XVIII
IN THE NIGHT WATCHES
"Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn?" – Hen. iv.
"What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight?" – Hen. iv.
"It has been the most delightful evening I have ever passed," said Mrs. Sylvester, as she threw aside her rich white mantle in her ample boudoir. "Sarah, two loops on that dolman to-morrow; do you hear? I thought my arms would freeze. Such an elegant gentleman as the Count de Frassac is! He absolutely went wild over you, Paula, but not understanding a word of English – O there, if that horrid little wretch didn't drop his spoon on my dress after all! He swore it never touched a thread of it, but just look at that spot, right in the middle of a pleating too. Paula, your opinion in regard to the lavendar was correct. I heard Mrs. Forsyth Jones whisper behind my back that lavendar always made blondes look fade. Of course I needed no further evidence to convince me that I had entirely succeeded in eclipsing her pale-faced daughter. Her daughter!" and the lazy gurgle echoed softly through the room, "As if every white-haired girl in the city considered herself entitled to be called a blonde!" She stopped to listen, examining herself in the glass near by. "I thought I heard Edward. It was very provoking in him to leave us in the cavalier manner in which he did. I was just going to introduce him to the count, not that he would have esteemed it much of an honor, Edward I mean, but when one has a good-looking husband – Sarah, that curtain over there hangs crooked, pull it straight this instant. Did you try the oysters, Paula? They were perfection, I shall have to dismiss Lorenzo without ceremony and procure me a cook that can make an oyster fricassee. By the way did you notice – " and so on and on for five minutes additional. Presently she burst forth with – "I do believe I know what it is to be thoroughly satisfied at last. The consideration which one receives as the wife of the president of the Madison bank is certainly very gratifying. If I had known I would feel such a change in the social atmosphere, I would have advocated Edward's dropping speculation long ago. Beauty and wealth may help one up the social ladder, but only a settled position such as he has now obtained, can carry you safely over the top. I feel at last as if we had reached the pinnacle of my ambition and had seen the ladder by which we mounted thrown down behind us. If I get my costume from Worth in time, I shall give a German next month."
Paula from her stand at the door – for some minutes she had been endeavoring to escape to her room – surveyed her cousin in wonder. She had never seen her look as she did at that moment. Any one who speaks from the heart, acquires a certain eloquence, and Ona for once was speaking from her heart. The unwonted emotion made her cheeks burn, and even her diamonds, ten thousand dollars worth as we have heard declared, were less brilliant than her eyes. Paula left her station on the door-sill and glided rapidly back to her side. "O Ona," said she, "if you would only look like that when – " she paused, what right had she to venture upon giving lessons to her benefactor.
"When what?" inquired the other, subsiding at once into her naturally languid manner. Then with a total forgetfulness of the momentary curiosity that had prompted the question, held out her head to the attendant Sarah, with a command to be relieved of her ornaments. Paula sighed and hastened to her room. She could not bring herself to mention her anxiety in regard to the still absent master of the house, to this lazily-smiling thoroughly satisfied woman.
But none the less did she herself sit up in the moonlight, listening with bended head for the sound of his step on the walk beneath. She could not sleep while he was absent; and yet the thoughts that disturbed her and kept her from her virgin pillow could not have been entirely for him, or why those wandering smiles that ever and anon passed flitting over her cheek, awakening the dimples that slumbered there, until she looked more like a dreamy picture of delight than a wakeful vision of apprehension. Not entirely for him – yet when somewhere towards three o'clock, she heard the long delayed step upon the stoop, she started up with eager eyes and a nervous gesture that sufficiently betrayed how intense was her interest in her benefactor's welfare and happiness. "If he goes to Ona's room it is all right," thought she; "but if he keeps on upstairs, I shall know that something is wrong and that he needs a comforter."
He did not stop at Ona's room; and struck with alarm, Paula opened wide her door and was about to step out to meet him, when she caught a sight of his face, and started back. Here was no anxiety, that she could palliate! The very fact that he did not observe her slight form standing before him in the brilliant moonlight, proved that a woman's look or touch was not what he was in search of; and shrinking sensitively to one side, she sat down on the edge of her dainty bed, dropping her cheek into her hand with a weary troubled gesture from which all the delight had fled and only the apprehension remained. Suddenly she started alertly up; he was coming down again, this time with a gliding muffled tread. Sliding past her door, he descended to the floor below. She could hear the one weak stair in the heavy staircase creak, and – What! he has passed Ona's room, passed the bronze figure of Luxury on the platform beneath, is on his way to the front door, has opened it, shut it softly behind him and gone out again into the blank midnight streets. What did it mean? For a moment she thought she would run down and awaken Ona, but an involuntary remembrance of how those lazy eyes would open, stare peevishly and then shut again, stopped her on the threshold of her door; and sitting down again upon the side of her bed, she waited, this time with opened eyes eagerly staring before her, and quivering form that started at each and every sound that disturbed the silence of the great echoing house. At six o'clock she again rose; he had just re-entered and this time he stopped at Ona's room.
XIX
A DAY AT THE BANK
"There's a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we will." – Hamlet.
There are days when the whole world seems to smile upon one without stint or reservation. Bertram Sylvester wending his way to the bank on the morning following the reception, was a cheerful sight to behold. Youth, health, hope spake in every lineament of his face and brightened every glance of his wide-awake eye. His new life was pleasant to him. Bach, Beethoven and Chopin were scarcely regretted now by the ambitious assistant cashier of the Madison Bank, with a friend in each of its directors and a something more than that in the popular president himself. Besides he had developed a talent for the business and was in the confidence of the cashier, a somewhat sickly man who more than once had found himself compelled to rely upon the rapidly maturing judgment of his young associate, in matters oftentimes of the utmost importance. The manner in which Bertram found himself able to respond to these various calls, convinced him that he had been correct in his opinion of his own nature, when he informed his uncle that music was his pleasure rather than his necessity.
Entering the building by way of Pearl Street, he was about to open the door leading into the bank proper, when he heard a little piping voice at his side, and turning, confronted the janitor's baby daughter. She was a sweet and interesting child, and with his usual good nature Bertram at once stopped to give her a kiss.
"I likes you," prattled she as he put her down again after lifting her up high over his head, "but I likes de oder one best."
"I hope the other one duly appreciates your preference," laughed he, and was again on the point of entering the bank when he felt or thought he felt a hand laid on his arm. It was the janitor himself this time, a worthy man, greatly trusted in the bank, but possessed of such an extraordinary peculiarity in the way of a pair of protruding eyes, that his appearance was always attended by a shock.
"Well, Hopgood, what is it?" cried Bertram, in his cheery tone.
The janitor drew back and mercifully shifted his gaze from the young man's face. "Nothing sir; did I stop you? Beg pardon," he continued, half stammering, "I'm dreadful awkward sometimes." And with a nod he sidled off towards his little one whom he confusedly took up in his arms.
Now Bertram was sure the man had touched him and that, too, with a very eager hand, but being late that morning and consequently in somewhat of a hurry, he did not stop to pursue the matter. Hastening into the Bank, he assisted the teller in opening the safe, that being his especial duty, and was taking out such papers as he himself required, when he was surprised to catch another sight of those same extraordinary organs of which I have just spoken, peering upon him from the door by which he had previously entered. They vanished as soon as he encountered them, but more than once during the morning he perceived them looking upon him from various quarters of the bank, till he felt himself growing seriously annoyed, and sending for the man, asked him what he meant by this unusual surveillance. The janitor seemed troubled, flushed painfully and fixed his eyes in manifest anxiety on the cashier who, engaged in some search of his own, was just handling over the tin boxes that lined the vault before them. Not till he had seen him shove them back into their place and leave the spot, did he venture upon his reply. "I'm sure, sir, I'm very sorry if I have annoyed you, but do you think Mr. Sylvester will be down at the usual hour?"
"I know of no reason why he should not," returned Bertram.
"I have something to say to him when he comes in," stammered the man, evidently taken aback by Bertram's look of surprise. "Will you be kind enough to ring the bell the first moment he seems to be at leisure? I don't know as it is a matter of any importance but – " He stopped, evidently putting a curb upon himself. "Can I rely on you, sir?"
"Yes, certainly, I will tell my uncle when he comes in that you want to speak to him. He will doubtless send for you at once."
The man looked embarrassed. "Excuse me, sir, but that's just what I'd rather you wouldn't do. Mr. Sylvester is always very busy and he might think I wished to annoy him about some matters of my own, sir, as indeed I have not been above doing at odd times. If you would ring when he comes in, that is all I ask."
Bertram thought this a strange request, but seeing the man so anxious, gave the required promise, and the janitor hurried off. "Curious!" muttered Bertram. "Can anything be wrong?" And he glanced about him with some curiosity as he went to his desk. But every one was at his post as usual and the countenances of all were equally undisturbed.
It was a busy morning and in the rush of various matters Bertram forgot the entire occurrence. But it was presently recalled to him by hearing some one remark, "Mr. Sylvester is late to-day," and looking up from some papers he was considering, he found it was a full hour after the time at which his uncle was in the habit of appearing. Just then he caught still another sight of the protruding eyes of Hopgood staring in upon him from the half-opened door at the end of the bank.
"The fellow's getting impatient," thought he, and experienced a vague feeling of uneasiness.
Another half hour passed. "What can have detained Mr. Sylvester?" cried Mr. Wheelock the cashier, hastily approaching Bertram.
"There is to be an important meeting of the Directors to-day, and some of the gentlemen are already coming in. Mr. Sylvester is not accustomed to keep us waiting."
"I don't know, I am sure," returned Bertram, remembering with an accession of uneasiness, the abruptness with which his uncle had left the entertainment the evening before.
"Shall I telegraph to the house?"
"No, that is not necessary. Besides Folger says he passed him on Broadway this morning."
"Going down street with a valise in his hand," that gentlemen quietly put in. Folger was the teller. "He was looking very pale and didn't see me when I nodded."
"What time was that?" asked Bertram.
"About twelve; when I went out to lunch."
A quick gasp sounded at their side, followed by a hurried cough. Turning, Bertram encountered for the fifth time the eyes of Hopgood. He had entered unperceived by the small door that separated the inner inclosure from the outer, and was now standing very close to them, eying with side-long looks the safe at their back, the faces of the gentleman speaking, yes, and even the countenances of the clerks, as they bent busily over their books.
"Did you ring, sir?" asked he, catching Bertram's look of displeasure.
"No."
The man seemed to feel the rebuke implied in this short response, and ambled softly away. But in another moment he was stopped by Bertram.
"What is the matter with you to-day, Hopgood? Can you have anything of real importance on your mind; anything connected with my uncle?"
The janitor started, and looked almost frightened. "Be careful what you say," whispered he; then with a keen look at Mr. Wheelock just then on the point of entering the directors' room, he was turning to escape by the little door just mentioned, when it opened and Mr. Stuyvesant came in. With a look almost of terror the janitor recoiled, throwing himself as it were between the latter and the door of the safe; but recovering himself, surveyed the keen quiet visage of the veteran banker with a rolling of his great eyes absolutely painful to behold. Mr. Stuyvesant, who was somewhat absorbed in thought, did not appear to notice the agitation he had caused, and with just a hurried nod followed Mr. Wheelock into the Directors' room. Instantly the janitor drew himself up with an air of relief, and shortly glancing at the clock which lacked a few minutes yet of the time fixed for the meeting, slided hastily away from Bertram's detaining hand, and disappeared in the crowd without. In another moment Bertram saw him standing at the outer door, looking anxiously up and down the street.
"Something is wrong," murmured Bertram. "What?" And for a moment he felt half tempted to return Mr. Stuyvesant's friendly bow with a few words expressive of his uneasiness, but the emphasis with which Hopgood had murmured the words, "Be careful what you say," unconsciously deterred him, and concealing his nervousness as best he might, he entered the Directors' office.
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.