The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life
Page 39
XXXVIII.
BLUE-BEARD'S CHAMBER.
"Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings." --MACBETH.
Clarence Ensign was not surprised at the refusal he received from Paula.He had realized from the first that the love of this beautiful womanwould be difficult to obtain, even if no rival with more powerfulinducements than his own, should chance to cross his path. She was onewho could be won to give friendship, consideration, and sympathy withoutstint; but from the very fact that she could so easily be induced togrant these, he foresaw the improbability, or at least the difficulty ofenticing her to yield more. A woman whose hand warms towards the othersex in ready friendship, is the last to succumb to the entreaties oflove. The circle of her sympathies is so large, the man must do well,who of all his sex, pierces to the sacred centre. The appearance of Mr.Sylvester on the scene, settled his fate, or so he believed; but he wastoo much in earnest to yield his hopes without another effort; so uponthe afternoon of this eventful day, he called upon Paula.
The first glimpse he obtained of her countenance, convinced him that hewas indeed too late. Not for him that anxious pallor, giving way to arosy tinge at the least sound in the streets without. Not for him thatwandering glance, burning with questions to which nothing seemed able togrant reply. The very smile with which she greeted him, was a blow; itwas so forgetful of the motive that had brought him there.
"Miss Fairchild," he stammered, with a generous impulse to save herunnecessary pain, "you have rejected my offer and settled my doom; butlet me believe that I have not lost your regard, or that hold upon yourfriendship which it has hitherto been my pleasure to enjoy."
She woke at once to a realization of his position. "Oh Mr. Ensign," shemurmured, "can you doubt my regard or the truth of my friendship? It isfor me to doubt; I have caused you such pain, and as you may think, soruthlessly and with such lack of consideration. I have been peculiarlyplaced," she blushingly proceeded. "A woman does not always know her ownheart, or if she does, sometimes hesitates to yield to its secretimpulses. I have led you astray these last few weeks, but I first wentastray myself. The real path in which I ought to tread, was only lastnight revealed to me. I can say no more, Mr. Ensign."
"Nor is it necessary," replied he. "You have chosen the better path, andthe better man. May life abound in joys for you, Miss Fairchild."
She drew herself up and her hand went involuntarily to her heart. "It isnot joy I seek," said she, "but--"
"What?" He looked at her face lit with that heavenly gleam that visitedit in rare moments of deepest emotion, and wondered.
"Joy is in seeing the one you love happy," cried she; "earth holds nonethat is sweeter or higher."
"Then may that be yours," he murmured, manfully subduing the jealouspang natural under the circumstances. And taking the hand she held outto him, he kissed it with greater reverence and truer affection thanwhen, in the first joyous hours of their intercourse, he carried it sogallantly to his lips.
And she--oh, difference of time and feeling--did not remember as ofyore, the noble days of chivalry, though he was in this moment, so muchmore than ever the true knight and the reproachless cavalier.
For Paula's heart was heavy. Fears too unsubstantial to be met andvanquished, had haunted her steps all day. The short note which Mr.Sylvester had written her, lay like lead upon her bosom. She longed forthe hours to fly, yet dreaded to hear the clock tick out the momentsthat possibly were destined to bring her untold suffering anddisappointment. A revelation awaiting her in Mr. Sylvester's desk upstairs? That meant separation and farewell; for words of promise anddevotion can be spoken, and the heart that hopes, does not limit time tohours.
With Bertram's entrance, her fears took absolute shape. Mr. Sylvesterwas not coming home to dinner. Thenceforward till seven o'clock, she satwith her hand on her heart, waiting. At the stroke of the clock, sherose, and procuring a candle from her room, went slowly up stairs."Watch for me," she had said to Aunt Belinda, "for I fear I shall needyour care when I come down."
What is there about a mystery however trivial, that thrills the heartwith vague expectancy at the least lift of the concealing curtain! AsPaula paused before the door, which never to her knowledge had opened tothe passage of any other form than that of Mr. Sylvester, she wasconscious of an agitation wholly distinct from that which had hithertoafflicted her. All the past curiosity of Ona concerning this room,together with her devices for satisfying that curiosity, recurred toPaula with startling distinctness. It was as if the white hand of thatdead wife had thrust itself forth from the shadows to pull her back. Thecandle trembled in her grasp, and she unconsciously recoiled. But thenext moment the thought of Mr. Sylvester struck warmth and determinationthrough her being, and hastily thrusting the key into the lock, shepushed open the door and stepped across the threshold.
Her first movement was that of surprise. In all her dreams of thepossible appearance of this room, she had never imagined it to be likethis. Plain, rude and homely, its high walls unornamented, its flooruncovered, its furniture limited to a plain desk and two or three ratheruncomfortable-looking chairs, it struck upon her fancy with the samesense of incongruity, as might the sight of a low-eaved cottage in themidst of stately palaces and lordly pleasure-grounds. Setting down hercandle, she folded her hands to still their tremblings, and slowlylooked around her. This was the spot, then, to which he was accustomedto flee when oppressed by any care or harassed by any difficulty; thiscold, bare, uninviting apartment with its forbidding aspect unsoftenedby the tokens of a woman's care or presence! To this room, humbler thanany in her aunt's home in Grotewell, he had brought all his griefs, fromthe day his baby lay dead in the rooms below, to that awful hour whichsaw the wife and mother brought into his doors and laid a cold andpulseless form in the midst of his gorgeous parlors! Here he had met hisown higher impulses face to face, and wrestled with them through thewatches of the night! In this wilderness of seeming poverty, he haddreamed, perhaps, his first fond dream of her as a woman, and signedperhaps his final renunciation of her as the future companion of hislife! What did it mean? Why a spot of so much desolation in the midst ofso much that was lordly and luxurious? Her fears might give her apossible interpretation, but she would not listen to fears. Only hiswords should instruct her. Going to the desk, she opened it. A sealedenvelope addressed to herself, immediately met her eyes. Taking it outwith a slow and reverent touch, she began to read the long and closelywritten letter which it contained.
And the little candle burned on, shedding its rays over her bended headand upon the dismal walls about her, with a persistency that seemed tobring out, as in letters of fire, the hidden history of long ago, withits vanished days and its forgotten midnights.