The Sword of Damocles

my life to have him so. The world is only dear to me now as it holds him.”

Miss Belinda picked up Mr. Ensign’s letter with trembling fingers. “I thought you were safe when the younger man came to woo,” said she. “Girls, as a rule, prefer what is bright to what is sombre, and Mr. Ensign is truly a very agreeable as well as worthy young man.”

“Yes, aunt, and he came very near stealing my heart as he undoubtedly did my fancy, but a stronger hand snatched it away, and now I do not know what to do or how to act, so as to awaken in the future no remorse or vain regrets.”

Miss Belinda opened the letters again and consulted their contents in a matter-of-fact way. “Mr. Ensign proposes to come this afternoon for his answer, while Mr. Sylvester defers seeing you till evening. What if I seek Mr. Sylvester this morning and have a little conversation with him, which shall determine, for once and all, the question which so troubles us? Would you not find it easier to meet Mr. Ensign when he comes?”

“You talk to Mr. Sylvester, and upon such a topic! Oh, I could not bear that. Pardon me, aunt, but I think I am more jealous of his feelings than of my own. If his secret can be learned in a half-hour’s talk, it must be listened to by no one but myself. And I believe it can,” she murmured reverently; “he is so tender of me he would never let me go blindfold into any path, concerning which I had once expressed anxiety. If I ask him whether there is any good reason before God or man why I should not give him my entire faith and homage, he will answer honestly, though it be the destruction of his hopes to do so?”

“Have you such trust as that in his uprightness as a lover, and the guardian of your happiness?”

“Have not you, aunt?”

And Miss Belinda remembering his words on the occasion of his first proposal to adopt Paula, was forced to acknowledge that she had.

So without further preliminaries, it was agreed upon that Paula should refrain from making a final decision until she had eased her heart by an interview with Mr. Sylvester.

“Meantime, you can request Mr. Ensign to wait another day for his answer,” said Miss Belinda.

But Paula with a look of astonishment shook her head. “Is it you who would counsel me to such a piece of coquetry as that?” said she. “No, dear aunt, my heart is not with Mr. Ensign, as you know, and it is impossible for me to encourage him. If Mr. Sylvester should prove unworthy of my affection, I must bear, as best I may, the loss which must accrue; but till he does, let me not dishonor my womanhood by allowing hope to enter, even for a passing moment, the breast of his rival.”

Miss Belinda blushed, and drew her niece fondly towards her. “You are right,” said she, “and my great desire for your happiness has led me into error. Honesty is the noblest adjunct of all true love, and must never be sacrificed to considerations of selfish expediency. The refusal which you contemplate bestowing upon Mr. Ensign, must be forwarded to him at once.”

And with a final embrace, in which Miss Belinda allowed herself to let fall some few natural tears of disappointment, she dismissed the young girl to her task.

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 to his understanding with Paula, had been absent from his home all day, had just come in and now stood in his library waiting for the coming footfall that should decide whether the future held for him any promise of joy.

He had never looked more worthy of a woman’s regard than he did that night. A matter that had been troubling him for some time had just been satisfactorily disposed of, and not a shadow, so far as he knew, lay upon his business outlook. This naturally brightened his cheek and lent a light to his eye. Then, hope is no mean beautifier, and this he possessed notwithstanding the disparity of years between himself and Paula. It was not, however, of sufficiently assured a nature to prevent him from starting at every sound from above, and flushing with quite a disagreeable sense of betrayal when the door opened and Bertram entered the 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 of it upon you. Do you think anyone could mistake the nature of Miss Stuyvesant’s feelings, who saw her last night?”

“Hardly,” was the smiling reply. “At all events I have not felt like wasting much but pleasant sympathy upon you. Your pathway to happiness looks secure, my boy.”

His nephew gave him a wistful glance, but hid his thought whatever it was. “I am going to see her tonight,” remarked he. “I am afraid my love is something like a torrent that has once burst its barrier; it cannot rest until it has worked its channel and won its rightful repose.”

“That is something the way with all love,” returned his uncle. “It may be dallied with while asleep, but once aroused, better meet a lion in his fury or a tempest in its rush. Are you going to test your hope, tonight?”

The young man flushed. “I cannot say.” But in another moment gayly added, “I only know that I am prepared for any emergency.”

“Well, my boy, I wish you Godspeed. If ever a man has won a right to happiness, you are that man; and you shall enjoy it too, if any word or action of mine can serve to advance it.”

“Thank you!” replied Bertram, and with a bright look around the apartment, prepared to