The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life

by Anna Katharine Green

  X.

  THE BARRED DOOR.

  "A school boy's tale; the wonder of an hour."

  BYRON.

  "Did you know that your niece was gifted with rare beauty as well astalents?" asked Mr. Sylvester of Miss Belinda as a couple of hours or solater, they sat alone by the parlor fire, preparatory to his departure.

  "No, that is," she hastily corrected herself, "I knew she was verypretty of course, prettier by far than any of her mates, but I did notsuppose she was what you call a beauty, or at least would be soconsidered by a person accustomed to New York society."

  "I do not know of a woman in New York who can boast of any such claimsto transcendent loveliness. Such faces are rare outside of art, MissBelinda; was Mrs. Fairchild a handsome woman?"

  "She was my sister and if I may say so, my favorite sister, but she wasno more agreeable to the eye than some others of her family," grimlyreturned the heavy browed spinster with a compression of her lips. "Whatbeauty Paula has inherited came from her father. Her chief charm in myeyes, however, springs from her pure nature and the unselfish impulsesof her heart."

  "And in mine," rejoined he quietly. Then with a sudden change of tone ashe realized the necessity of saying something definite to this woman inregard to his intentions toward the child, he remarked, "Her great andunusual talents and manifest disposition to learn, demand as you say,superior advantages to any she can have in a small country town likethis, fruitful as it has already been to her under your wise andfostering care and such shall she have; but just when and how I cannotsay till I have seen my wife and learned what her wishes are likely tobe in regard to the subject."

  "You are very kind, sir," returned Miss Belinda. "I have no doubt as tothe good-will of your intentions, and the child shall be prepared atonce for a change."

  "And will _the child_," he exclaimed with a smile as Paula re-enteredthe room, "be so kind as to give me her company in the walk I must nowtake to the cars?"

  "Of course," replied her aunt before the young girl could speak, "we oweyou that much attention I am sure."

  And so it was that when he came to retrace his way through the villagewith its heavy memories, he had a guardian spirit at his side thatrobbed them of their power to sadden and oppress.

  "What shall I say for you to the grim, city streets when I get back?"inquired he as they hastened on over the snow covered road.

  "Say to them from me? O you may give them my greeting," she respondedhalf shyly, half confidingly. Evidently for her he was one of those rarepersons whose presence is perfect freedom and with whom she could notonly think her best but speak it also. "I should like to make theiracquaintance, but indeed they would have to do well to vie in attractionwith these white roads girded by their silver-limbed trees. The veryrush of life must seem oppressive. So many hopes, so many fears, so manyinterests jostling you at every step! Yet the thought is exhilaratingtoo; don't you find it so?"

  It was the first question she had asked him and he knew not how toreply. Her eyes were so confiding, he could not bear to shake her faithin his imagined superiority. Yet what thoughts had he ever cherished inwalking the busy streets, save those connected with his own selfishhopes and fears, plans and operations? "I have no doubt," said he aftera moment's pause, "that I have felt this exhilaration of which youspeak. Certainly the hurrying masses in Broadway awaken a far differentsensation in a man, than this solitary stretch of country road."

  "Yet the road has its companionships," she murmured. "In the city onethinks most of men, but in the country, of God. Its very solitudecompels you."

  "Compels _you_," he involuntarily answered. And shuddered as he said it,remembering days when he trod these very roads with anything butreverence in his heart for the Creator of the landscape before him. "Notevery one has the inner vision, my child, to see the love and wisdomback of the works, or rather most men have a vision so short it does notreach so far. Yet I think I can understand what you mean and might evenexperience your emotions if my eyes had leisure to explore this spaceand my thoughts to rise out of their usual depressing atmosphere of careand anxiety. You did not think I was a busy man, he continued,"observing her gaze of wonder. "You thought riches brought ease; if youever come to think, 'most of men' you will learn that the wealthy man isthe greatest worker, for his rest comes not night or day."

  She shook her head with a sudden doubt. "It is a problem," she said,"which my knowledge of geometry does not help me to solve."

  "No," assented he; "and one in which even your fanciful soul would failto find any poetry. But stop, Paula; isn't this the place where I foundyou that day, and you showed me the view up the river?"

  "Yes, and it was on that stone I sat; it has a milk-white cushion now;and there is where you stood, looking so tall and grand to my childisheyes! The gates are of pearl now," she said, pointing to thesnow-covered slopes in the west. "I wish the sky had been clear to-nightand you could have seen the effect of a rosy sunset falling over thosedomes of ice and snow."

  "It would leave me less to expect when I come again," he respondedalmost gayly. "The next time we will have the sunset, Paula."

  She smiled and they hastened on, presently finding themselves in thevillage streets. Suddenly she paused. "Small towns have their mysteriesas well as great cities," said she; "we are not without ours, look."

  He turned, followed with a glance the direction of her pointing fingerand started in his sudden surprise. She had indicated to him the housewhose ghostly and frowning front bore written across its grim grayboards, such an inscription of painful remembrance. "It is a solitarylooking place, isn't it?" she went on, innocent of the pain she wasinflicting. "No one lives there or ever will, I imagine. Do you see thatboard nailed across the front door?"

  He forced himself to look. He did more, he fixed his eyes upon thedesolate structure before him until the aspect of its huge unpaintedwalls with their long rows of sealed-up windows and high smokelesschimneys was impressed indelibly upon his mind. The large front doorwith its weird and solemn barrier was the last thing upon which his eyerested.

  "Yes," said he, and involuntarily asked what it meant.

  "We do not know exactly," she responded. "It was nailed across there bythe men who followed Colonel Japha to the grave. Colonel Japha was theowner of the house," she proceeded, too interested to observe the shadowwhich the utterance of that name had invoked upon his brow. "He was apeculiar man I judge, and had suffered great wrongs they say; at allevents his life was very solitary and sad, and on his deathbed he madehis neighbors promise him that they would carry out his body throughthat door and then seal it up against any further ingress or egressforever. His wishes were respected, and from that day to this no one hasever entered that door."

  "But the house!" stammered Mr. Sylvester in anything but his usual tone,"surely it has not been deserted all these years!"

  "Ah," said she, "now we come to the greatest mystery of all." And layingher hand timidly on his arm, she drew his attention to the form of adecrepit old lady just then advancing towards them down the street "Doyou see that aged figure?" she asked. "Every evening at this hour,winter and summer, stormy weather or clear, she is seen to leave herhome up the street and come down to this forsaken dwelling, open theworm-eaten gate before you, cross the otherwise untrodden garden andenter the house by a side door which she opens with a huge key shecarries in her pocket. For just one hour by the clock she remains there,and then she is seen to issue in the falling dusk, with a countenancewhose heavy dejection is in striking contrast to the expression of hopewith which she invariably enters. Why she makes this pilgrimage and forwhat purpose she secludes herself for a stated time each day in thisotherwise deserted mansion, no man knows nor is it possible todetermine, for though she is a worthy woman and approachable enough onall other topics, on this she is absolutely mute."

  Mr. Sylvester started and surveyed the woman as she passed with ananxious gaze. "I know her," he muttered; "she was a connection of--ofthe family, who inhabited t
his house." He could not speak the name.

  "Yes, so they say, and the owner of this house, though she does not livehere. Did you notice how she looked at me? She often does that, just asif she wanted to speak. But she always goes by and opens the gate as yousee her now and takes out the big key and--"

  "Come away," cried Mr. Sylvester with sudden impulse, seizing Paula bythe hand and hurrying her down the street. "She is a walking goblin; youmust have nothing to do with such uncanny folk." And endeavoring to turnoff this irresistible display of feeling by a show of pleasantry helaughed aloud, but in a strained and unnatural way that made her eyeslift in unconscious amazement.

  "You are infected by the atmosphere of unreality that pervades thespot," said she, "I do not wonder." And with the gentle perversity thatsometimes affects the most thoughtful amongst us, she went on talkingupon the unwelcome subject. "I know of some folks who invariably crossto the other side of the street at night, rather than go through theshadows of the two gaunt poplars which guard that house. Yet there hasbeen no murder committed there or any great crime that I know of, unlessthe disobedience of a daughter who ran away with a man her fatherdetested, could be denominated by so fearful a word."

  The set gaze with which Mr. Sylvester surveyed the landscape before himquavered a trifle and then grew hard and cold. "And so," said he in atone meant more for himself than her, "even your innocent ears have beenassailed by the gossip about Miss Japha."

  "Gossip! I have never thought of it as gossip," returned she, struck forthe first time by the change in his appearance. "It all happened so longago it seems more like some quaint and ancient tale than a story of oneof our neighbors. Besides, the fact that a wilful girl ran away from thehouse of her father, with the man of her choice, is not such a dreadfulone is it, though she never returned to its walls with her husband, andher father was so overwhelmed by the shock, he was never seen to smileagain."

  "No," said he, giving her a hurried glance of relief, "I only wonderedat the tenacity of old stories to engage the popular ear. I had supposedeven the remembrance of Jacqueline Japha would have been lost in thelong silence that has followed that one disobedient act."

  "And so it might, were it not for that closely shut house with thesinister bar across its chief entrance, inviting curiosity while iteffectually precludes all investigation. With that token ever before oureyes of a dead man's implacable animosity, who can wonder that wesometimes ponder over the fate of her who was its object."

  "And no intimations of that fate have been ever received in Grotewell.For all that is known to the contrary, Jacqueline Japha may havepreceded her father to the tomb."

  Paula bowed her head, amazed at the gloomy tone in which this emphaticassertion was made by one whose supposed ignorance she had beenendeavoring to enlighten. "You knew her history before, then," observedshe, "I beg your pardon."

  "And it is granted," said he with a sudden throwing off of the shadowthat had enveloped him. "You must not mind my sudden lapses into gloom.I was never a cheerful man, that is, not since I--since my early youth Ishould say. And the shadows which are short at your time of life growlong and chilly at mine. One thing can illumine them though, and that isa child's happy smile. You are a child to me; do not deny me a smile,then, before I go."

  "Not one nor a dozen," cried she, giving him her hands in good-bye forthey had arrived at the depot by this time and the sound of theapproaching train was heard in the distance.

  "God bless you!" said he, clasping those hands with a father's heartfelttenderness. "God bless my little Paula and make her pillow soft till wemeet again!" Then as the train came sweeping up the track, put on hisbrightest look and added, "If the fairy-godmother chances to visit youduring my departure, don't hesitate to obey her commands, if you want tohear the famous organ peal."

  "No, no," she cried. And with a final look and smile he stepped upon thetrain and in another moment was whirled away from that place of manymemories and a solitary hope.