The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life
Page 37
XXXVI.
MORNING.
"Two maidens by one fountain's joyous brink, And one was sad and one had cause for sadness."
Cicely Stuyvesant waiting for her father at the foot of the stairs, onthe morning after these occurrences, was a pretty and a touchingspectacle. She had not slept very well the night before, and her browshowed signs of trouble and so did her trembling lips. She held in herhand a letter which she twirled about with very unsteady fingers. Themorning was bright, but she did not seem to observe it; the air wasfresh, but it did not seem to invigorate her. A rose-leaf of care lay onthe tremulous waters of her soul, and her sensitive nature thrilledunder it.
"Why does he not come?" she whispered, looking again at the letter'sinscription.
It was in Mr. Sylvester's handwriting, and ought not to have occasionedher any uneasiness, but her father had intimated a wish the nightbefore, that she should not come down into the parlor if Bertram called,and--Her thoughts paused there, but she was anxious about the letter andwished her father would hasten.
Let us look at the little lady. She had been so bright and lovesomeyesterday at this time. Never a maiden in all this great city of ourshad shown a sweeter or more etherial smile. At once radiant andreserved, she flashed on the eye and trembled from the grasp like somedainty tropical creature as yet unused to our stranger clime. Her fatherhad surveyed her with satisfaction, and her lover--oh, that we were allyoung again to experience that leap of the heart with which youth meetsand recognizes the sweet perfections of the woman it adores! But a misthad obscured the radiance of her aspect, and she looks very sad as shestands in her father's hall this morning, leaning her cheek against thebanister, and thinking of the night when three years ago, she lingeredin that very spot, and watched the form of the young musician go by herand disappear in the darkness of the night, as she then thought forever.Joy had come to her by such slow steps and after such long waiting. Hopehad burst upon her so brilliantly, and with such a speedy promise ofculmination. She thrilled as she thought how short a time ago it was,since she leaned upon Bertram's arm and dropped her eyes before hisgaze.
The appearance of her father at length aroused her. Flushing slightly,she held the letter towards him.
"A letter for you, papa. I thought you might like to read it before youwent out."
Mr. Stuyvesant, who for an hour or more had been frowning over hismorning paper with a steady pertinacity that left more than the usualamount of wrinkles upon his brow, started at the wistful tone of thisannouncement from his daughter's lips, and taking the letter from herhand, stepped into the parlor to peruse it. It was, as the handwritingdeclared, from Mr. Sylvester, and ran thus:
"DEAR MR. STUYVESANT:
"I have heard of your loss and am astounded. Though the Bank is not liable for any accident to trusts of this nature, both Bertram and myself are determined to make every effort possible, to detect and punish the man who either through our negligence, or by means of the opportunities afforded him under our present system of management, has been able to commit this robbery upon your effects. We therefore request that you will meet us at the bank this morning at as early an hour as practicable, there to assist us in making such inquiries and instituting such measures, as may be considered necessary to the immediate attainment of the object desired.
"Respectfully yours,
"EDWARD SYLVESTER."
"Is it anything serious?" asked his daughter, coming into the parlor andlooking up into his face with a strange wistfulness he could not fail toremark.
Mr. Stuyvesant gave her a quick glance, shook his head with somenervousness and hastily pocketed the epistle. "Business," mumbled he,"business." And ignoring the sigh that escaped her lips, began to makehis preparations for going at once down town.
He was always an awkward man at such matters, and it was her habit toafford him what assistance she could. This she now did, lending her handto help him on with his overcoat, rising on tip-toe to tie his muffler,and bending her bright head to see that his galoshes were properlyfastened; her charming face with its far-away look, shining strangelysweet in the dim hall, in contrast with his severe and antiquatedcountenance.
He watched her carefully but with seeming indifference till all was doneand he stood ready to depart, then in an awkward enough way--he was notaccustomed to bestow endearments--drew her to him and kissed her on theforehead; after which he turned about and departed without a word toseason or explain this unwonted manifestation of tenderness.
A kiss was an unusual occurrence in that confiding but undemonstrativehousehold, and the little maiden trembled. "Something is wrong," shemurmured half to herself, half to the dim vista of the lonely parlor,where but a night or so ago had stood the beloved form of him, who, burythe thought as she would, had become, if indeed he had not always been,the beginning and the ending of all her maidenly dreams: "what? what?"And her young heart swelled painfully as she realized like many a womanbefore her, that whatever might be her doubts, fears, anguish orsuspense, nothing remained for her but silence and a tedious waiting forothers to recognize her misery and speak.
Meanwhile how was it with her dearest friend and confident, Paula? Themorning, as I have already declared, was bright and exceptionallybeautiful. Sunshine filled the air and freshness invigorated the breeze.Cicely was blind to it all, but as Paula looked from her windowpreparatory to going below, a close observer might have perceived thatthe serenity of the cloudless sky was reflected in her beaming eyes,that peace brooded above her soul and ruled her tender spirit. She hadheld a long conversation with Miss Belinda, she had prayed, she hadslept and she had risen with a confirmed love in her heart for the manwho was at once the admiration of her eyes and the well-spring of herdeepest thoughts and wildest longings. "I will show him so plainly whatthe angels have told me," whispered she, "that he will have no need toask." And she wound her long locks into the coil that she knew he bestliked and fixed a rose at her throat, and so with a smile on her lipwent softly down stairs. O the timid eager step of maidenhood whendrawing toward the shrine of all it adores! Could those halls and loftycorridors have whispered their secret, what a story they would have toldof beating heart and tremulous glance, eager longings, and maidenlyshrinkings, as the lovely form, swaying with a thousand hopes and fears,glided from landing to landing, carrying with it love and joy and peace.And trust! As she neared the bronze image that had always awakened suchvague feelings of repugnance on her part, and found its terrors gone andits smile assuring, she realized that her breast held nothing but faithin him, who may have sinned in his youth, but who had repented in hismanhood, and now stood clear and noble in her eyes. The assurance wastoo sweet, the flood of feeling too overwhelming. With a quick glancearound her, she stopped and flung her arms about the hitherto repellantbronze, pressing her young breast against the cold metal with a fervorthat ought to have hallowed its sensuous mould forever. Then she hurrieddown.
Her first glance into the dining-room brought her a disappointment. Mr.Sylvester had already breakfasted and gone; only Aunt Belinda sat at thetable. With a slightly troubled brow, Paula advanced to her own place atthe board.
"Mr. Sylvester has urgent business on hand to-day," quoth her aunt. "Imet him going out just as I came down."
Her look lingered on Paula as she said this, and if it had not been forthe servants, she would doubtless have given utterance to some furtherexpression on the matter, for she had been greatly struck by Mr.Sylvester's appearance and the sad, firm, almost lofty expression of hiseye, as it met hers in their hurried conversation.
"He is a very busy man," returned Paula simply, and was silent, struckby some secret dread she could not have explained. Suddenly she rose;she had found an envelope beneath her plate, addressed to herself. Itwas bulky and evidently contained a key. Hastening behind the curtainsof the window, she opened it. The key was to that secret study of his atthe top of the house, which no one but himself had ever been
seen toenter, and the words that enwrapped it were these:
"If I send you no word to the contrary, and if I do not come back by seven o'clock this evening, go to the room of which this is the key, open my desk, and read what I have prepared for your eyes.
"E. S."