The Sword of Damocles Part 35

In another moment, however, he was all cheerfulness. "You have brought me a Christmas present," cried he, "and we must make it a Christmas holiday indeed. Here is the beginning:" and with one of his old grave smiles, he handed Bertram a little note which had been awaiting him on the library table. "But Paula and Miss Belinda must have their pleasure too. Paula, are you too tired for a ride down town? I will show you New York on a Christmas eve," continued he to Miss Walton, seeing that Paula's attention was absorbed by the expression of sudden and moving surprise which had visited Bertram's face, upon the perusal of his note.

"It is a stirring sight. Nothing more cheering can be found the wide world over, for those who have a home and children to make happy."

"I certainly should enjoy a glimpse of holiday cheer," a.s.sented Miss Belinda. And Paula recalled to herself by the sound of her aunt's voice, gayly re-echoed her a.s.sertion.

So Samuel was despatched for a carriage, and in a few minutes they were all riding down Fifth Avenue, _en route_ for Tiffany's, Macy's, and any other store that might offer special attractions. It was a happy company. As they rolled along, Paula felt her heart grow lighter and lighter, Mr. Sylvester was almost gay, while even Aunt Belinda condescended to be merry. Bertram alone was silent, but as Paula caught short glimpses of his face, while speeding past some illuminated corner, she felt that it was that silence which is "the perfectest herald of joy."

"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 a night as this. It is as if all men were brothers--or fathers, I should say. People that ordinarily pa.s.s each other without a sign, nod and smile with pleasing recognition of the evening's cheer. Grave and reverend seigniors, are not ashamed to be seen carrying packages by the dozen. Indeed, he who is most laden is considered the best fellow, and he who is so unfortunate as to show nothing but empty arms, feels shy if not ashamed; a condition of mind into which I shall soon fall myself, if we do not presently reach our destination."

Paula never forgot that night. As from the midst of our common-place memories, some one hour stands out distinct and strange, like a sweet foreigner in a crowd of village faces, so to Paula, this ride through the lighted streets, with the ensuing rush from store to store, piloted by Bertram and Miss Belinda, and protected by Mr. Sylvester, was her one weird glimpse into the Arabian Nights' country. Why, she could not have told; why, she did not stop to think. She had been to all these places before, but never with such a heart as this--never, never with such an overflowing heart as this.

"I have washed away my reproach," cried Mr. Sylvester, coming out to the carriage with his arms full of bundles. "Aunt Belinda is to blame for this; she set the example, you see." And with a merry laugh, he tossed one thing after another into Paula's lap, reserving only one small package for himself. "I scarcely know what I have bought," said he. "I shall be as much surprised as any one, when you come to undo the bundles. 'A pretty thing,' was all I waited to hear from the shop girls."

"There is a small printing press for one thing," cried Paula merrily. "I saw the man at Holton's eye you with a certain sort of shrewd humor, and hastily 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 the only one amongst us who by any stretch of imagination can be said to be near enough the age of boyhood to enjoy it."

"I do not know about that," cried Bertram, with a ringing infectious laugh, "my imagination has been luring me into believing that I am not the only boy in this crowd."

And so they went on, toying with their new-found joy as with a plaything, and hard would it have been to tell in which of those voices rang the deeper contentment.

The opening of the packages on the library-table afforded another season of merriment. Such treasures as came to light! A roll of black silk, which could only have been meant for Miss Belinda. A casket of fretted silver, just large enough to hold Paula's gloves; a scarf-ring, to which no one but Bertram could lay claim; a bundle of confections, a pair of diamond-studded bracelets, a scarf of delicate lace, articles for the desk, and knick-knacks for the toilet table, and last, but not least, in weight at least, the honest little printing-press.

"Oh, I never dreamed of this," said Paula, "when we chose Christmas eve for 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 deeper influences of this holy time made themselves felt, and it was with an air of gentle seriousness, he told her that it had been a happy Christmas eve to him.

"And to me," returned Paula. "Bertram too, seemed very happy. Would it be too inquisitive in me to ask what good news the little note contained, to work such wonders?"

A smile such as was seldom seen on Mr. Sylvester's face of late, flashed brightly 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 great deal."

The surprise in Paula's eyes made him smile again. "Will it be a great shock to you, if I tell you that the name of the woman for whom Bertram made 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 the reason she refrained from coming to this house; she was afraid of meeting _him_. But to think I should never have guessed it, and she my dearest friend! Oh, I am very happy; I admire Bertram so much, and it is such a beautiful secret. And Mr. Stuyvesant has invited him to his house! 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 appreciate Bertram."

"No; there is method in all that Mr. Stuyvesant does. More than that, if I 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 to his 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 when I was spending the afternoon with Cicely, he came into the room where I was, and finding me for the moment alone, sat down, and in his quaint old-fashioned manner asked me in the most abrupt way what I thought of Bertram Sylvester. I was surprised, but told him I considered him one of the n.o.blest 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 the esteem of all his friends and a.s.sociates. The old gentleman looked at me somewhat curiously, but nodded his head as if pleased, and merely remarking, 'It is not necessary to mention we had this conversation, my dear,' got up and proceeded slowly from the room. I thought it was simply a not unnatural curiosity concerning a young man with whom he had more or less business connection; but now I perceive it had a deeper significance."

"He could scarcely have found a more zealous little advocate for Bertram if he had hunted the city over. Bertram may be more obliged to you than he knows. He has been very patient, but the day of his happiness is approaching."

"And Cicely's! I feel as if I could scarcely wait to see her with this new 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 face deepened. "Paula," said be, "can you leave these new thoughts for a moment 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 taking out 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 gold locket 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 his bidding. But when she essayed to lift her head upon the completion of her task, he gently laid his hand upon her brow and so stood for a moment without a word.

"What is it?" she asked, with a sudden indrawing of her breath. "What moves 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, that I may be able to keep it."

"What?" sprang to her lips; but she restrained herself and only allowed her glance to speak.

"Will you do it, Paula?"

"Yes, oh yes!" Her whole heart seemed to rush out in the phrase. She drew back as at the opening of a door in an unexpected spot. Her eye had something of fear in it and something of secret desperation too. He watched her with a gaze that strangely faltered.

"A woman's prayers are a man's best safeguard," murmured he. "He must be a wretch who does not feel himself surrounded by a sacred halo, while he knows that pure lips are breathing his name in love and trust before the throne of the Most High."

"I will pray for you as for myself," she whispered, and endeavored to meet his eyes. But her head drooped and she did not speak as she would have done a few months before; and when a few instants later they parted in their old fashion at the foot of the stairs, she did not turn to give him the accustomed smile and nod with which she used to mount the stairs, spiral by spiral, and disappear in her little room above. Yet he did 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.

x.x.xI.

A QUESTION.

"Think on thy sins."--OTh.e.l.lO.

The next morning when Mr. Sylvester came down to breakfast, he found on the library-table an exquisite casket, similar to the one he had given Paula the night before, but larger, and filled with flowers of the most delicious odor.

"For Miss Fairchild," explained Samuel, who was at that moment pa.s.sing through the room.

With a pang of jealous surprise, that, however, failed to betray itself in his steadily composed countenance, Mr. Sylvester advanced to the side of the table, and lifted up the card that hung attached to the beautiful present. The name he read there seemed to startle him; he moved away, and took up his paper with a dark flush on his brow, that had not disappeared when Miss Belinda entered the room.

"Humph!" was her immediate exclamation, as her eye rested upon the conspicuous offering in the centre of the apartment. But instantly remembering herself, advanced with a cheerful good-morning, which however did not prevent her eyes from wandering with no small satisfaction towards this fresh evidence of Mr. Ensign's a.s.siduous regard.

"Paula is remembered by others than ourselves," remarked Mr. Sylvester, probably observing her glance.