XXX.
MISS BELINDA PRESENTS MR. SYLVESTER WITH A CHRISTMAS GIFT.
"For, O; for, O the hobby horse is forgot."
--HAMLET.
It was a clear winter evening. Mr. Sylvester sat in his library, musingbefore a bright coal fire, whose superabundant heat and blaze seemed tomake the loneliness of the great empty room more apparent. He had justsaid to himself that it was Christmas eve, and that he, of all men inthe world, had the least reason to realize it, when the door-bell rang.He was expecting Bertram, whose advancement to the position of cashierin place of Mr. Wheelock, now thoroughly broken down in health, had thatday been fully determined upon in a late meeting of the Board ofDirectors. He therefore did not disturb himself. It was consequently astartling surprise, when a deep, pleasant voice uttered from thethreshold of the door, "I have brought you a Christmas present;" andlooking up, he saw Miss Belinda standing before him, with Paula at herside.
"My child!" was his involuntary exclamation, and before the young girlknew it, she was folded against his breast with a passionate fervor thatmore than words, convinced her of the depth of the sacrifice which hadheld them separate for so long. "My darling! my little Paula!"
She felt her heart stand still. Gently disengaging herself, she lookedin his face. She found it thin and wan, but lit by such a pleasure shecould not keep back her smile. "You are glad, then, of your littleChristmas present?" said she.
He smiled and shook his head; he had no words with which to express ajoy like this.
Miss Belinda meanwhile stood with a set expression on her face, that, toone who did not know her, would immediately have proclaimed her to be anogress of the very worst type. Not a glance did she give to the unusualsplendor about her, not a wavering of her eye betokened that she was inany way conscious that she had just stepped from the threshold of a veryhumble cottage, into a home little short of a palace in size and thesplendor of its appointments. All her attention was concentrated on thetwo faces before her.
"The ride on the cars has made Paula feverish," cried she, in sharpclear tones that rang with unexpected brusqueness through the curtainedalcoves of that lordly apartment.
They both started at this sudden introduction of the prosaic into thehush of their happy meeting, but remembering themselves, drew MissBelinda forward to the fire and made her welcome in this house of manymemories.
It was a strange moment to Paula when she first turned to go up thosestairs, down which she had come in such grief eight months or more ago.She found herself lingering on its well-remembered steps, and the firstsight of the rich bronze image at the top, struck her with a sense ofthe old-time pleasure, that was not unlinked with the old-time dread.But the aspect of her little room calmed her. It was just as she hadleft it; not an article had been changed. "It is as if I had gone outone door and come in another," she whispered. All the months that hadintervened seemed to float away. She felt this even more when upon againdescending, she found Bertram in the library. His frank and interestingface had always been pleasant to her, but in the joy of her return itshone upon her with almost the attraction of a brother's. "I am at homeagain," she kept whispering to herself, "I am at home."
Miss Belinda was engrossed in conversation with Bertram, so that Paulawas left free to take her old place by Mr. Sylvester's side, where shesat with such an aspect of contentment, that her beauty was halfforgotten in her happiness.
"You remembered me, then, sometimes in the little cottage in Grotewell?"asked he, after a silent contemplation of her countenance. "I was notforgotten when you left the city streets?"
She answered with a bright little shake of her head, but she wasinwardly wondering as she looked at his strong and picturesque face,with its nobly carved features and melancholy smile, if he had beenabsent from her thoughts for so much as a moment, in all these drearymonths of separation.
"I did not believe you would forget," he gently pursued, "but I scarcelydared hope you would lighten my fireside with your face again. It issuch a dismal one, and youth is so linked to brightness."
The flush that crossed her cheek, startled him into sudden silence. Sherecovered herself and slowly shook her head. "It is not a dismal one tome. I always feel brighter and better when I sit beside it. I havemissed your counsel," she said; "brightness is nothing without depth."
His eyes which had been fixed on her face, turned slowly away. He seemedto hold an instant's communion with himself; suddenly he said, "Anddepth is worse than nothing, without it mirrors the skies. It is notfrom shadowed pools, such bright young lips should drink, but from thewaves of an inexhaustible sea, smote upon by all the winds and sunshineof heaven."
In another moment, however, he was all cheerfulness. "You have broughtme a Christmas present," cried he, "and we must make it a Christmasholiday indeed. Here is the beginning:" and with one of his old gravesmiles, he handed Bertram a little note which had been awaiting him onthe library table. "But Paula and Miss Belinda must have their pleasuretoo. Paula, are you too tired for a ride down town? I will show you NewYork on a Christmas eve," continued he to Miss Walton, seeing thatPaula's attention was absorbed by the expression of sudden and movingsurprise which had visited Bertram's face, upon the perusal of his note."It is a stirring sight. Nothing more cheering can be found the wideworld over, for those who have a home and children to make happy."
"I certainly should enjoy a glimpse of holiday cheer," assented MissBelinda. And Paula recalled to herself by the sound of her aunt's voice,gayly re-echoed her assertion.
So Samuel was despatched for a carriage, and in a few minutes they wereall riding down Fifth Avenue, _en route_ for Tiffany's, Macy's, and anyother store that might offer special attractions. It was a happycompany. As they rolled along, Paula felt her heart grow lighter andlighter, Mr. Sylvester was almost gay, while even Aunt Belindacondescended to be merry. Bertram alone was silent, but as Paula caughtshort glimpses of his face, while speeding past some illuminated corner,she felt that it was that silence which is "the perfectest herald ofjoy."
"I shall make you get out and mix with the crowd," said Mr. Sylvester."I want you to feel the throb of the great heart of the city on such anight as this. It is as if all men were brothers--or fathers, I shouldsay. People that ordinarily pass each other without a sign, nod andsmile with pleasing recognition of the evening's cheer. Grave andreverend seigniors, are not ashamed to be seen carrying packages by thedozen. Indeed, he who is most laden is considered the best fellow, andhe who is so unfortunate as to show nothing but empty arms, feels shy ifnot ashamed; a condition of mind into which I shall soon fall myself, ifwe do not presently reach our destination."
Paula never forgot that night. As from the midst of our common-placememories, some one hour stands out distinct and strange, like a sweetforeigner in a crowd of village faces, so to Paula, this ride throughthe lighted streets, with the ensuing rush from store to store, pilotedby Bertram and Miss Belinda, and protected by Mr. Sylvester, was her oneweird glimpse into the Arabian Nights' country. Why, she could not havetold; why, she did not stop to think. She had been to all these placesbefore, but never with such a heart as this--never, never with such anoverflowing heart as this.
"I have washed away my reproach," cried Mr. Sylvester, coming out to thecarriage with his arms full of bundles. "Aunt Belinda is to blame forthis; she set the example, you see." And with a merry laugh, he tossedone thing after another into Paula's lap, reserving only one smallpackage for himself. "I scarcely know what I have bought," said he. "Ishall be as much surprised as any one, when you come to undo thebundles. 'A pretty thing,' was all I waited to hear from the shopgirls."
"There is a small printing press for one thing," cried Paula merrily. "Isaw the man at Holton's eye you with a certain sort of shrewd humor, andhastily do it up. You paid for it; probably thinking it one of the'pretty things.' We shall have to make it over to Bertram, as being theonly one amongst us who by any stretch of imagination can be said to benear enough the age of boyhood to enjoy it."
"I do not know about that," cried Bertram, with a ringing infectiouslaugh, "my imagination has been luring me into believing that I am notthe only boy in this crowd."
And so they went on, toying with their new-found joy as with aplaything, and hard would it have been to tell in which of those voicesrang the deeper contentment.
The opening of the packages on the library-table afforded another seasonof merriment. Such treasures as came to light! A roll of black silk,which could only have been meant for Miss Belinda. A casket of frettedsilver, just large enough to hold Paula's gloves; a scarf-ring, to whichno one but Bertram could lay claim; a bundle of confections, a pair ofdiamond-studded bracelets, a scarf of delicate lace, articles for thedesk, and knick-knacks for the toilet table, and last, but not least, inweight at least, the honest little printing-press.
"Oh, I never dreamed of this," said Paula, "when we chose Christmas evefor our journey."
"Nor would you have done right to stay away if you had," returned Mr.Sylvester gayly.
But when the sport was all over, and Paula stood alone with Mr.Sylvester in the library, awaiting his last good-night, the deeperinfluences of this holy time made themselves felt, and it was with anair of gentle seriousness, he told her that it had been a happyChristmas eve to him.
"And to me," returned Paula. "Bertram too, seemed very happy. Would itbe too inquisitive in me to ask what good news the little notecontained, to work such wonders?"
A smile such as was seldom seen on Mr. Sylvester's face of late, flashedbrightly over it. "It was only a card of invitation to dinner," said he,"but it came from Mr. Stuyvesant, and that to Bertram means a greatdeal."
The surprise in Paula's eyes made him smile again. "Will it be a greatshock to you, if I tell you that the name of the woman for whom Bertrammade the sacrifice of his art, was Cicely Stuyvesant?"
"Cicely? my Cicely?" Her astonishment was great, but it was also happy."Oh, I never dreamed--ah, now I see," she went on naively. "That is thereason she refrained from coming to this house; she was afraid ofmeeting _him_. But to think I should never have guessed it, and she mydearest friend! Oh, I am very happy; I admire Bertram so much, and it issuch a beautiful secret. And Mr. Stuyvesant has invited him to hishouse! I do not wonder you felt like making the evening a gala one. Mr.Stuyvesant would not do that if he were not learning to appreciateBertram."
"No; there is method in all that Mr. Stuyvesant does. More than that, ifI am not mistaken, he has known this beautiful secret, as you call it,from the first, and would be the last to receive Bertram as a guest tohis table, if he did not mean him the best and truest encouragement."
"I believe you are right," said Paula. "I remember now that one day whenI was spending the afternoon with Cicely, he came into the room where Iwas, and finding me for the moment alone, sat down, and in his quaintold-fashioned manner asked me in the most abrupt way what I thought ofBertram Sylvester. I was surprised, but told him I considered him one ofthe noblest young men I knew, adding that if a fine mind, a kind heart,and a pure life were open to regard, Bertram had the right to claim theesteem of all his friends and associates. The old gentleman looked at mesomewhat curiously, but nodded his head as if pleased, and merelyremarking, 'It is not necessary to mention we had this conversation, mydear,' got up and proceeded slowly from the room. I thought it wassimply a not unnatural curiosity concerning a young man with whom he hadmore or less business connection; but now I perceive it had a deepersignificance."
"He could scarcely have found a more zealous little advocate for Bertramif he had hunted the city over. Bertram may be more obliged to you thanhe knows. He has been very patient, but the day of his happiness isapproaching."
"And Cicely's! I feel as if I could scarcely wait to see her with thisnew hope in her eyes. She has kept me without the door of her suspense,but she must let me across the threshold of her happiness."
The look with which Mr. Sylvester eyed the fair girl's radiant facedeepened. "Paula," said be, "can you leave these new thoughts for amoment to hear a request I have to make?"
She at once turned to him with her most self-forgetful smile.
"I have been making myself a little present," pursued he, slowly takingout of his pocket the single package he had reserved from the rest."Open it, dear."
With fingers that unconsciously trembled, she hastily undid the package.A little box rolled out. Taking off its cover, she took out a plain goldlocket of the style usually worn by gentlemen on their watch-chains."Fasten it on for me," said he.
Wondering at his tone which was almost solemn, she quietly did hisbidding. But when she essayed to lift her head upon the completion ofher task, he gently laid his hand upon her brow and so stood for amoment without a word.
"What is it?" she asked, with a sudden indrawing of her breath. "Whatmoves you so, Mr. Sylvester?"
"I have just taken a vow," said he.
She started back agitated and trembling.
"I had reason to," he murmured, "pray at nights when you go to bed, thatI may be able to keep it."
"What?" sprang to her lips; but she restrained herself and only allowedher glance to speak.
"Will you do it, Paula?"
"Yes, oh yes!" Her whole heart seemed to rush out in the phrase. Shedrew back as at the opening of a door in an unexpected spot. Her eye hadsomething of fear in it and something of secret desperation too. Hewatched her with a gaze that strangely faltered.
"A woman's prayers are a man's best safeguard," murmured he. "He must bea wretch who does not feel himself surrounded by a sacred halo, while heknows that pure lips are breathing his name in love and trust before thethrone of the Most High."
"I will pray for you as for myself," she whispered, and endeavored tomeet his eyes. But her head drooped and she did not speak as she wouldhave done a few months before; and when a few instants later they partedin their old fashion at the foot of the stairs, she did not turn to givehim the accustomed smile and nod with which she used to mount thestairs, spiral by spiral, and disappear in her little room above. Yet hedid not grieve at the change, but stood looking up the way she had gone,like a man before whom some vision of unexpected promise had opened.
The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life Page 31