The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

by Anna Katharine Green

  XXXIV.

  PAULA MAKES HER CHOICE.

  "Good fortune then, To make me bless't or cursed'st among men."

  --MERCHANT OF VENICE.

  It was evening in the Sylvester mansion. Mr. Sylvester who, according tohis understanding with Paula, had been absent from his home all day, hadjust come in and now stood in his library waiting for the comingfootfall that should decide whether the future held for him any promiseof joy.

  He had never looked more worthy of a woman's regard than he did thatnight. A matter that had been troubling him for some time had just beensatisfactorily disposed of, and not a shadow, so far as he knew, layupon his business outlook. This naturally brightened his cheek and lenta light to his eye. Then, hope is no mean beautifier, and this hepossessed notwithstanding the disparity of years between himself andPaula. It was not, however, of sufficiently assured a nature to preventhim from starting at every sound from above, and flushing with quite adisagreeable sense of betrayal when the door opened and Bertram enteredthe room, instead of the gentle and exquisite being he had expected.

  "Uncle, I am so full of happiness, I had to stop and bestow a portion ofit upon you. Do you think any one could mistake the nature of MissStuyvesant's feelings, who saw her last night?"

  "Hardly," was the smiling reply. "At all events I have not felt likewasting much but pleasant sympathy upon you. Your pathway to happinesslooks secure, my boy."

  His nephew gave him a wistful glance, but hid his thought whatever itwas. "I am going to see her to-night," remarked he. "I am afraid my loveis something like a torrent that has once burst its barrier; it cannotrest until it has worked its channel and won its rightful repose."

  "That is something the way with all love," returned his uncle. "It maybe dallied with while asleep, but once aroused, better meet a lion inhis fury or a tempest in its rush. Are you going to test your hope,to-night?"

  The young man flushed. "I cannot say." But in another moment gaylyadded, "I only know that I am prepared for any emergency."

  "Well, my boy, I wish you God-speed. If ever a man has won a right tohappiness, you are that man; and you shall enjoy it too, if any word oraction of mine can serve to advance it."

  "Thank you!" replied Bertram, and with a bright look around theapartment, prepared to take his leave. "When I come back," he remarked,with a touch of that manly _naivete_ to which I have before alluded, "Ihope I shall not find you alone."

  Ignoring this wish which was re-echoed somewhat too deeply within hisown breast for light expression, Mr. Sylvester accompanied his nephew tothe front door.

  "Let us see what kind of a night it is," observed he, stepping out uponthe stoop. "It is going to rain."

  "So it is," returned Bertram, with a quick glance overhead; "but I shallnot let such a little fuss as that deter me from fulfilling myengagement." And bestowing a hasty nod upon his uncle, he bounded downthe step.

  Instantly a man who was loitering along the walk in front of the house,stopped, as if struck by these simple words, turned, gave Bertram aquick look, and then with a sly glance back at the open door where Mr.Sylvester still stood gazing at the lowering heavens, set himselfcautiously to follow him.

  Mr. Sylvester, who was too much pre-occupied to observe this suspiciousaction, remained for a moment contemplating the sky; then with anaimless glance down the avenue, during which his eye undoubtedly fellupon Bertram and the creeping shadow of a man behind him, closed thedoor and returned to the library.

  The sight of another's joy has the tendency to either unduly depress thespirits or greatly to elate them. When Paula came into the room a fewminutes later, it was to find Mr. Sylvester awaiting her with anexpression that was almost radiant. It made her duty seem doubly hard,and she came forward with the slow step of one who goes to meet or carrydoom. He saw, and instantly the light died out of his face, leaving itone blank of despair. But controlling himself, he took her cold hand inhis, and looking down upon her with a tender but veiled regard, asked inthose low and tremulous tones that exerted such an influence upon her:

  "Do I see before me my affectionate and much to be cherished child, orthat still dearer object of love and worship, which it shall be thedelight of my life to render truly and deeply happy?"

  "You see," returned she, after a moment of silent emotion, "a girlwithout father or brother to advise her; who loves, or believes shedoes, a great and noble man, but who is smitten with fear also, shecannot tell why, and trembles to take a step to which no loving anddevoted friend has set the seal of his approval."

  The clasp with which Mr. Sylvester held her hand in his, tightened foran instant with irrepressible emotion, then slowly unloosed. Drawingback, he surveyed her with eyes that slowly filled with a bittercomprehension of her meaning.

  "You are the only man," continued she, with a glance of humble entreaty,"that has ever stood to me for a moment in the light of a relation. You_have_ been a father to me in days gone by, and to you it thereforeseems most natural for me to appeal when a question comes up that eitherpuzzles or distresses me. Mr. Sylvester, you have offered me your loveand the refuge of your home; if you say that in your judgment thecounsel of all true friends would be for me to accept this love, then myhand is yours and with it my heart; a heart that only hesitates becauseit would fain be sure it has the smile of heaven upon its everyprompting."

  "Paula!"

  The voice was so strange she looked up to see if it really was Mr.Sylvester who spoke. He had sunk back into a chair and had covered hisface with his hands. With a cry she moved towards him, but he motionedher back.

  "Condemned to be my own executioner!" he muttered. "Placed on the rackand bid to turn the wheel that shall wrench my own sinews! My God, 'tishard!"

  She did not hear the words, but she saw the action. Slowly the bloodleft her cheek, and her hand fell upon her swelling breast with adespairing gesture that would have smitten Miss Belinda to the heart,could she have seen it. "I have asked too much," she whispered.

  With a start Mr. Sylvester rose. "Paula," said he, in a stern anddifferent tone, "is this fear of which you speak, the offspring of yourown instincts, or has it been engendered in your breast by the words ofanother?"

  "My Aunt Belinda is in my confidence, if it is she to whom you allude,"rejoined she, meeting his glance fully and bravely. "But from no lipsbut yours could any words proceed capable of affecting my estimate ofyou as the one best qualified to make me happy."

  "Then it is my words alone that have awakened this doubt, thisapprehension?"

  "I have not spoken of doubt," said she, but her eyelids fell.

  "No, thank God!" he passionately exclaimed. "And yet you feel it," hewent on more composedly. "I have studied your face too long and closelynot to understand it."

  She put out her hands in appeal, but for once it passed unheeded.

  "Paula," said he, "you must tell me just what that doubt is; I must knowwhat is passing in your mind. You say you love me--" he paused, and atremble shook him from head to foot, but he went inexorably on--"it ismore than I had a right to expect, and God knows I am grateful for theprecious and inestimable boon, far as it is above my deserts; but whileloving me, you hesitate to give me your hand. Why? What is the name ofthe doubt that disturbs that pure breast and affects your choice? Tellme, I must know."

  "You ask me to dissect my own heart!" she cried, quivering under thetorture of his glance; "how can I? What do I know of its secret springsor the terrors that disturb its even beatings? I cannot name my fear; ithas no name, or if it has--Oh, sir!" she cried in a burst of passionatelonging, "your life has been one of sorrow and disappointment; grief hastouched you close, and you might well be the melancholy and sombre manthat all behold. I do not shrink from grief; say that the only shadowthat lies across your dungeon-door is that cast by the great andheart-rending sorrows of your life, and without question and withoutfear I enter that dungeon with you--"

  The hand he raised stopped her. "Paula," cried he, "do you bel
ieve inrepentance?"

  The words struck her like a blow. Falling slowly back, she looked at himfor an instant, then her head sank on her breast.

  "I know what your hatred of sin is," continued he. "I have seen yourwhole form tremble at the thought of evil. Is your belief in theredeeming power of God as great as your recoil from the wrong that makesthat redemption necessary?"

  Quickly her head raised, a light fell on her brow, and her lips moved ina vain effort to utter what her eyes unconsciously expressed.

  "Paula, I would be unworthy the name of a man, if with the consciousnessof possessing a dark and evil nature, I strove by use of any hypocrisyor specious pretense at goodness, to lure to my side one soexceptionally pure, beautiful and high-minded. The ravening wolf and theinnocent lamb would be nothing to it. Neither would I for an instant beesteemed worthy of your regard, if in this hour of my wooing thereremained in my life the shadow of any latent wrong that might hereafterrise up and overwhelm you. Whatever of wrong has ever been committed byme--and it is my punishment that I must acknowledge before your pureeyes that my soul is not spotless--was done in the past, and is knownonly to my own heart and the God who I reverently trust has long agopardoned me. The shadow is that of remorse, not of fear, and the evil,one against my own soul, rather than against the life or fortunes ofother men. Paula, such sins can be forgiven if one has a mind tocomprehend the temptations that beset men in their early struggles. Ihave never forgiven myself, but--" He paused, looked at her for aninstant, his hand clenched over his heart, his whole noble form shakenby struggle, then said--"forgiveness implies no promise, Paula; youshall never link yourself to a man who has been obliged to bow his headin shame before you, but by the mercy that informs that dear glance andtrembling lip, do you think you can ever grow to forgive me?"

  "Oh," she cried, with a burst of sobs, violent as her grief and shame,"God be merciful to me, as I am merciful to those who repent of theirsins and do good and not evil all the remaining days of their life."

  "I thought you would _forgive_ me," murmured he, looking down upon her,as the miser eyes the gold that has slipped from his paralyzed hand."Him whom the hard-hearted sinner and the hypocrite despise, God'sdearest lambs regard with mercy. I learned to revere God before I knewyou, Paula, but I learned to love Him in the light of your gentlenessand your trust. Rise up now and let me wipe away your tears--mydaughter."

  She sprang up as if stung. "No, no," she cried, "not that; I cannot bearthat yet. I must think, I must know what all this means," and she laidher hand upon her heart. "God surely does not give so much love forone's undoing; if I were not destined to comfort a life so saddened, Hewould have bequeathed me more pity and less--" The lifted head fell, theword she would have uttered, stirred her bosom, but not her lips.

  It was a trial to his strength, but his firm man's heart did not waver."You do comfort me," said he; "from early morning to late night yourpresence is my healing and my help, and will always be so, whatever maybefal. A daughter can do much, my Paula."

  She took a step back towards the door, her eyes, dark with unfathomableimpulses, flashing on him through the tears that hung thickly on herlashes.

  "Is it for your own sake or for mine, that you make use of that word?"said she.

  He summoned up his courage, met that searching glance with all its wild,bewildering beauty, and responded, "Can you ask, Paula?"

  With a lift of her head that gave an almost queenly stateliness to herform, she advanced a step, and drawing a crumpled paper from her pocket,said, "When I went to my room last night, it was to read _two_ letters,one from yourself, and one from Mr. Ensign. This is his, and a manly andnoble letter it is too; but hearts have right to hearts, and I wasobliged to refuse his petition." And with a reverent but inexorablehand, she dropped the letter on the burning coals of the grate at theirside, and softly turned to leave the room.

  "Paula!" With a bound the stern and hitherto forcibly repressed man,leaped to her side. "My darling! my life!" and with a wild,uncontrollable impulse, he caught her for one breathless moment to hisheart; then as suddenly released her, and laying his hand in reverenceon her brow, said softly, "Now go and pray, little one; and when you arequite calm, an hour hence or a week hence whichever it may be, come andtell me my fate as God and the angels reveal it to you." And he smiled,and she saw his smile, and went out of the room softly, as one whotreadeth upon holy ground.

  Mr. Sylvester was considered by his friends and admirers as a proud man.If a vote had been cast among those who knew him best, as from whatespecial passion common to humanity he would soonest recoil, it wouldhave been unanimously pronounced shame, and his own hand would haveemphasized the judgment of his fellows. But shame which is open to thegaze of the whole world, differs from that which is sacred to the eyesof one human being, and that the one who lies nearest the heart.

  As Paula's retreating footsteps died away on the stairs, and he awoke tothe full consciousness that his secret was shared by her whose love washis life, and whose good opinion had been his incentive and his pride,his first sensation was one of unmitigated anguish, but his next,strange to say, that of a restful relief. He had cast aside the cloak hehad hugged so closely to his breast these many years, and displayed toher shrinking gaze the fox that was gnawing at his vitals; and Spartanthough he was, the dew that had filled her loving eyes was balm to him.And not only that; he had won claim to the title of true man. Herregard, if regard it remained, was no longer an airy fabric built upon aplausible seeming, but a firm structure with knowledge for itsfoundation. "I shall not live to whisper, 'If she knew my whole life,would she love me so well?'"

  His first marriage had been so wholly uncongenial and devoid ofsympathy, that his greatest longing in connection with a fresh contract,was to enjoy the full happiness of perfect union and mutual trust; andthough he could never have summoned up courage to take her into hisconfidence, unsolicited, now that it had been done he would not have itundone, no, not if by the doing he had lost her confidence andaffection.

  But something told him he had not lost it. That out of the darkness andthe shock of this very discovery, a new and deeper love would spring,which having its birth in human frailty and human repentance, would gainin the actual what it lost in the ideal, bringing to his weary,suffering and yearning man's nature, the honest help of a strong andloving sympathy, growing trust, and sweetest because wisestencouragement.

  It was therefore, with a growing sense of deep unfathomable comfort, anda reverent thankfulness for the mercies of God, that he sat by the fireidly watching the rise and fall of the golden flames above thefluttering ashes of his rival's letter, and dreaming with a hallowingsense of his unworthiness, upon the possible bliss of coming days.Happiness in its truest and most serene sense was so new to him, itaffected him like the presence of something strangely commanding. He wasawe-struck before it, and unconsciously bowed his head at itscontemplation. Only his eyes betrayed the peace that comes with allgreat joy, his eyes and perhaps the faint, almost unearthly smile thatflitted across his mouth, disturbing its firm line and making his facefor all its inevitable expression of melancholy, one that his motherwould have loved to look upon. "Paula!" came now and then in a reverent,yearning accent from between his lips, and once a low, "Thank God!"which showed that he was praying.

  Suddenly he rose; a more human mood had set in, and he felt thenecessity of assuring himself that it was really he upon whom the drearypast had closed, and a future of such possible brightness opened. Hewalked about the room, surveying the rich articles within it, as thepossible belongings of the beautiful woman he adored; he stood andpictured her as coming into the door as his wife, and before he realizedwhat he was doing, had planned certain changes he would make in his hometo adapt it to the wants of her young and growing mind, when with astrange suddenness, the door upon which he was gazing flew back, andBertram Sylvester entered just as he had come from the street. He lookedso haggard, so wild, so little the picture of himself as he venturedforth a couple of hours
before, that Mr. Sylvester started, andforgetting his happiness in his alarm, asked in a tone of dismay:

  "What has happened? Has Miss Stuyvesant--"

  Bertram's hand went up as if his uncle had touched him upon a festeringwound. "Don't!" gasped he, and advancing to the table, sat down andburied his face for a moment in his arms, then rose, and summoning up acertain manly dignity that became him well, met Mr. Sylvester's eye withforced calmness, and inquired:

  "Did you know there was a thief in our bank, Uncle Edward?"

  XXXV.

  THE FALLING OF THE SWORD.

  "Foul deeds will rise, Though all the world o'erwhelm them, to men's eyes."--HAMLET.