The Sword of Damocles: A Story of New York Life — John Shaqi
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
At length the piano was duly set up and we turned to leave. Will you
think I am too trivial in my details if I tell you that I lingered
behind the rest and for an instant let my hand with all its
possibilities for calling out a soul from that dead instrument, lie a
moment on the keys over which her dainty fingers were so soon to
traverse?
V.
THE RUBICON.
“I’ll stake my life upon her faith.”—OTHELLO.
Once convinced of the identity of my sweet young friend with the Miss
Preston at whose feet a two year hence, the wealth and aristocracy of
New York would be kneeling, I drew back from further effort as having
received a damper to my presumptuous hopes that would soon effectually
stifle them. Everything I heard about the family—and it seemed as if
suddenly each chance acquaintance that I met had something to say about
Mr. Preston either as a banker or a man, only served to confirm me in
this view. “He is a money worshipper,” said one. “The bluest of blue
Presbyterians,” declared another. “The enemy of presumption and anything
that looks like an overweening confidence in one’s own worth or
capabilities,” remarked a third. “A man who would beggar himself to save
the honor of a corporation with which he was concerned,” observed a
fourth “but who would not invite to his table the most influential man
connected with it if that man was unable to trace his family back to the
old Dutch settlers to which Mr. Preston’s own ancestors belonged.”
This latter statement I have no doubt was exaggerated for I myself have
seen him at dinners where half the gentlemen who lifted the wine glass
were self-made in every sense of the term. But it showed the bent of his
mind and it was a bent that left me entirely out of the sweep of his
acquaintanceship much less that of his exquisite daughter, the pride of
his soul if not the jewel of his heart.
But when will a man who has seen or who flatters himself that he has
seen in the eyes of the woman he admires, the least spark of that fire
which is consuming his own soul, pause at an obstacle which after all
has its basis simply in circumstances of position or will. By the time
the two weeks of her expected absence had expired, I had settled it in
my own mind that I would see her again and if I found the passing
caprice of a child was likely to blossom into the steady regard of a
woman, risk all in the attempt to win by honorable endeavor and
persistence this bud of loveliness for my future wife.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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