The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York LifeGreen, Anna Katharine
General
The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life
Green, Anna Katharine
Detective and mystery stories; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction
She gave him a bright little look. “Had you been with Miss Stuyvesant,
and she had expressed herself as I have done, you would have said, ‘Miss
Fairchild is to be envied,’ and you would have been nearer the truth
than now. Cicely’s friendship is to mine what an unbroken mirror is to a
little racing brook. It reflects but one image, while mine—” She could
not go on. How could she explain to this stranger that Cicely’s heart
was undivided in its regard, while hers owned allegiance to more than
her bosom friend.
“If I were with Miss Stuyvesant now,” he declared, too absorbed in his
own ideas to notice the break in hers, “I should still say in face of
this friendship, ‘Miss Stuyvesant is to be envied.’ I have no mind for
more than one thought to-day,” exclaimed he, with a look that made her
tremble.
There are some men who never know in what field to stay the current of
their impetuosity: Clarence Ensign did. He said no more than this of all
that was seething in his mind and heart. He felt that he must prove
himself a man, before he exercised a man’s privilege. Besides, his
temperament was mercurial, and never remained long under the bondage of
a severe thought, or an impressive tone of mind. He worshipped the
lofty, but it was with tabor and cymbal and high-sounding lute. A climb
over the stile at the foot of the hill was enough to restore him to
himself. It was therefore with merry eyes and laughing lips that they
approached the house and entered Miss Belinda’s presence.
There are some persons whose prerogative it is to carry sunshine with
them wherever they go. Clarence Ensign was one of these. Without an
effort, without any display of incongruous hilarity, he always succeeded
by the mere joyousness of his own nature, in calling forth all that was
bright and enjoyable in others. When therefore they stepped into the
quaint old-fashioned parlor, all prepared to receive them, Paula was not
surprised to perceive it brighten, and her aunts’ faces grow cheerful
and smiling. Who could meet Clarence Ensign’s laughing eye and not
smile? What did astonish her, however, was the sight of an elegant
basket of hot-house lowers perched on a table in the centre of the room.
It made her pause, and cast looks of inquiry at the demure countenance
of Miss Abby, and the quietly satisfied expression of her more
thoughtful aunt.
“A remembrance from the city!” said Mr. Ensign gracefully. “I thought it
might help to recall some happy hours to you.”
With a swelling of the heart which she could not understand, she leaned
over the ample cluster of roses and heliotrope. She felt as though she
could embrace them; they were more than flowers, they were the visible
emblem of all she had missed, and for which she had longed these many
months.
“I seem to receive the whole in the part,” said she.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account