The Sword of Damocles. Анна Грин

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      "Paula has gone up stairs to take off her bonnet," the younger woman said in a straightforward manner just short of being brusque. "She is a very remarkable girl, Mr. Sylvester, a genius I suppose some would call her, a child of nature I prefer to say. Whatever there is to be learned in this town she has learned. And in a place where nature speaks and good books abound that is not inconsiderable. I have taken pride in her talents I acknowledge, and have endeavored to do what I could to cultivate them to the best advantage. There is no girl in my school who can write so original a composition, nor is there one with a truer heart or more tractable disposition."

      "You have then been her teacher as well as her friend, she owes you a double debt of gratitude."

      A look hard to understand flashed over her homely face. "I have never thought of debt or gratitude in connection with Paula. The only effort which I have ever made in her behalf which cost me anything, is this one which threatens me with her loss." Then as if fearing she had said too much, set her firm lips still firmer and ignoring the subject of the child, astonished him by certain questions on the leading issues of the day that at once betrayed a truly virile mind.

      "She is a study," thought he to himself, but meeting her on the ground she had taken, replied at once and to her evident satisfaction in the direct and simple manner that appeals the most forcibly to a strong if somewhat unpolished understanding, while the meek little Miss Abby glanced from one to the other with a humble awe more indicative of her appreciation for their superiority than of her comprehension of the subject.

      But what with Miss Belinda's secret anxiety and Mr. Sylvester's unconscious listening for a step upon the stair, the conversation, brisk as it had opened, gradually languished, and ere long with a sort of clairvoyant understanding of her sister's wishes, Miss Abby arose and with her customary jerk left the room for Paula.

      "The child is not timid but has an unaccountable aversion to entering the presence of strangers alone," Miss Belinda explained; but Mr. Sylvester did not hear her, for at that moment the door re-opened and Miss Abby stepped in with the young girl thus heralded.

      Edward Sylvester never forgot that moment, and indeed few men could have beheld the picture of extraordinary loveliness thus revealed, without a shock of surprise equal to the delight it inspired. She was not pretty; the very word was a misnomer, she was simply one of nature's most exquisite and undeniable beauties. From the crown of her ebon locks to the sole of her dainty foot, she was perfect as the most delicate coloring and the utmost harmony of contour could make her. And not in the conventional type either. There was an individuality in her style that was as fresh as it was uncommon. She was at once unique and faultless, something that can be said of few women however beautiful or alluring.

      Mr. Sylvester had not expected this, as indeed how could he, and for a moment he could only gaze with a certain swelling of the heart at the blooming loveliness that in one instant had transformed the odd little parlor into a bower fit for the habitation of princes. But soon his natural self-possession returned, and rising with his most courteous bow, he greeted the blushing girl with words of simple welcome.

      Instantly her eyes which had been hitherto kept bent upon the floor flashed upward to his face and a smile full of the wonder of an unlooked for, almost unhoped for delight, swept radiantly over her lips, and he saw with deep and sudden satisfaction that the hour which had made such an impression upon him, had not been forgotten by her; that his voice had recalled what his face failed to do, and that he was recognized.

      "It is Mr. Sylvester, your cousin Ona's husband," Miss Belinda interposed in a matter-of-fact way, evidently attributing the emotion of the child to her astonishment at the imposing appearance of their guest.

      "And it was you who married Ona!" she involuntarily murmured, blushing the next moment at this simple utterance of her thoughts.

      "Yes, dear child," Mr. Sylvester hastened to say. "And so you remember me?" he presently added, smiling down upon her with a sense of new life that for the moment made every care and anxiety shrink into the background.

      "Yes," she simply returned, taking the chair beside him with the unconscious grace of perfect self-forgetfulness. "It was the first time I had found any one to listen to my childish enthusiasms; it is natural such kindness should make its impression."

      "Little Paula and I met long ago," quoth Mr. Sylvester turning to the somewhat astonished Miss Belinda. "It was before my marriage and she was then—"

      "Just ten years old," finished Paula, seeing him cast her an inquiring glance.

      "Very young for such a thoughtful little miss," he exclaimed. "And have those childish enthusiasms quite departed?" he continued, smiling upon her with gentle encouragement. "Do you no longer find a fairy-land in the view up the river?"

      She flushed, casting a timid glance at her aunt, but meeting his eyes again seemed to forget everything and everybody in the inspiration which his presence afforded.

      "I fear I must acknowledge that it is more a fairy-land to me than ever," she softly replied. "Knowledge does not always bring disillusion, and though I have learned one by one the names of the towns scattered along those misty banks, and though I know they are no less prosaic in their character than our own humdrum village, yet I cannot rid myself of the notion that those verdant slopes with their archway of clouds, hide the portals of Paradise, and that I have only to follow the birds in their flight up the river to find myself on the verge of a mystery, the banks at my feet can never disclose."

      "May the gates of God's Paradise never recede as those would do, my child, if like the birds you attempted to pierce them."

      "Paula is a dreamer," quoth Miss Belinda in a matter-of-fact tone, "but she is a good girl notwithstanding and can solve a geometrical problem with the best."

      "And sew on the machine and make a very good pie," timidly put in Miss Abby.

      "That is well," laughed Mr. Sylvester, observing that the poor child's head had fallen forward in maidenly shame at her aunts' elogiums as well as at the length of the speech into which she had been betrayed. "It shows that her eyes can see what is at hand as well as what is beyond our reach." Then with a touch of his usual formal manner intended to restore her to herself, "Do you like study, Paula?"

      In an instant her eyes flashed. "I more than like it; it feeds me. Knowledge has its vistas too," she added with an arch look, the first he had seen on her hitherto serious countenance. "I can never outgrow my recognition of the portals it discloses or the fairy-land it opens up to every inquiring eye."

      "Even geometry," he ventured, more anxious to probe this fresh young mind than he had ever been to sound the opinions of the most notable men of the day.

      "Even geometry," she smiled. "To be sure its portals are somewhat methodical in shape, allowing no scope to the fancy, but from its triangles and circles have been born the grandeurs of architecture, and upright on the threshold of its exact laws and undeviating calculations, I see an angel with a golden rod in his hand, measuring the heavens."

      "Even a stone speaks to a poet," said Mr. Sylvester with a glance at Miss Belinda.

      "But Paula is no poet," returned that lady with strict and impartial honesty. "She has never put a line on paper to my knowledge. Have you child?"

      "No aunt, I would as soon imprison a falling sunbeam or try to catch the breeze that lifts my hair or kisses my cheek."

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