Part 54 (1/2)

Ah what, Cicely?

Paula, who was too absorbed in her own feelings to glance into the extension room beyond, approached Mr. Sylvester and laid her hand upon his arm. ”Whatever comes,” said she, ”truth, honor and love remain.”

And he bowed his head and seemed to kiss her hand, and Cicely observing the action, grew pale and dropped her eyes, realizing as by a lightning's flash, both the nature of the feeling that prompted this unusual manifestation on his part, and the possible sorrows that lay before her dearest friend, if not before herself, should the secret suspicions she cherished in regard to Mr. Sylvester prove true. When she had summoned up courage to glance again in their direction, Mr.

Stuyvesant had entered the parlor and was nervously welcoming his guests.

Mr. Sylvester waited for no preamble. ”I have come,” said he, in his most even and determined tones, ”to speak to you in regard to a communication from a man by the name of Holt, which I was told was to be sent to you last evening. Did you receive such a one?”

Mr. Stuyvesant flushed, grew still more nervous in his manner and uttered a short, ”I did,” in a tone severer than he perhaps intended.

”It will not be too much for me, then, to conclude, that in your present estimation my nephew stands committed to a past dishonesty?”

”It has been one of my chief sources of regret--one of them I say,”

repeated Mr. Stuyvesant, ”that any loss of esteem on the part of your nephew, must necessarily reflect upon the peace if not the honor of a man I hold in such high regard as yourself. I a.s.sure you I feel it quite as a brother might, quite as a brother.”

Mr. Sylvester at once rose. ”Mr. Stuyvesant,” declared he, ”my nephew is as honest a man as walks this city's streets. If you will accord me a few minutes private conversation, I think I can convince you so.”

”I should be very glad,” replied Mr. Stuyvesant, glancing towards the extension-room where he had left his daughter. ”I have always liked the young man.” Then with a quick look in the other's face, ”You are not well, Mr. Sylvester?”

”Thank you, I am not ill; let us say what we have to, at once, if you please.” And with just a glance at Paula, he followed the now somewhat agitated director from the room.

Cicely who had started forward at their departure, glanced down the long parlor before her, and hastily faltered back; Paula was praying. But in a few moments her feelings overcame her timidity, and hurrying into her friend's presence, she threw her arms about her neck and pressed her cheek to hers. ”Let us pray together,” she whispered.

Paula drew back and looked her friend in the face. ”You know what all this means?” she asked.

”I guess,” was the low reply.

Paula checked a sob and clasped Cicely to her bosom. ”He loves me,” she faltered, ”and he is doing at this moment what he believes will separate us. He is a n.o.ble man, Cicely, n.o.ble as Bertram, though he once did--”

She paused. ”It is for him to say what, not I,” she softly concluded.

”Then Bertram is n.o.ble,” Cicely timidly put in.

”Have you ever doubted it?”

”No.”

And hiding their blushes on each other's shoulders, the two girls sat breathlessly waiting, while the clock ticked away in the music-room and the moments came and went that determined their fate. Suddenly they both rose. Mr. Stuyvesant and Mr. Sylvester were descending the stairs. Mr.

Sylvester came in first. Walking straight up to Paula, he took her in his arms and kissed her on the forehead.

”My betrothed wife!” he whispered.

With a start of incredulous joy, Paula looked up. His glance was clear but strangely solemn and peaceful.

”He has heard all I had to say,” added he; ”he is a just man, but he is also a merciful one. Like you he declares that not what a man was, but what he is, determines the judgment of true men concerning him.” And taking her on his arm, he stood waiting for Mr. Stuyvesant who now came in.

”Where is my daughter?” were that gentleman's words, as he closed the door behind him.

”Here, papa.”