XXX.--MISS BELINDA PRESENTS MR. SYLVESTER WITH A CHRISTMAS GIFT

XXXI.--A QUESTION

XXXII.--FULL TIDE

XXXIII.--TWO LETTERS

XXXIV.--PAULA MAKES HER CHOICE

XXXV.--THE FALLING OF THE SWORD

XXXVI.--MORNING

XXXVII.--THE OPINION OF A CERTAIN NOTED DETECTIVE

XXXVIII.--BLUEBEARD'S CHAMBER

XXXIX.--FROM A. TO Z

XL.--HALF-PAST SEVEN

BOOK V. WOMAN'S LOVE.

XLI.--THE WORK OF AN HOUR

XLII.--PAULA RELATES A STORY SHE HAS HEARD

XLIII.--DETERMINATION

XLIV.--IN MR. STUYVESANT'S PARLORS

XLV.--"THE HOUR OF SIX IS SACRED!"

XLVI.--THE MAN CUMMINS

Damocles, one of the courtiers of Dionysius, was perpetually
extolling with rapture that tyrant's treasures, grandeur, the
number of his troops, the extent of his dominions, the
magnificence of his palaces, and the universal abundance of all
good things and enjoyments in his possession; always repeating,
that never man was happier than Dionysius. "Since you are of
that opinion," said the tyrant to him one day, "will you taste
and make proof of my felicity in person?" The offer was
accepted with joy; Damocles was placed upon a golden couch,
covered with carpets richly embroidered. The side-boards were
loaded with vessels of gold and silver. The most beautiful
slaves in the most splendid habits stood around, ready to serve
him at the slightest signal. The most exquisite essences and
perfumes had not been spared. The table was spread with
proportionate magnificence. Damocles was all joy, and looked
upon himself as the happiest man in the world; when
unfortunately casting up his eyes, he beheld over his head the
point of a sword, which hung from the roof only by a single
horse-hair.

ROLLIN.

THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES.

BOOK I.

TWO MEN.

I.

A WANDERER.

"There's no such word."--BULWER.

A wind was blowing through the city. Not a gentle and balmy zephyr,
stirring the locks on gentle ladies' foreheads and rustling the curtains
in elegant boudoirs, but a chill and bitter gale that rushed with a
swoop through narrow alleys and forsaken courtyards, biting the cheeks
of the few solitary wanderers that still lingered abroad in the darkened
streets.

In front of a cathedral that reared its lofty steeple in the midst of
the squalid houses and worse than squalid saloons of one of the
dreariest portions of the E