The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

It was now time for the meeting to open, and the gentlemen were all seated around the low green baize table that occupied the centre of the room. Impatience was written on all their countenances. Mr. Stuyvesant especially was looking at the heavy gold watch in his hand, with a frown on his deeply wrinkled brow that did not add to its expression of benevolence. The empty seat at the head of the table stared upon Bertram uncompromisingly.

"My wife gives a reception to-day," ventured one gentleman to his neighbor.

"And I have an engagement at five that won't bear postponement."

"Sylvester has always been on hand before."

"We can't proceed without him," was the reply.

Mr. Wheelock looked thoughtful.

With a nod of his head towards such gentlemen as met his eye, Bertram hastened to a little cupboard devoted to the use of himself and uncle. Opening it, he looked within, took down a coat he saw hanging before him, and unconsciously uttered an exclamation. It was a dress-coat such as had been worn by Mr. Sylvester the evening before.

"What does this mean! My uncle has been here!" were the words that sprang to his lips; but he subdued his impulse to speak, and hastily hanging up the coat, relocked the door. Proceeding at once to the outer room, he asked two or three of the clerks if they were sure Mr. Sylvester had not been in during the day. But they all returned an unequivocal "no," and that too with a certain stare of surprise that at once convinced him he was betraying his agitation too plainly.

"I will telegraph whether Wheelock considers it necessary or not," thought he, and was moving to summon a messenger boy when he caught sight of Hopgood slowly making his way in from the street. He was very pale and walked with his eyes fixed on the ground, ominously shaking his great head in a way that bespoke an inner struggle of no ordinary nature. Bertram at once sauntered out to meet him.

"Hopgood," said he, "your evident anxiety is infectious. What has happened to make my uncle's detention a matter of such apparent import? If you do not wish to confide in me, his nephew almost his son, speak to Mr. Wheelock or to one of the directors, but don't keep anything to yourself which concerns his welfare or – What are you looking at?"

The man was gazing as if fascinated at the keys in Bertram's hand.

"Nothing sir, nothing. You must not detain me; I have nothing to say. I will wait ten minutes," he muttered to himself, glancing again at the clock. Suddenly he saw the various directors come filing out of the inner room, and darted for the second time from Bertram's detaining hand.

"I hope nothing has happened to Mr. Sylvester," exclaimed one gentleman to another as they filed by.

"If he were given to a loose ends' sort of business it would be another thing."

"He looked exceedingly well at the reception last night," exclaimed another; "but in these days – "

Suddenly there was a hush. A telegraph boy had just entered the door and was asking for Mr. Bertram Sylvester.

"Here I am," said Bertram, hastily taking the envelope presented him. Slightly turning his back, he opened it. Instantly his face grew white as chalk.

"Gentlemen," said he, "you will have to excuse my uncle to-day; a great misfortune has occurred to him." Then with a slow and horror-stricken movement, he looked about him and exclaimed, "Mrs. Sylvester is dead."

A confused murmur at once arose, followed by a hurried rush; but of all the faces that flocked out of the bank, none wore such a look of blank and helpless astonishment as that of Hopgood the janitor, as with bulging eyes and nervously working hands, he slowly wended his way to the foot of the stairs and there sat down gazing into vacancy.

XX

THE DREGS IN THE CUP

"O eloquent, just and mightie death! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised: thou hast drawn together all the farre stretched greatnesses; all the pride, crueltie and ambition of man and covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet." – Sir Walter Raleigh.

Bertram's hurried ring at his uncle's door was answered by Samuel the butler.

"What is this I hear?" cried the young man, entering with considerable agitation, "Mrs. Sylvester dead?"

"Yes sir," returned the old and trusty servant, with something like a sob in his voice. "She went out riding this morning behind a pair of borrowed horses – and being unused to Michael's way of driving, they ran away and she was thrown from the carriage and instantly killed."

"And Miss Fairchild?"

"She didn't go with her. Mrs. Sylvester was alone."

"Horrible, horrible! Where is my uncle, can I see him?"

"I don't know, sir," the man returned with a strange look of anxiety. "Mr. Sylvester is feeling very bad, sir. He has shut himself up in his room and none of his servants dare disturb him, sir."

"I should, however, like him to know I am here. In what room shall I find him?"

"In the little one, sir, at the top of the house. It has a curious lock on the door; you will know it by that."

"Very well. Please be in the hall when I come down; I may want to give you some orders."

The old servant bowed and Bertram hastened with hushed steps to ascend the stairs. At the first platform he paused. What is there in a house of death, of sudden death especially, that draws a veil of spectral unreality over each familiar object! Behind that door now inexorably closed before him, lay without doubt the shrouded form of her who but a few short hours before, had dazzled the eyes of men and made envious the hearts of women with her imposing beauty! No such quiet then reigned over the spot filled by her presence. As the vision of a dream returns, he saw her again in all her splendor. Never a brow in all the great hall shone more brightly beneath its sparkling diamonds; never a lip in the whole vast throng curled with more self-complacent pride, or melted into a more alluring smile, than that of her who now lay here, a marble image beneath the eye of day. It was as if a flowery field had split beneath the dancing foot of some laughing siren. One moment your gaze is upon the swaying voluptuous form, the half-shut beguiling eye, the white out-reaching arms upon whose satin surface a thousand loves seem perching; the next you stare horror-stricken upon the closing jaws of an awful pit, with the flash of something bright in your eyes, and the sense of a hideous noiseless rush in which earth and heaven appear to join, sink and be swallowed! Bertram felt his heart grow sick. Moving on, he passed the bronze image of Luxury lying half asleep on its bed of crumpled roses. Hideous mockery! What has luxury to do with death? She who was luxury itself has vanished from these halls. Shall the mute bronze go on smiling over its wine cup while she who was its prototype is carried by without a smile on the lips once so vermeil with pride and tropical languors!

Arrived at the top of the house, Bertram knocked at the door with the strange lock, and uttering his own name, asked if there was anything he could do here or elsewhere to show his sympathy and desire to be of use in this great and sudden bereavement. There was no immediate reply and he began to fear he would be obliged to retire without seeing his uncle, when the door was slowly opened and Mr. Sylvester came out. Instantly Bertram understood the anxiety of the servant. Not only did Mr. Sylvester's countenance exhibit the usual traces of grief and horror incident to a sudden and awful calamity, but there were visible upon it the tokens of another and still more unfathomable emotion, a wild and paralyzed look that altered the very contour of his features, and made his face almost like that of a stranger.

"Uncle, what is it?" sprang involuntarily to his lips. But Mr. Sylvester betraying by a sudden backward movement an instinctive desire to escape scrutiny, he bethought himself, and with hasty utterance offered some words of consolation that sounded strangely hollow and superficial in that dim and silent corridor. "Is there nothing I can do for you?" he finally asked.

"Everything is being done," exclaimed his uncle in a strained and altered voice; "Robert is here." And a silence fell over the hall, that Bertram dared not break.

"I have help for everything but – " He did not say what, it seemed as if something rose up in his throat that choked him.

"Bertram," said he at last in a more natural tone, "come with me."

He led him into an adjoining room and shut the door. It was a room from which the sunshine had not been excluded and it seemed as if they could both breathe more easily.

"Sit down," said his uncle, pointing to a chair. The young man did so, but Mr. Sylvester remained standing. Then without preamble, "Have you seen her?"

There was no grief in the question, only a quiet respect. Death clothes the most volatile with a garment of awe. Bertram slowly shook his head. "No," said he, "I came at once up stairs."

"There is no mark on her white body, save the least little discolored dent here," continued his uncle, pointing calmly to his temple. "She had one moment of fear while the horses ran, and then – " He gave a quick shudder and advancing towards Bertram, laid his hand on his nephew's shoulder in such a way as to prevent him from turning his head. "Bertram," said he, "I have no son. If I were to call upon you to perform a son's work for me; to obey and ask no questions, would you comply?"

"Can you ask?" sprang from the young man's lips; "you know that you have only to command for me to be proud to obey. Anything you can require will find me ready."

The hand on his shoulder weighed heavier. "It seems a strange time to talk about business, Bertram, but necessity knows no law. There is a matter in which you can afford me great assistance if you will undertake to do immediately what I ask."

"Can you doubt – "

"Hush, it is this. On this paper you will find a name; below it a number of addresses. They are all of places down town and some of them not very reputable I fear. What I desire is for you to seek out the man whose name you here see, going to these very places after him, beginning with the first, and continuing down the list until you find him. When you come upon him, he will ask you for a card. Give him one on which you will scrawl before his eyes, a circle, so. It is a token which he should instantly understand. If he does, address him with freedom and tell him that your employer – you need make use of no names – re-demands the papers made over to him this morning. If he manifests surprise or is seen to hesitate, tell him your orders are imperative. If he declares ruin will follow, inform him that you are not to be frightened by words; that your employer is as fully aware of the position of affairs as he. Whatever he says, bring the papers."

Bertram nodded his head and endeavored to rise, but his uncle's hand rested upon him too heavily.

"He is a small man; you need have no dread of him physically. The sooner you find him and acquit yourself of your task, the better I shall be pleased." And then the hand lifted.

On his way down stairs Bertram encountered Paula. She was standing in the hall and accosted him with a very trembling tone in her voice. All her questions were in regard to Mr. Sylvester.

"Have you seen him?" she asked. "Does he speak – say anything? No one has heard him utter a word since he came in from down town and saw her lying there."

"Yes, certainly; he spoke to me; he has been giving me some commissions to perform. I am on my way now to attend to them."

She drew a deep breath. "O!" she cried, "would that he had a son, a daughter, a child, some one!"

This exclamation following what had taken place above struck Bertram forcibly. "He has a son in me, Paula. Love as well as duty binds me to him. All that a child could do will I perform with pleasure. You can trust me for that."

She threw him a glance of searching inquiry. "His need is greater than it seems," whispered she. "He was deeply troubled before this terrible accident occurred. I am afraid the arrow is poisoned that has made this dreadful wound. I cannot explain myself," she went on hurriedly, "but if you indeed regard him as a father, be ready with any comfort, any help, that affection can bestow, or his necessities require. Let me feel that he has near him some stay that will not yield to pressure."

There was so much passion in this appeal that Bertram involuntarily bowed his head. "He has two friends," said he, "and here is my hand that I will never forsake him."

"I do not need to offer mine," she returned, "He is great and good enough to do without my assistance." But nevertheless she gave her hand to Bertram and with a glow of her lip and eye that made her beauty, supreme at all times, something almost supernatural in its character.

"I dared not tell him," she whispered to herself as the front door closed with the dull slow thud proper to a house of mourning. "I dare not tell any one, but – "

What lay beyond that but?

When Mr. Sylvester came in at six o'clock in the morning, Paula had risen from the bed on which she had been sitting, but not to make preparation for rest, for she could not rest. The vague shadow of some surrounding evil or threatened catastrophe was upon her, and though she forced herself to change her dress for a warmer and more suitable one, she did not otherwise break her vigil, though the necessity for it seemed to be at an end. It was a midwinter morning and the sun had not yet risen, so being chilly as well as restless, she began to pace the floor, stopping now and then to glance out of the window, in the hopes of detecting some signs of awakening day in the blank and solemn east. Suddenly as she was thus consulting the horizon, a light flashed up from below, and looking down upon the face of the extension that ran along at right angles to her window, she perceived that the shades were up in Mrs. Sylvester's boudoir. They had doubtless been left so the evening before, and Mr. Sylvester upon turning up the gas had failed to observe the fact. Instantly she felt her heart stand still, for the house being wide and the extension narrow, all that went on in that boudoir, or at least in that portion of it which Mr. Sylvester at present occupied, was easily observable from the window at which she stood; and that something was going on of a serious and important nature, was sufficiently evident from the expression of Mr. Sylvester's countenance. He was standing with his face bent towards some one seated out of sight, his wife undoubtedly, though what could have called her from her dreams – and was busily engaged in talking. The subject whatever it was, absorbed him completely. If Paula had allowed herself the thought, she would have described him as pleading and that with no ordinary vehemence. But suddenly while she gazed half fascinated and but little realizing what she was doing, he started back and a fierce change swept over his face, a certain incredulity, that presently gave way to a glance of horror and repugnance, which the quick action of his out-thrown palm sufficiently emphasized. He was pushing something from him, but what? A suggestion or a remembrance? It was impossible to determine.

The countenance of Mrs. Sylvester who that moment appeared in sight sailing across the floor in her azure wrapper, offered but little assistance in the way of explanation. Immovable under most circumstances, it was simply at this juncture a trifle more calm and cold than usual, presenting to Paula's mind the thought of a white and icy barrier, against which the most glowing of arrows must fall chilled and powerless.

"O for a woman's soul to inform that breast if but for a moment!" cried Paula, lost in the passion of this scene, while so little understanding its import. When as if in mockery to this invocation, the haughty form upon which she was gazing started rigidly erect, while the lip acquired a scorn and the eye a menace that betrayed the serpent ever in hiding under this white rose.

Paula could look no longer. This last revelation had awakened her to the fact that she was gazing upon a scene sacred to the husband and wife engaged in it. With a sense of shame she rushed to the bed and threw herself upon it, but the vision of what she had beheld would not leave her so easily. Like letters of fire upon a black ground, the panorama of looks and gestures to which she had just been witness, floated before her mind's eye, awakening a train of thought so intense that she did not know which was worse, to be there in the awful dawn dreaming over this episode of the night, or to rise and face again the reality. The fascination which all forbidden sights insensibly exert over the minds of the best of us, finally prevailed, and she slowly crept to the window to catch a parting glimpse of Mr. Sylvester's tall form hurrying blindly from the boudoir followed by his wife's cold glance. The next minute the exposed condition of the room seemed to catch that lady's attention, and with an anxious look into the dull gray morn, Mrs. Sylvester drew down the shades, and the episode was over.

Or so Paula thought; but when she was returning up stairs after her solitary breakfast – Mrs. Sylvester was too tired and Mr. Sylvester too much engaged to eat, as the attentive Samuel informed her – the door of Ona's room swung ajar, and she distinctly heard her give utterance to the following exclamation:

"What! give up this elegant home, my horses and carriage, the friends I have had such difficulty in obtaining, and the position which I was born to adorn? I had rather die!" And Paula feeling as if she had received the key to the enigma of the last night's unaccountable manifestations, was about to rush away to her own apartment, when the door swayed open again and she heard his voice respond with hard and bitter emphasis,

"And it might be better that you should. But since you will probably live, let it be according to your mind. I have not the courage – "

There the door swung to.

An hour from that Mr. Sylvester left the house with a small valise in his hand, and Mrs. Sylvester dressed in her showiest costume, entered her carriage for an early shopping excursion.

And so when Paula whispered to herself, "I did not dare to tell him; I did not dare to tell any one, but – " she thought of those terrible words, "Die? It might be better, perhaps, that you should!" and then remembered the ghastly look of immeasurable horror with which a few hours later, he staggered away from that awful burden, whose rigid lines would never again melt into mocking curves, and to whom the morning's wide soaring hopes, high reaching ambitions and boundless luxuries were now no more than the shadows of a vanished world; life, love, longing, with all their demands, having dwindled to a noisome rest between four close planks, with darkness for its present portion and beyond – what?

XXI

DEPARTURE

"Forever and forever, farewell Cassius.If we do meet again, why we shall smile;If not, why then, this parting was well made." – Julius Cæsar.

Samuel had received his orders to admit Mr. Bertram Sylvester to his uncle's room, at whatever hour of the day or night he chose to make his appearance. But evening wore away and finally the night, before his well-known face was seen at the door. Proceeding at once to the apartment occupied by Mr. Sylvester, he anxiously knocked. The door was opened immediately.

"Ah, Bertram, I have been expecting you all night." And from the haggard appearance of both men, it was evident that neither of them had slept.

"I have sat down but twice since I left you, and then only in conveyances. I have been obliged to go to Brooklyn, to – "

"But you have found him?"

"Yes, I found him."

His uncle glanced inquiringly at his hands; they were empty.

"I shall have to sit down," said Bertram; his brow was very gloomy, his words came hesitatingly. "I had rather have knocked my head against the wall, than have disappointed you," he murmured after a moment's pause. "But when I did find him, it was too late."

"Too late!" The tone in which this simple phrase was uttered was indescribable. Bertram slowly nodded his head.

"He had already disposed of all the papers, and favorably," he said.

"But – "

"And not only that," pursued Bertram. "He had issued orders by telegraph, that it was impossible to countermand. It was at the Forty Second Street depôt I found him at last. He was just on the point of starting for the west."

"And has he gone?"

"Yes sir."

Mr. Sylvester walked slowly to the window. It was raining drearily without, but he did not notice the falling drops or raise his eyes to the leaden skies.

"Did you meet any one?" he asked at length. "Any one that you know, I mean, or who knows you?"

"No one but Mr. Stuyvesant."

"Mr. Stuyvesant!"

"Yes sir," returned Bertram, dropping his eyes before his uncle's astonished glance. "I was coming out of a house in Broad Street when he passed by and saw me, or at least I believed he saw me. There is no mistaking him, sir, for any one else; besides it is a custom of his I am told, to saunter through the down town streets after the warehouses are all closed for the night. He enjoys the quiet I suppose, finds food for reflection in the sleeping aspect of our great city." There was gloom in Bertram's tone; his uncle looked at him curiously.

"What house was it from which you were coming when he passed you?"

"A building where Tueller and Co. do business, shady operators in paper, as you know."

"And you believed he recognized you?"

"I cannot be sure, sir. It was dark, but I thought I saw him look at me and give a slight start."

Ah, how desolate sounds the drip, drip of a ceaseless rain, when conversation languishes and the ear has time to listen!

"I will explain to Mr. Stuyvesant when I see him, that you were in search of a man with whom I had pressing business," observed Mr. Sylvester at last.

"No," murmured Bertram with effort, "it might emphasize the occurrence in his mind; let the matter drop where it is."

There was another silence, during which the drip of the rain on the window-ledge struck on the young man's ears like the premonitory thud of falling earth upon a coffin-lid. At length his uncle turned and advanced rapidly towards him.

"Bertram," said he, "you have done me a favor for which I thank you. What you have learned in the course of its accomplishment I cannot tell. Enough perhaps to make you understand why I warned you from the dangerous path of speculation, and set your feet in a way that if adhered to with steadfast purpose, ought to lead you at last to a safe and honorable prosperity. Now – No, Bertram," he bitterly interrupted himself as the other opened his lips, "I am in need of no especial commiseration, my affairs seem bound to prosper whether I will or not – now I have one more commission to give you. Miss Fairchild – " his voice quavered and he leaned heavily on the chair near which he was standing. "Have you seen her, Bertram? Is the poor child quite prostrated? Has this frightful occurrence made her ill, or does she bear up with fortitude under the shock of this sudden calamity?"

"She is not ill, but her suffering is undoubted. If you could see her and say a few words to relieve her anxiety in regard to yourself, I think it would greatly comfort her. Her main thought seems to be for you, sir."

Mr. Sylvester frowned, raised his hand with a repelling gesture, and hastily opened his lips. Bertram thought he was about to utter some passionate phrase. But instead of that he merely remarked, "I am sorry I cannot see her, but it is quite impossible. You must stand between me and this poor child, Bertram. Tell her I send her my love; tell her that I am quite well; anything to solace her and make these dark days less dreary. If she wants a friend with her, let a messenger be sent for whomever she desires. I place no restrictions upon anything you choose to do for her comfort or happiness, but let me be spared the sight of any other face than yours until this is all over. After the funeral – it nay sound ungracious, but I am far from feeling so – I shall wish to be left alone for awhile. If she can be made to understand this – "

"I think her instincts, sir, have already led her to divine your wishes. If I am not mistaken, she is even now making preparations to return to her relatives."