a famous little mathematician."

  A silence followed this response; Mrs. Sylvester was fitting in herear-rings. "I suppose," said she when the operation was completed, "thatthe snow will prevent half the people from coming to-night." It was areception evening at the Sylvester mansion. "But so long as Mrs.Fitzgerald does not disappoint me, I do not care. What do you think ofthe setting of these diamonds?" she inquired, leaning forward to look atherself more closely, and slowly shaking her head till the rich gemssparkled like fire.

  "It is good," came in short, quick tones from the lips of her husband.

  "Well, I don't know, there might be a shade more of enamel on the edgeof that ring. I shall speak to the jeweller about it to-morrow. But whatwere we talking about?" she dreamily asked, still turning her head fromside to side before the mirror.

  "We were talking about adopting your cousin in the place of our childwho is dead," replied her husband with some severity, pausing in themiddle of the floor which he was pacing, to honor her with a steadyglance.

  "O yes! Dear me! what an awkward clasp that man has given to these ringsafter all. You will have to fasten them for me." Then as he steppedforward with studied courtesy, yawned just a trifle and remarked, "Noone could ever take the place of one's own child of course. If Geraldinehad lived she would have been a blonde, her eyes were blue assapphires."

  He looked in his wife's face and his hands dropped. He thought of theday when those eyes, blue as sapphires indeed, flashed burning withdeath's own fever, from the little crib in the nursery, while with thissame cool and self-satisfied countenance, the wife and mother before himhad swept down the broad stairs to her carriage, murmuringapologetically as she gathered up her train, "O you needn't troubleyourself to look after her, she will do very well with Sarah."

  She may have thought of it too, for the least little bit of real crimsonfound its way through the rouge on her cheek as she encountered thestern look of his eye, but she only turned a trifle more towards theglass, saying, "I forgot you do not admire the role of waiting maid. Iwill try and manage them myself, seeing that you have banished Sarah."

  He exerted his self-control and again for the thousandth time buriedthat ghastly memory out of sight, actually forcing himself to smile ashe gently took her hand from her ear and began deftly to fasten therebellious ornaments.

  "You mistake," said he, "love can ask any favor without hesitation. I donot object to waiting upon my own wife."

  She gave him a little look which he obligingly took as a guerdon forthis speech, and languidly held out her bracelets. As he stood claspingthem on her arms, she quietly eyed him over from head to foot. "I don'tknow of a man who has your figure," said she with a certain tone ofpride in her voice; "it is well you married a wife who does not lookaltogether inferior beside you." Then as he bowed with mock appreciationof the intended compliment, added with her usual inconsequence, "I daresay it would give me something to interest myself in. I don't supposeshe has a decent thing to wear, and the fact of her being a dark beautywould lend quite a new impulse to my inventive faculty. Mrs. Walker hasa daughter with black eyes, but dear me, what a guy she does make ofher!"

  With a sigh Mr. Sylvester turned to the window where he stood lookingout at the heavy flakes of snow falling with slow and fluctuatingmovement between him and the row of brown stone houses in front. Paulaconsidered as a milliner's block upon which to try the effect ofclothes!

  "Even Mrs. Fitzgerald with all her taste don't know how to dress herchild," proceeded his wife, with a hurried, "Be still, Cherry!" to theimportunate bird in the cage. "Now I should take as much pride indressing any one under my charge as I would myself, provided the subjectwas likely to do credit to my efforts." And finding the birdincorrigible in his shrill singing, she moved over to the cage, whereshe stood balancing her white finger for the bird to peck at, with apretty caressing motion of her lip, the little Geraldine of the wistfulblue eyes, had never seen.

  "You are welcome to do what you please in such matters," was herhusband's reply. He was thinking again of that same little Geraldine; afall of snow like the present always made him think of her and herinnocent query as to whether God threw down such big flakes to amuselittle children. "I give you _carte blanche_," said he with suddenemphasis.

  Mrs. Sylvester paused in her attentions to the bird to give him a sharplittle look which might have aroused his surprise if he had beenfortunate enough to see it. But his back was towards her, and there wasnothing in the languidly careless tone with which she responded, tocause him to turn his head. "I see that you would really like to have meentertain the child; but--"

  She paused, pursing up her lips to meet the chattering bird's caress,while her husband in his impatience drummed with his fingers on thepane.

  --"I must see her before I decide upon the length of her visit,"continued she, as weary with the sport she drew back to giv
e herself afinal look in the glass. "Will you please to hand me that shawl,Edward."

  He turned with alacrity. In his relief he could have kissed the snowyneck held so erectly before him, as he drew around it the shawl he hadhastily lifted from the chair at his side. But that would not havesuited this calm and languid beauty who disliked any too overt tributeto her charms and saved her caresses for her bird. Besides it would looklike gratitude, and gratitude would be misplaced towards a wife who hadjust indicated her acceptance of his offer to receive a relative of herown into his house.

  "She might as well come at once," was her final remark, as satisfied atlast with the lay of every ribbon she swept in finished elegance fromthe room. "Mrs. Kittredge's reception comes off a week from Thursday,and I should like to see how a dark beauty with a fair skin would lookin that new shade of heliotrope."

  And so the battle was over and the victory won; for Mrs. Sylvester forall her seeming indifference was never known to change a decision shehad once made. As he realized the fact, as he meditated that ere longthis very room which had been the scene of so much frivolity and thewitness to so many secret heart-burnings, would reecho to the tread ofthe pure and innocent child, whose mind had flights unknown to theslaves of fashion, and in whose heart lay impulses of goodness thatwould satisfy the long smothered cravings of his awakened nature, heexperienced a feeling of relenting towards the wife who had not chosento thwart him in this the strongest wish of his childless manhood, andcrossing to her dressing table, he dropped among its treasures a costlyring which he had been induced to purchase that day from an old friendwho had fallen into want. "She will wear it," murmured he to himself,"for its hue will make her hand look still whiter, and when I see itsparkle I will remember this hour and be patient." Had he known that shehad yielded to this wish out of a certain vague feeling of compunctionfor the disappointments she had frequently occasioned him and wouldoccasion him again, he might have added a tender thought to the rich andcostly gift with which he had just endowed her.

  "I expect a young cousin of mine to spend the winter with me and pursueher studies," were the first words that greeted his ears as an hour orso later he entered the parlor where his wife was entertaining what fewguests had been anxious enough for a sight of Mrs. Sylvester's newlyfurnished drawing-room, to brave the now rapidly falling snow. "I hopethat you and she will be friends."

  Curious to see what sort of a companion his wife was thus somewhatprematurely providing for Paula, he hastily advanced towards the littlegroup from which her voice had proceeded, and found himself face to facewith a brown-haired girl whose appealing glance and somewhat infantilemouth were in striking contrast to the dignity with which she carriedher small head and managed her whole somewhat petite person.

  "Miss Stuyvesant! my husband!" came in musical tones from his wife, andsomewhat surprised to hear a name that but a moment before had been theuppermost in his mind, he bowed with courtesy and then asked if he wasso happy as to speak to a daughter of Thaddeus Stuyvesant.

  "If it will give you especial pleasure I will say yes," responded thelittle miss with a smile that irradiated her whole face. "Do you know myfather?"

  "There are but few bankers in the city who have not that pleasure,"replied he with an answering look of regard. "I am especially happy tomeet his daughter in my house to-night."

  There was something in his manner of saying this and in the shortinquiring glance which at every opportunity he cast upon her brightyoung face with its nameless charm of mingled appeal and reserve, thatastonished his wife.

  "Miss Stuyvesant was in the carriage with Mrs. Fitzgerald," said thatlady with a certain dignity she knew well how to assume. "I am afraid ifit had not been for that circumstance we should not have enjoyed thepleasure of her presence." And with the rare tact of which she wascertainly a mistress, as far as all social matters were concerned, sheleft the aspiring magnate of Wall Street to converse with the daughterof the man whom all New York bankers were expected to know, and hastenedto join a group of ladies discussing ceramics before a huge placque ofrarest _cloissone_.

  Mr. Sylvester followed her with his eyes; he had never seen her lookmore vivacious; had the hope of seeing a young face at their boardtouched some secret chord in her nature as well as his? Was she more ofa woman than he imagined, and would she be, though in the mostsuperficial of ways, a mother to Paula? Flushed with the thought, heturned back to the little lady at his side. She was gazing in an intentand thoughtful way at an engraving of Dubufe's "Prodigal Son" thatadorned the wall above her head. There was something in her face thatmade him ask:

  "Is that a favorite picture of yours?"

  She smiled and nodded her small and delicate head.

  "Yes sir, it is indeed, but I was not looking at the picture so much asat the face of that dark-haired girl that sits in the centre, with thatfar-away expression in her eyes. Do you see what I mean? She is likenone of the rest. Her form is before us, but her heart and her interestare in some distant clime or forsaken home to which the music murmuredat her side recalls her. She has a soul above her surroundings, thatgirl; and her face is indescribably pathetic to me. In the recesses ofher being she carries a memory or a regret that separates her from theworld and makes certain moments of her life almost holy."

  "You look deep," said Mr. Sylvester, gazing down upon the little lady'sface with strongly awakened interest. "You see more perhaps than thepainter intended."

  "No, no; possibly more than the engraving expresses, but not more thanthe artist intended. I saw the original once, when as you remember itwas on exhibition here. I was a wee thing, but I never forgot thatgirl's face. It spoke more than all the rest to me; perhaps because I somuch honor reserve in one who holds in his breast a great pain or agreat hope."

  The eye that was resting upon her, softened indescribably. "You believein great hopes," said he.

  The little figure seemed to grow tall; and her face looked almostbeautiful. "What would life be without them?" she answered.

  "True," returned Mr. Sylvester; and entering into the conversation withunusual spirit, was astonished to find how young she was and yet howthoroughly bright and self-possessed.

  "Lovely girls are cropping up around me in all directions," thought he;"I shall have to correct my judgment concerning our young ladies offashion if I encounter many more as sensible and earnest-hearted asthis." And for some reason his brow grew so light and his tone socheerful that the ladies were attracted from all parts of the room tohear what the demure Miss Stuyvesant could have to say to the gravemaster of the house, to call forth such smiles of enjoyment upon hisusually melancholy countenance.

  Take it all together, the occasion though small was one of thepleasantest of the season, and so Mrs. Sylvester announced when the lastcarriage had driven away, and she and her husband stood in thebrilliantly lighted library, surveying a new cabinet of rare and antiqueworkmanship which had been that day installed in the place of honorbeneath my lady's picture.

  "I thought you seemed to enjoy it, Ona," her husband remarked.

  "O, it was an occasion of triumph to me," she murmured. "It is the firsttime a Stuyvesant has crossed our threshold, _mon cher_."

  "Ha," he exclaimed, turning upon her a brisk displeased look. He wasproud and considered no man his superior in a social sense. "Do youacknowledge yourself a parvenue that you rejoice at the entrance of anyone special person into your doors?"

  "I thought," she replied somewhat mortified, "that you betrayed unusualpleasure yourself at her introduction."

  "That may be; I was glad to see her here, for her father is one of themost influential directors in the bank of which I shortly expect to bemade president."

  The nature of this disclosure was calculated to be especially gratifyingto her, and effectually blotted out any remembrance of the break bywhich it had been introduced. After a few hasty inquiries, followed by ascene of quite honest mutual congratulation, the gratified wife left herhusband to put out the lights himself or call Samuel as he migh
t choose,and glided up stairs to delight the curious Sarah with the brokensoliloquies and inconsequent self-communings which formed another of herpeculiar habits.

  As for her husband, he stood a few minutes where she left him,abstractedly eying the gorgeous vista that spread out before him down tothe further mirror of the elaborate drawing-room, thinking perhaps witha certain degree of pride, of the swiftness with which he had risen toopulence and the certainty with which he had conquered position in thebusiness as well as in the social world when he could speak of such aconnection with Thaddeus Stuyvesant as a project already matured. Thenwith a hasty movement and a quick sigh which nothing in his prospectsactual or apparent would seem to warrant, he proceeded to put out thelights, my lady's picture shining with less and less importunity as theflickering jets disappeared, till all was dark save for the faintglimmer that came in from the hall, a glimmer just sufficient to showthe outlines of the various articles of furniture scattered about--andcould it be the tall figure of the master himself standing in the centreof the room with his palms pressed against his forehead in an attitudeof sorrow or despair? Yes, or whose that wild murmur, "Is it never givento man to forget!" Yet no, or who is this that calm and dignified, stepsat this moment from the threshold? It must have been a dream, aphantasy. _This_ is the master of the house who with sedate and regularstep goes up flight after flight of the spiral staircase, and neitherpauses or looks back till he reaches the top of the house where he takesout a key from his pocket, and opening a certain door, goes in and locksit behind him. It is his secret study or retreat, a room which no one isallowed to enter, the mystery of the house to the servants and somethingmore than that to its inquisitive mistress. What he does there no manknows, but to-night if any one had been curious enough to listen, theywould have heard nothing more ominous than the monotonous scratch of apen. He was writing to Miss Belinda and the burden of his letter wasthat on a certain day he named, he was coming to take away Paula.