The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

by Anna Katharine Green

  XIV.

  MISS BELINDA HAS A QUESTION TO DECIDE.

  "I pray you in your letters,

  * * * * *

  Speak of me as I am; nothing extenuate, Nor set down aught in malice." --OTHELLO.

  Miss Belinda sitting before her bedroom fire on a certain windy night inJanuary, presented a picture of the most profound thought. A year hadelapsed since, with heavy heart and moistened eye, she had biddengood-bye to the child of her care, and beheld her drift away with hernew friend into a strange and untried life. And now a letter had comefrom that friend, in which with the truest appreciation for the feelingsof herself and sister, he requested their final permission to adoptPaula as his own child and the future occupant of his house and heart.

  Yes, after a year of increased comfort, Mrs. Sylvester, who would neverhave consented to receive as her own any child demanding care orattention, had decided it was quite a different matter to give place andposition to a lovely girl already grown, whose beauty was sufficientlypronounced to do credit to the family while at the same time it was of acharacter to heighten by contrast her own very manifest attractions. Sothe letter, destined to create such a disturbance in the stern andpowerful mind of Miss Belinda, had been written and dispatched.

  And indeed it was matter for the gravest reflection. To accede to thisimportant request was to yield up all control over the dear young girlwhose affection had constituted the brightness of this somewhatdisappointed life, while to refuse an offer made with such evident loveand anxiety, was to bring a pang of regret to a heart she hesitated towound. The question of advantage which might have swayed others in theirdecision, did not in the least affect Miss Belinda. Now that Paula hadseen the world and gained an insight into certain studies beyond thereach of her own attainments, any wishes in which she might haveindulged on that score were satisfied, and mere wealth with itsconcomitant of luxuriant living, she regarded with distrust, and ratherin the light of a stumbling-block to the great and grand end of allexistence.

  Suddenly with that energy which characterized all her movements, sherose from her seat, and first casting a look of somewhat cautiousinquiry at the recumbent figure of her sister, asleep in the heavy oldfashioned bed that occupied one corner of the room, she proceeded to abureau drawer and took out a small box which she unlocked on the table.It was full of letters; those same honest epistles, which, as empoweredby Mr. Sylvester, she had requested Paula to send her from week to week.Some of them were a year old, but she read them all carefully through,while the clock ticked on the shelf and the wind soughed in the chimney.Certain passages she marked, and when she had finished the pile, shetook up the letters again and re-read those passages. They werenecessarily desultory in their character, but they all had, in her mindat least, a bearing upon the question on hand, and as such, I give themto my readers.

  * * * * *

  "O aunty, I have made a friend, a sweet girl friend who I have reason tohope will henceforth be to me as my other eye and hand. Her name isStuyvesant--a name by the way that always calls up a certain complacentsmile on Cousin Ona's countenance--and she is the daughter of one of thedirectors of Mr. Sylvester's bank. I met her in a rather curious way.For some reason Ona had expressed a wish for me to ride horseback. Sheis rather too large for the exercise herself, but thought it lookedwell, she said, to see a lady and groom ride from the front of thehouse; moreover it would keep me in color by establishing my health. SoMr. Sylvester who denies her nothing, promised us horses and the groom,and as a preparation for acquitting myself with credit, has sent me toone of the finest riding academies in the city. It was here I met MissStuyvesant. She is a small interesting-looking girl whose chief beautylies in her expression which is certainly very charming. I was consciousof a calm and satisfied feeling the moment I saw her. Her eyes which areraised with a certain appeal to your face, are blue, while her lips thatbreak into smiles only at rare moments, are rosy and delicately curved.In her riding-habit she looks like a child, but when dressed for thestreet she surprises you with the reserved and womanly air with whichshe carries her proud head. Altogether she is a sweet study to me,alluring me with her glance yet awing me by her dainty ladyhood, aladyhood too unconscious to be affected and yet so completely a part ofher whole delicate being, that you could as soon dissociate the bloomfrom the rose, as the air of highborn reserve, from this sweet scion ofone of New York's oldest families.

  "I was mounting my horse when our eyes first met, and I never shallforget her look of delighted surprise. Did she recognize in me thefriend I now hope to become? Later we were introduced by Mr. Sylvesterwho had been so kind as to accompany me that day. The way in which hesaid to her, 'This is Paula,' proved that I was no new topic ofconversation between them, and indeed she afterwards explained to methat she had been forewarned of my arrival during an afternoon call athis house. There was in this first interview none of the unnecessarygush which you have so often reprobated as childish; indeed MissStuyvesant is not a person with whom one would presume to be familiar,nor was it till we had met several times that any acknowledgement wasmade of the mutual interest with which we found ourselves inspired.Cousin Ona to whom I had naturally spoken of the little lady, wished meto cultivate her acquaintance more assiduously, but I knew that if I hadexcited in her the same interest she had awakened in me, this would notbe necessary; our friendship would grow of itself and blossom withoutany hot-house forcing. And so it did. One day she came to theriding-school with her eyes like stars and her cheeks like the oleandersin your sitting-room. Her brightness was so contagious, I stepped up toher. But she greeted me with almost formal reserve, and mounting herhorse, proceeded to engage in her usual exercise. I was not hurt; Irecognized the presence of some thought or feeling which made a barrieraround her sensitive nature, and duly respected it. Mounting my ownhorse, I rode around the ring which is the somewhat limited field of mypresent equestrian efforts, and waited. For I knew from the looks whichshe cast me every now and then, that the flower of our friendship wasoutgrowing its sheath and would soon burst into the bud of perfectunderstanding. At the end of the lesson we approached each other. I donot know how it was done, but we walked home together, or rather Iaccompanied her to the stoop of her house, and before we parted we hadexchanged those words which give emphasis to a sentiment long cherishedbut now for the first time avowed. Miss Stuyvesant and I are friends,and I feel as though a new stream of enjoyment had opened in my breast.

  "The fact that I still call her by this formal title instead of her verypretty name of Cicely, proves the nature of the respect she inspireseven in the breasts of her girlish associates."

  "Why is it that I frequently hesitate as I go up the stairs and lookabout me with a vague feeling of apprehension? The bronze figure ofLuxury that adorns the landing, wears no semblance of terror to thewildest imagination, and yet I often find myself seized by aninexplicable shudder as I hurry past it; and once I actually lookedbehind me with the same sensation as if some one had plucked me by thesleeve.

  "It is a folly; for recording which, I make my excuses."

  * * * * *

  "Cousin Ona has decided that I must never wear colors. 'Soft grays, mydear, dead blacks and opaque whites are all that you need to bring outthe fine contrast of your hair and complexion; the least hint of blue orpink would destroy it.' So she says and so I must believe, for who elsehas made such a study of the all important subject of dress. Behold me,then, arrayed for my first reception in a colorless robe of rich silk towhich Ona after long consideration allowed me to add some ornaments ofplain gold with which Mr. Sylvester has kindly presented me. But I thinkmore of the people I am going to meet than of anything else, though Ienjoy the home-feeling which a pretty dress gives me, as well as aviolet does its bright blue coat."

  * * * * *

  "I have heard a great preacher! What shall I say? At first it see
ms asif nothing could express my joy and satisfaction. The sapling that isshaken to its root by the winds of heaven, keeps silence I imagine. ButO Aunty, if my smallness makes me quake, it also makes me feel. Whatgates of thought have been opened to me! What shining tracks of inquirypointed out! I feel as if I had been shown a path where angels walked.Can it be that such words have been uttered every week of my life and Iin ignorance of them? It is like the revelation of the ocean tounaccustomed eyes. Henceforth small things must seem like pebble stonesabove which stretch innumerable heavenly vistas. It is not so much thatnew things have been revealed to me as that old things have been madestrangely eloquent. The voice of a daisy on the hill side, the breath ofthunder in the mountain gorges, the blossoming of a child's smile underits mother's eye, the fact that golden portals are opened in every lifefor the coming and going of the messengers of God, all have been madereal to me, real as the voice of the Saviour to his disciples as theywalked in the fields or started back awe-stricken from the stupendousvision of the cross. It is a solemn thing to see one's humble thoughtscaught by the imagination of a great mind and carried on and up intoregions you never realized existed.

  "I was so burdened with joy that I could not forbear asking Mr.Sylvester if he did not feel as if the whole face of the world hadchanged since we entered those holy doors. He did not respond with theglad 'Yes' for which I hoped, and though his smile was very kind, Icould not help wondering what it was that sometimes fell between us likea veil."

  "O Aunty, how my heart does yearn towards Mr. Sylvester at times! As Isee him sitting with clouded brow in the midst of so much that ought tocharm and enliven him, I ask myself if the advantages of wealthcompensate for all this care and anxiety. But I notice he is much morecheerful now than when I first came. Ona says he is in danger of losingthe air of melancholy reserve which made him look so distinguished, butI think we can spare a little of such doubtful distinguishment for thesake of the smiles with which he now and then indulges us."

  * * * * *

  "I feel as if a hand had gripped my throat. Cousin Ona spoke to Mr.Sylvester this morning in a way that made my very heart stand still. Andyet it was only a simple, 'Follow your own judgment, Mr. Sylvester.' Buthow she said it! Do these languid women carry venom in their tongues? Ihad always thought she was of too easy a disposition to feel anger ordisplay it; but the spring of a serpent is all the deadlier for his longsilent basking in the sun. O pardon me for making such a frightfulallusion. But if you had seen her and heard Mr. Sylvester's sigh as heturned and left the room!"

  * * * * *

  "Mr. Bertram Sylvester has awakened my deepest interest. His uncle hastold me his story, which alone of all the things I have heard in thishouse, I do not feel at liberty to repeat, and it has aroused in mestrange thoughts and very peculiar emotions. He is devoted to some onewe do not know, and the idea surrounds him in my eyes with a sort ofhalo that you would perhaps call fanciful, but which I am neverthelessbound to reverence. He does not know that I am acquainted with hisstory. I wish he did and would let me speak the words that rise to mylips whenever I see him or hear him play."

  * * * * *

  "There are moments when I long to flee back to Grotewell. It is whenCousin Ona comes in from shopping with a dozen packages to be opened andcommented upon, or when Mrs. Fitzgerald has been here or some other ofher ultra-fashionable acquaintances. The atmosphere of the house forhours after either of the above occurrences is too heavy for breathing.I have to go away and clear my brain by a brisk walk or a look intoKnoedler's or Schaus'."

  * * * * *

  "The panel where Cousin Ona's picture used to hang, has been filled byone of Meissonier's most interesting studies; and though I never thoughtMr. Sylvester particularly fond of the French style of art, he seemsvery well satisfied with the result. I cannot understand how Cousin Onacan regard the misfortune to her portrait so calmly. I think it wouldbreak my heart to see a husband look with complacency on any picture, nomatter how exquisite, that took the place of my own, especially if likeher's, it was painted in my bridal days. I sometimes wonder if thosedays are as sacred to the memory of husband and wife as I have alwaysimagined them to be."

  * * * * *

  "Why does Cousin Ona never speak of Grotewell, and why, if by chance Imention the name, does she drop her eyes and a shadow cross thecountenance of Mr. Sylvester?"

  * * * * *

  "There is a word Mr. Sylvester uses in the most curious way; it is_fuss_. He calls everything a fuss that while insignificant in size orcharacter has power either to irritate or please. A fly is a fuss; so isa dimple in a girl's cheek or a figure that goes wrong in accounts. Ihave even heard him call a child, 'That dear little fuss.' Bertramunconsciously imitates his uncle in this peculiar mannerism and is oftenheard alluding to this or that as a _fuss of fusses_. Indeed they saythis use of the word is a peculiarity of the Sylvester family."

  * * * * *

  "I think from the way Mr. Sylvester spoke yesterday, that he must haveexperienced some dreadful trouble in his life. We were walking in thewards of a hospital--that is, Miss Stuyvesant, Mr. Sylvester andmyself--when some one near us gave utterance to the trite expression, 'Oit will heal, but the scar will always remain.' 'That is a commonsaying,' remarked Mr. Sylvester, 'but how true a one no one realizes buthe who carries the scar.'"

  * * * * *

  "It may be imagination or simply the effect of increased appreciation onmy part, but it does seem as if Miss Stuyvesant grew lovelier and morecompanionable each time that I meet her. She makes me think of a templein which a holy lamp is burning. Her very silences are eloquent, and yetshe is never _distraite_ but always cheerful and frequently thebrightest of the company. But it is a brightness without glitter, agentle lustre that delights you but never astonishes. I meet many sweetgirls in the so-called heartless circles of society, but none like her.She is my white lily on which a moonbeam rests."

  * * * * *

  "This house contains a mystery, as Ona is pleased to designate the roomat the top of the house to which Mr. Sylvester withdraws when he desiresto be alone. And indeed it is a sort of Bluebeard's chamber, in that hekeeps it rigidly under lock and key, allowing no one to enter it, noteven his wife. The servants declare that no one but himself has evercrossed its threshold, but I can scarcely believe that. Ona has not, butthere must surely be some trusty person to whom he allots the care ofits furniture. Am I only proving myself to be a true member of my sexwhen I allow that I cannot hinder my own curiosity from hovering about aspot so religiously guarded? Yet what should we see if its doors werethrown open? A study surrounded with books it displeases him to seemisplaced, or a luxurious apartment fitted with every appointmentnecessary to rest and comfort him when he comes home tired frombusiness."

  * * * * *

  "I never saw Mr. Sylvester angry till to-day. By some inadvertence hewent down town without locking the door of his private room, and thoughhe returned immediately upon missing the key from his pocket, he wasbarely in time to prevent Cousin Ona from invading the spot he hasalways kept so sacred from intrusion. I was not present and of coursedid not hear what was said, but I caught a glimpse of his face as heleft the house, and found it quite sufficient to assure me of hisdissatisfaction. As for Ona, she declares he pulled her back as if shehad been daring the plague. 'I do not expect to find five beautifulwives hanging up there by their necks,' concluded she with a forcedlaugh, 'but I shall yet see the interior of that room, if only toestablish my prerogative as the mistress of this house.'

  "I do not now feel as if I wished to see it."

  * * * * *

  "There is one thing that strikes me as peculiar in Miss Stuyvesant, andthat is, that as much pleasure as
she seems to take in my society whenwe meet, she never comes to see me in Mr. Sylvester's house. For a longtime I wondered over this but said nothing, but one day upon receiving asecond invitation to visit her, I mentioned the fact as delicately as Icould, and was quite distressed to observe how seriously she took therebuke, if rebuke it could be called. 'I cannot explain myself,' shemurmured in some embarrassment; 'but Mr. Sylvester's house is closedagainst me. You must not ask me to seek you there or expect me to domyself the pleasure of attending Mrs. Sylvester's receptions. I cannot.Is that enough for me to say to my dearest friend?' I hardly knew whatto reply, but finally ventured to inquire if she was restrained by anyfact that would make it undignified in me to seek her society and enjoythe pleasures she is continually offering me. And she answered with sucha cheerful negative I was quite reassured. And so the matter is settled.Our friendship is to be emancipated from the bonds of etiquette and I amto enjoy her company whenever I can. To-morrow we are going to take ourfirst ride in the park. The horses have been bought, and much to CousinOna's satisfaction, the groom has been hired."

  * * * * *

  "I was told something the other day, of a nature so unpleasant that Ishould not think of repeating it, if you had not expressly commanded meto confide to you everything that for any reason produced an effect uponme in my new home. My informant was Sarah, the somewhat gossiping womanwhom Ona has about her as seamstress and maid. She said--and she hadspoken before I could prevent her--that the way Mrs. Sylvester took onabout her mourning at the time of little Geraldine's death was enough towear out the patience of Job. She even went so far as to tell thedressmaker that if she could not have her dress made to suit her shewould not put on mourning at all! Aunty, can you wonder that Mr.Sylvester looks so bitterly sombre whenever mention is made of hischild? He loved it, and its own mother could worry over the fit of adress while his bereaved heart was breaking! I confess I can never feelthe same indulgence towards what I considered the idiosyncrasies of afashionable beauty again. Her smooth white skin makes me tremble; it hasnever flushed with delight over the innocent smiles of her firstborn."

  * * * * *

  "Mr. Sylvester is very polite to Cousin Ona and seems to yield to herwishes in everything. But if I were she I think my heart would breakover that very politeness. But then she is one who demands formalityeven from the persons of her household. I have never seen him stoop fora kiss or beheld her even so much as lay her hand on his shoulder. But Ihave observed him wait on her at moments when he was pale from wearinessand she flushed with long twilight reclinings before her sleepy boudoirfire."

  * * * * *

  "There are times when I would not exchange my present opportunities forany others which might be afforded me. General ---- dined here to-day,and what a vision of a great struggle was raised up before me by his fewsimple words in regard to Gettysburg. I did not know which to admiremost, the military bearing and vivid conversation of the great soldier,or the ease and dignity with which Mr. Sylvester met his remarks andanswered each glowing sentence. General ---- spoke a few words to me.How gentle these lion-like men can be when they stoop their tall headsto address little children or young women!"

  * * * * *

  "What a noble-hearted man Mr. Sylvester is! Mr. Turner in speaking ofhim the other night, declared there is no one in his congregation who ina quiet way does so much for the poor. 'He is especially interested inyoung men,' said he, 'and will leave his own affairs at any time to aidor advise them.' I knew Mr. Sylvester was kind, but Mr. Turner'senthusiasm was uncommon. He evidently admires Mr. Sylvester as much asevery one else loves him. And he is not alone in this. Almost every dayI hear some remark made of a nature complimentary to my benefactor'scharacter or ability. Even Mr. Stuyvesant who so seldom appears tonotice us girls, once interrupted a conversation between Cicely andmyself to inquire if Mr. Sylvester was quite well. 'I thought he lookedpale to-day,' remarked he, in his dry but not unkindly way, and thenadded, 'He must not get sick; he is too valuable to us.' This was agreat deal for Mr. Stuyvesant to say, and it caused a visiblegratification to Mr. Sylvester when I related it to him in the evening.'I had rather satisfy that man than any other I know,' declared he. 'Heis of the stern old-fashioned sort, and it is an honor to any one tomerit his approval. I did not tell him that I had also heard Mr.Stuyvesant observe in a conversation with some business friend of his,that Edward Sylvester was the only speculator he knew in whom he feltimplicit confidence. Somehow it always gives me an uncomfortable feelingto hear Mr. Sylvester alluded to as a speculator. Besides since he hasentered the Bank, he has I am told, entirely restricted himself to whatare called legitimate operations."

  * * * * *

  "Mr. Sylvester came home with a dreadful look on his face to-day. Wewere standing in the hall at the time the door opened, and he went by uswithout a nod, almost as if he did not see us. Even Ona was startled andstood gazing after him with an anxiety such as I had never observed inher before, while I was conscious of that sick feeling I have sometimesexperienced when he came upon me suddenly from his small room above, orpaused in the midst of the gayest talk, to ask me some question that waswholly irrelevant and most frequently sad.

  "'He has met with some heavy loss,' murmured his wife, glancing down thehandsome parlors with a look such as a mother might bestow upon the faceof a sick child. But I was sure she had not sounded his trouble, and inmy impetuosity was about to fly to his side when we saw him pause beforethe image of Luxury that stands on the stair, look at it for a momentwith a strange intentness, then suddenly and with a gesture ofirrepressible passion, lift his arm as if he would fell it from itsplace. The action was so startling, Ona clutched my sleeve in terror,but he passed on and in another moment we heard him shut the door of hisroom.

  "Would he be down to dinner? that was the next question. Ona thoughtnot; I did not dare to think. Nevertheless it was a great relief to mewhen I saw him enter the dining-room with that set immovable look hesometimes wears when Ona begins one of her long and rambling streams offashionable gossip. 'It is nothing,' flashed from his wife's eyes tomine, and she lapsed at once into her most graceful self, but shenevertheless hastened her meal and I was quite prepared to observe herfollow him, as with the polite excuse of weariness, he left the tablebefore desert. I could not hear what she asked him, but his answer camedistinctly to my ears from the midst of the library to which they hadwithdrawn. 'It is nothing in which you have an interest, Ona. Thankheaven you do not always know the price with which the splendors you solove are bought.' And she did not cry out, 'O never pay such a price forany joy of mine! Sooner than cost you so dear I would live on crusts anddwell in a garret.' No, she kept silence, and when in a few minuteslater I joined her in the library, it was to find on her usually placidlips, a thin cool smile that struck like ice to my heart, and made itimpossible for me to speak.

  "But the hardest trial of the day was to hear Mr. Sylvester come in ateleven o'clock--he went out again immediately after dinner--and go upstairs without giving me my usual good-night. It was such a grief to meI could not keep still, but hurried to the foot of the stairs in thehopes he would yet remember me and come back. But instead of that, he nosooner saw me than he threw out his hand almost as if he would push meback, and hastened on up the whole winding flight till he reached therefuge of that mysterious room of his at the top of the house.

  "I could not go back to Ona after that--she had been to make a callsomewhere with a young gentleman friend of hers;--yes on this very nighthad been to make a call--but I took advantage of the late hour to retireto my own room where for a long time I lay awake listening for hisdescending step and seeing, as in a vision, the startling picture of hislifted arm raised against the unconscious piece of bronze on the stair.Henceforth that statue will possess for me a still more dreadfulsignificance."

  "It is the twenty-fifth of February. Why should
I feel as if I must besure of the exact date before I slept?"

  * * * * *

  The next extract followed close on this and was the last which MissBelinda read.

  "Mr. Sylvester seems to have recovered from his late anxiety. He doesnot shrink from me any more with that half bitter, half sad expressionthat has so long troubled and bewildered me, but draws me to his sideand sits listening to my talk until I feel as if I were really of somecomfort to this great and able man. Ona does not notice the change; sheis all absorbed in preparing for the visit to Washington, which Mr.Sylvester has promised her."

  * * * * *

  Miss Belinda calmly folded up the letters and locked them again in thelittle mahogany box, after which she covered up the embers and quietlywent to bed. But next morning a letter was despatched to Mr. Sylvesterwhich ran thus:

  "DEAR MR. SYLVESTER:

  "For the present at least you may keep Paula with you. But I am not ready to say that I think it would be for her best good to be received and acknowledged as your daughter--yet. Hoping you will appreciate the motives that actuate this decision,

  "I remain, respectfully yours,

  "BELINDA ANN WALTON."

  XV.

  AN ADVENTURE--OR SOMETHING MORE.

  "Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very heaven."--WORDSWORTH.