CHAPTER IV.

THE SEVEN VAULTS.

About the hour of nine o'clock, on the 23d of December, a gentleman, wrapped in the folds of a Spanish mantle, passed along Broadway, on his way to the Astor House. Through the glare and glitter, the uproar and the motion of that thronged pathway, he passed rapidly along, his entire appearance and manner distinguishing him from the crowd. As he came into the glare of the brilliantly-lighted windows, his face and features, disclosed but for an instant, beneath his broad sombrero, made an impression upon those who beheld them, which they did not soon forget. That face, unnaturally pale, was lighted by eyes that shone with incessant luster; and its almost death-like pallor was in strong contrast with his moustache, his beard and hair, all of intense blackness. His dark hair, tossed by the winter winds, fell in wavy tresses to the collar of his cloak. His movements were quick and impetuous, and his stealthy gait, in some respects, reminded you of the Indian. Altogether, in a crowd of a thousand you would have singled him out as a remarkable man,--one of those whose faces confront you at rare intervals, in the church, the street, in the railroad-car, on ship-board, and who at first sight elicit the involuntary ejaculation, "That man's history I would like to know!"

Arrived at the Astor House he registered his name, GASPAR MANUEL, _Havana_.

He had just landed from the Havana steamer.

As he wrote his name on the Hotel book, he uncovered his head, and--by the gas light which shone fully on him,--it might be seen that his dark hair, which fell to his shoulders, was streaked with threads of silver. The vivid brightness of his eyes, the death-like pallor of his face, became more perceptible in the strong light; and when he threw his cloak aside, you beheld a slender frame, slightly bent in the shoulders, clad in a dark frock coat, which, single breasted, and with a strait collar, reached to the knees.

His face seemed to indicate the traveler who has journeyed in many lands, seen all phases of life, thought much, suffered deeply, and at times grown sick of all that life can inflict or bestow; his attire indicated a member of some religious organization, perchance a member of that society founded by Loyola, which has sometimes honored, but oftener blasphemed, the name of JESUS. Directing his trunks,--there were some three or four, huge in size, and strangely strapped and banded--to be sent to his room, Gaspar Manuel resumed his cloak and sombrero, and left the hall of the hotel.

It was an hour before he appeared again. As he emerged from one of the corridors into the light of the hall, you would have scarcely recognized the man. In place of his Jesuit-like attire, he wore a fashionably made black dress coat, a snow-white vest, black pants and neatly-fitting boots. There was a diamond in the center of his black scarf, and a massy gold chain across his vest. And a diamond even more dazzling than that which shone upon his scarf, sparkled from the little finger of his left-hand.

But the change in his attire only made that face, framed in hair and beard, black as jet, seem more lividly pale. It was a strange faded face,--you would have given the world to have known the meaning of that thought which imparted its incessant fire to his eyes.

Winding his cloak about his slender frame, and placing his sombrero upon his dark hair, he left the hotel. Passing with his quick active step along Broadway, he turned to the East river, and soon entered a silent and deserted neighboring house. Silent and deserted, because it stands in the center of a haunt of trade, which in the day-time, mad with the fever of traffic, was at night as silent and deserted as a desert or a tomb.

He paused before an ancient dwelling-house, which, wedged in between huge warehouses, looked strangely out of place, in that domain of mammon. Twenty-one years before, that dwelling-house had stood in the very center of the fashionable quarter of the city. Now the aristocratic mansions which once lined the street had disappeared; and it was left alone, amid the lofty walls and closed windows of the warehouses which bounded it on either hand, and gloomily confronted it from the opposite side of the narrow street.

It was a double mansion--the hall door in the center--ranges of apartments on either side. Its brick front, varied by marble over the windows, bore the marks of time. And the wide marble steps, which led from the pavement to the hall door--marble steps once white as snow--could scarcely be distinguished from the brown sandstone of the pavement. In place of a bell, there was an unsightly-looking knocker, in the center of the massive door; and its roof, crowned with old fashioned dormer-windows, and heavy along the edges with cumbrous woodwork, presented a strange contrast to the monotonous flat roofs of the warehouses on either side.

Altogether, that old-fashioned dwelling looked as much out of place in that silent street of trade, as a person attired in the costume of the Revolution,--powdered wig, ruffled shirt, wide skirted coat, breeches and knee-buckles,--would look, surrounded by gentlemen attired in the business-like and practical costume of the present day. And while the monotonous edifices on either side, only spoke of Trade--the Rate of Exchange--the price of Dry Goods,--the old dwelling-house had something about it which breathed of the associations of Home. There had been marriages in that house, and deaths: children had first seen the light within its walls, and coffins, containing the remains of the fondly loved, had emerged from its wide hall door: dramas of every-day life had been enacted there: and there, perchance, had also been enacted one of those tragedies of every-day life which differ so widely from the tragedies of fiction, in their horrible truth.

There was a story about the old dwelling which, as you passed it in the day-time, when it stood silent and deserted, while all around was deafening uproar, made your heart dilate with involuntary curiosity to know the history of the ancient fabric, and the history of those who had lived and died within its walls.

Gaspar Manuel ascended the marble steps, and with the knocker sounded an alarm, which echoing sullenly through the lofty hall, was shortly answered by the opening of the door.

In the light which flashed upon the pallid visage of Gaspar Manuel, appeared an aged servant, clad in gray livery faced with black velvet.

"Take these letters to your master, and tell him that I am come," said Gaspar in a prompt and decided tone, marked, although but slightly, with a foreign accent. He handed a package to the servant as he spoke.

"But how do you know that my master is at home?"--The servant shaded his eyes with his withered hand, and gazed hesitatingly into that strange countenance, so lividly pale, with eyes unnaturally bright and masses of waving hair, black as jet.

"Ezekiel Bogart lives here, does he not?"

"That is my master's name."

"Take these letters to him then at once, and tell him I am waiting."

Perchance the soft and musical intonations of the stranger's voice had its effect upon the servant, for he replied, "Come in, sir," and led the way into the spacious hall, which was dimly lighted by a hanging lamp of an antique pattern.

"Step in there, sir, and presently I will bring you an answer."

The aged servant opened a door on the left side of the hall and Gaspar Manuel entered a square apartment, which had evidently formed a part of a larger room. The walls were panneled with oak; a cheerful wood fire burned in the old-fashioned arch; an oaken table, without covering of any sort, stood in the center; and oaken benches were placed along the walls. Taking the old chair,--it stood by the table,--Gaspar Manuel, by the light of the wax candle on the table, discovered that the room was already occupied by some twenty or thirty persons, who sat upon the oak benches, as silent as though they had been carved there. Persons of all classes, ages, and with every variety of visage and almost every contrast of apparel. There was the sleek dandy of Broadway; there the narrow-faced vulture of Wall street; there some whose decayed attire reminded you either of poets out of favor with the Magazines, or of police officers out of office: one whose half Jesuit attire brought to mind a Puseyite clergyman; and one or two whose self-complacent visages reminded one of a third-rate lawyer, who had just received his first fee; in a word, types of the varied and contrasted life which creeps or throbs within the confines of the large city. Among the crowd, were several whose rotund corporations and evident disposition to shake hands with themselves, indicated the staid man of business, whose capital is firm in its foundation, and duly recognized in the solemn archives of the Bank. A man of gray hairs, clad in rags, sat in a corner by himself; there was a woman with a vail over her face; a boy with half developed form, and lip innocent of hair: it was, altogether, a singular gathering.

The dead silence which prevailed was most remarkable. Not a word was said. Not one of those persons seemed to be aware of the existence of the others. As motionless as the oak benches on which they sat, they were waiting to see Ezekiel Bogart, and this at the unusual hour of ten at night.

Who was Ezekiel Bogart? This was a question often asked, but which the denizens of Wall street found hard to answer. He was not a merchant, nor a banker, nor a lawyer, nor a gentleman of leisure, although in some respects he seemed a combination of all.

He occupied the old-fashioned dwelling; was seen at all sorts of places at all hours; and was visited by all sorts of people at seasons most unusual. Thus much at least was certain. But what he was precisely, what he exactly followed, what the sum of his wealth, and who were his relations,--these were questions shadowed in a great deal more mystery than the reasons which induce a Washington Minister of State to sanction a worn-out claim, of which he is at once the judge, lawyer and (under the rose) sole proprietor.

The transactions of Ezekiel Bogart were quite extensive: they involved much money and ramified through all the arteries of the great social world of New York. But the exact nature of these transactions? All was doubt,--no one could tell.

So much did the mystery of Mr. Bogart's career puzzle the knowing ones of Wall street, that one gentleman of the Green Board went quite crazy on the subject,--after the fourth bottle of champagne--and offered to bet Erie Rail-road stock against New Jersey copper stock, that no one could prove that Bogart had ever been born.

"_Who_ IS _Ezekiel Bogart_?"

No doubt every one of the persons here assembled, in the oak panneled room, can return some sort of answer to this question; but will not their answers contradict each other, and render Ezekiel more mythical than ever?

"Sir, this way," said the aged servant, opening the door and beckoning to Gaspar Manuel.

Gaspar followed the old man, and leaving the room, ascended the oaken staircase, whose banisters were fashioned of solid mahogany.

On the second floor he opened a door,--"In there, sir," and crossing the threshold, Gaspar Manuel found himself in the presence of Ezekiel Bogart.

It was a square apartment, lined with shelves from the ceiling to the floor, and illumined by a lamp, which hanging from the ceiling, shed but a faint and mysterious light through the place. In the center was a large square table, whose green baize surface was half concealed by folded packages, opened letters, and huge volumes, bound in dingy buff. Without windows, and warmed by heated air, this room was completely fire-proof--for the contents of those shelves were too precious to be exposed to the slightest chance of destruction.

In an arm-chair, covered with red morocco, and placed directly beneath the light, sat Ezekiel Bogart; a man whom we may as well examine attentively, for we shall not soon see his like again. His form bent in the shoulders, yet displaying marks of muscular power, was clad in a loose wrapper of dark cloth, with wide sleeves, lined with red. A dark skull-cap covered the crown of his head; and a huge green shade, evidently worn to protect his eyes from the light, completely concealed his eyes and nose, and threw its shadow over his mouth and chin. A white cravat, wound about his throat in voluminous folds, half concealed his chin; and his right hand--sinewy, yet colorless as the hand of a corpse--which was relieved by the crimson lining of the large sleeve--was laid upon an open letter.

Gaspar Manuel seated himself in a chair opposite this singular figure, and observed him attentively without uttering a word. And Ezekiel Bogart, whose eyes were protected by the huge green shade, seemed for a moment to study with some earnestness, the pallid face of Gaspar Manuel.

"My name is Ezekiel Bogart," he spoke in a voice so low as to be scarcely audible,--"and I am the General Agent of Martin Fulmer."

He paused as if awaiting a reply from Gaspar Manuel, but Gaspar Manuel did not utter a word.

"You come highly recommended by Mr. John Grubb, who is Mr. Fulmer's agent on the Pacific coast," continued Ezekiel. "He especially commends you to my kindness and attention, in the letter which I hold in my hand. He desires me to procure you an early interview with my principal, Dr. Martin Fulmer. He also states that you have important information in your possession, in regard to certain lands in the vicinity of the Jesuit Mission of San Luis, near the Pacific coast,--lands purchased some years ago, from the Mexican government, by Dr. Martin Fulmer. Now, in the absence of the Doctor, I will be most happy to converse with you on the subject"--

"And I will be happy to converse on the subject," exclaimed Gaspar, in his low voice and with a slight but significant smile, "but first I must see Dr. Martin Fulmer."

Ezekiel gave a slight start--

"But you may not be able to see Dr. Martin Fulmer for some days," he said. "His movements are uncertain; it is at times very difficult to procure an interview with him."

"I must see him," replied Gaspar Manuel in a decided voice, "and before the Twenty-Fifth of December."

Again Ezekiel started:

"Soh! He knows of the Twenty-Fifth!" he muttered. After a moment's hesitation he said aloud: "This land which the Doctor bought from the Mexican government, and which he sent John Grubb to overlook, is fertile, is it not?"

Gaspar Manuel answered in a low voice, whose faintest tones were marked with a clear and impressive emphasis:

"The deserted mission house of San Luis stands in the center of a pleasant valley, encircled by fertile hills. Its walls of intermingled wood and stone are almost buried from view by the ever-green foliage of the massive trees which surround it. Once merry with the hum of busy labor, and echoing with the voice of prayer and praise, it is now silent as a tomb. Its vineyards and its orchards are gone to decay,--orchards rich with the olive and the apple, the pomegranate and the orange, stand neglected and forsaken, under an atmosphere as calm, a climate as delicious as southern Italy. And the hills and fields, which once produced the plantain and banana, cocoanut, indigo and sugar-cane--which once resounded with the voices of hundreds of Indian laborers, who yielded to the rule of the Jesuit Fathers--are now as sad and silent as a desert. And yet a happier sight you cannot conceive than the valley of the San Luis, in the lap of which stands the deserted mission-house. It is watered by two rivulets, which, flowing from the gorges of distant hills, join near the mission-house, into a broad and tranquil river, whose shores are always bright with the verdure of spring. The valley is surrounded, as I have said, by a range of rolling hills, which formerly yielded, by their inexhaustible fertility, abundant wealth to the Fathers. Behind these, higher and abrupt hills arise, clad with ever-green forests. In the far distance, rise the white summits of the Sierra Nevada."

"This mission was one of the many established between the Sierra Nevada and the Pacific coast," interrupted Ezekiel, "by zealous missionaries of the Papal Church. If I mistake not, having obtained large grants of land from the Mexican government, they gathered the Indians into missions, reared huge mission-houses, and employed the Indians in the cultivation of the soil."

"Not only in California, on the west side of Sierra Nevada, but also far to the east of that range of 'Snow Mountains' abounded these missions, ruled by the Fathers and supported by the labor of the submissive Indians. But now, for hundreds and hundreds of miles, you will find the mission-houses silent and deserted. The rule of the Fathers passed away in 1836--in one of the thousand revolutions of Mexico--the missions passed into the hands of private individuals, and in some cases the Indians were transferred with the land."

"But the mission-house of San Luis?"

"Is claimed by powerful members of the Society of Jesus, who residing in the city of Mexico, have managed to keep a quiet hold upon the various governments, which have of late years abounded in that unhappy republic. They claim the mission-house and the lands, originally granted sixty years ago, to Brothers of their order by the Government, and they claim certain lands, not named in the original grant."

He paused, but Ezekiel Bogart completed the sentence:

"Lands purchased some years since, from the Government by Dr. Martin Fulmer? Is their claim likely to be granted?"

"That is a question upon which I will be most happy to converse with Dr. Martin Fulmer," was the bland reply of Gaspar Manuel.

"These lands are fertile--that is, as fertile as the lands immediately attached to the mission?"

"Barren, barren as Zahara," replied Gaspar. "A thousand acres in all, they are bounded by desolate hills, desolate of foliage, and broken into ravines and gorges, by mountain streams. You stand upon one of the hills, and survey the waste which constitutes Martin Fulmer's lands, and you contrast them with the mission lands, and feel as though Zahara and Eden stood side by side before you. A gloomier sight cannot be imagined."

"And yet," said Ezekiel, "these lands are situated but a few leagues from the mission-house. It is strange that the Jesuit Brothers should desire to possess such a miserable desert. Do you imagine their motives?"

"It is about _their motives_ that I desire to speak with Dr. Martin Fulmer," and Gaspar shaded his eyes with the white hand which blazed with the diamond ring.

There was a pause, and beneath his uplifted hand, Gaspar Manuel attentively surveyed Ezekiel Bogart, while Ezekiel Bogart, as earnestly surveyed Gaspar Manuel, under the protection of the green shade which concealed his eyes.

"You seem to have a great many visitors to-night," said Gaspar, resting his arm on the table and his forehead on his hand; "allow me to ask, is it usual to transact business, at such a late hour, in this country?"

"The business transacted by Dr. Martin Fulmer, differs widely from the business of Wall street," replied Ezekiel, dryly.

"The property of Gulian Van Huyden, has by this time doubled itself?" asked Gaspar, still keeping his eyes on the table. Ezekiel started, but Gaspar continued, as though thinking aloud--"Let me see: at the time of his death, the estate was estimated at two millions of dollars. Of this $1,251,000 was invested in real estate in the city of New York; $100,000 in bank and other kinds of stock; $50,000 in lands in the Western country; $1,000 in a tract of one thousand acres in Pennsylvania; and $458,000 in bank notes and gold. Then the Van Huyden mansion and grounds were valued at $150,000. Are my figures correct, sir?"

As though altogether amazed by the minute knowledge which Gaspar Manuel, seemed to possess, in regard to the Van Huyden estate, Ezekiel did not reply.

"By this time this great estate has no doubt doubled, perhaps trebled itself."

Ezekiel raised his hand to his mouth, and preserved a statue-like silence.

"This room, which is no doubt vaulted and fire-proof, contains I presume, all the important records, title-deeds and other papers relating to the estate."

Ezekiel rose from his chair, and slowly lighted a wax candle which stood upon the table. Gathering the dark wrapper, lined with scarlet, about his tall form which seemed bent with age, he took the silver candlestick in his right hand, and swept aside a curtain which concealed the shelves behind his chair. A narrow doorway was disclosed.

"Will you step this way, for a few moments, sir?" he said, pointing to the doorway, as he held the light above his head, thus throwing the shadow of the green shade completely over his face.

Gaspar Manuel without a word, rose and followed him. They entered a room or rather vault, resembling in the general features the one which they had left. It was racked and shelved; the floor was brick and the shelves groaned under the weight of carefully arranged papers.

"This room or vault, without windows as you see, and rendered secure, beyond a doubt, from all danger of robbery or of fire, is one of seven," said Ezekiel. "In this room are kept all title deeds and papers, which relate to the THOUSAND ACRES in Pennsylvania."

"The Thousand acres in Pennsylvania!" echoed Gaspar, "surely all these documents and papers, do not relate to that tract, which Van Huyden originally purchased for one thousand dollars?"

"Twenty-one years ago, they could have been purchased for a thousand dollars," answered Ezekiel: "twenty-one years, to a country like this, is the same as five hundred to Europe. Those lands could not now be purchased for twenty millions."

"Twenty millions!"

"They comprise inexhaustible mines of coal and iron--the richest in the state," answered Ezekiel, quietly, and drawing a curtain, he led the way into a second vault.

"Here," he said, holding the light above his head, so that its rays fell full upon the pallid face of Gaspar, while his own was buried in shadow; "here are kept all papers and title-deeds, which relate to the lands in the western country--lands purchased for fifty thousand dollars, at a time when Ohio was a thinly settled colony and all the region further west a wilderness--but lands which now are distributed through five states, and which, dotted with villages, rich in mines and tenanted by thousands, return an annual rent of,----"

He paused.

"Of I do not care to say how many dollars. Enough, perhaps, to buy a German prince or two. This way, sir."

Passing through a narrow doorway, they entered a third vault, arched and shelved like the other.

"This place is devoted to the Van Huyden mansion," said Ezekiel, pointing to the well-filled shelves. "It was worth $150,000 twenty-one years ago, but now a flourishing town has sprung up in the center of its lands; mills and manufactories arise in its valleys; a population of five thousand souls exists, where twenty-one years ago there were not two hundred souls, all told. And these five thousand are laboring night and day, not so much for themselves as to increase the wealth of the Van Huyden estate."

"And all this is estimated at,----," began Gaspar.

"We will not say," quietly responded Ezekiel. "Here are the title-deeds of the town, of the mansion, of manufactory and mill, all belong to the estate; not one of the five thousand souls owns one inch of the ground on which they toil, or one shingle of the roof beneath which they sleep."

They entered the fourth vault.

"This is dedicated to the 'Real Estate in the city of New York,'" said Ezekiel--"worth $1,521,000, twenty-one years ago, and now--well, well--New York twenty-one years ago was the presumptuous rival of Philadelphia. She is now the city of the Continent. And this real estate is located in the most thriving portions of the city--among the haunts of trade near the Battery, and in the region of splendid mansions up town."

"And you would not like to name the usual revenue?"--a smile crossed the pale visage of Gaspar Manuel.

Ezekiel led the way into the fifth vault.

"Matters in regard to Banks and bank stock are kept here," he said, showing the light of the candle upon the well laden shelves--"Rather an uncertain kind of property. The United States' Bank made a sad onslaught upon these shelves. But let us go into the next room."

And they went into the sixth room.

"This is our bank," said Ezekiel; "that is to say, the Treasury of the Van Huyden estate, in which we keep our _specie basis_. You perceive the huge iron safe which occupies nearly one-half of the apartment? Dr. Martin Fulmer carries the Key of course, and with that Key he can perchance, at any moment, command the destinies of the commercial world. A golden foundation is a solid foundation, as the world goes."

As though for the moment paralyzed, by the revelation of the immense wealth of the Van Huyden estate, Gaspar Manuel stood motionless as a statue, resting one arm upon the huge safe and at the same time resting his forehead in his hand.

"We will now pass into the seventh apartment," said Ezekiel, and in a moment they stood in the last vault of the seven. "It is arched and shelved, you perceive, like the others; and the shelves are burdened with carefully-arranged papers----"

"Title-deeds, I presume, title-deeds and mortgages?" interrupted Gaspar Manuel.

"No," answered Ezekiel, suffering the rays of the candle to fall upon the crowded shelves. "Those shelves contain _briefs_ of the personal history of permanent persons of this city, of many parts of the Union, I may say, of many parts of the globe. Sketches of the personal history of prominent persons, and of persons utterly obscure: records of remarkable facts, in the history of particular families: brief but interesting portraitures of incidents, societies, governments and men; the contents of those shelves, sir, is knowledge, and knowledge that, in the grasp of a determined man, would be a fearful Power. For," he turned and fixed his gaze on Gaspar Manuel; "for you stand in the Secret Police Department of the Van Huyden estate."

These last words, pronounced with an emphasis of deep significance, evidently aroused an intense curiosity in the breast of Gaspar Manuel.

"Secret Police Department!" he echoed, his dark eyes flashing with renewed luster.

"Even so," dryly responded Ezekiel, "for the Van Huyden estate is not a secret society like the Jesuits, nor a corporation like Trinity Church, nor a government like the United States or Great Britain, but it is a _Government based upon Money and controlled by the Iron Will of One Man_. A Government based, I repeat it, upon incredible wealth, and absolutely in the control of one man, who for twenty-one years, has devoted his whole soul to the administration of the singular and awful Power intrusted to him. Such a Government needs a Secret Police, ramifying through all the arteries of the social world--and you now stand in the office of that wide-spread and almost ubiquitous Police."

"A secret society may be disturbed by internal dissensions," said Gaspar Manuel, as though thinking aloud; "a government may be crippled by party jealousies, but this Government of the Van Huyden Estate, based upon money, is simply controlled by one man, who knows his mind, who sees his way clear, whose will is deepened by a conviction--perhaps a fanaticism--as unrelenting as death itself. Ah! the influence of such a Government is fearful, nay horrible, to contemplate!"

"It is, it is indeed," said Ezekiel, in a low and mournful voice; "and the responsibility of Dr. Martin Fulmer, most solemn and terrible."

"But what would become of this Government, were Dr. Martin Fulmer to die before the 25th of December?" asked Gaspar Manuel.

"But Dr. Martin Fulmer will not die before the 25th of December," responded Ezekiel, in a tone of singular emphasis.

"And this immense power will drop from his grasp on the 10th of December," continued Gaspar Manuel. "Who will succeed him? Into whose hands will it fall--this incredible power?"

"Your question will be answered on the 25th of December," slowly responded Ezekiel, and motioning to Gaspar, he retraced his steps through the six vaults or apartments, and presently stood in the first of the seven vaults, where we first beheld him.

He seated himself in the huge arm-chair, while Gaspar Manuel, resuming his cloak and sombrero, stood ready to depart.

"Now that I have given you some revelation of the immense resources of the Van Huyden Estate," said Ezekiel, as he attentively surveyed that cloaked and motionless figure; "you will, I presume, have no objection to converse with me in regard to the lands on the Pacific, as freely and as fully, as though you stood face to face with Dr. Martin Fulmer?"

"Pardon," said Gaspar Manuel with a low brow, "the facts in my possession are for the ear of Dr. Martin Fulmer, and for his ear alone."

"Very well, sir," replied Ezekiel, in a tone of impatience, "as you please. Call here to-morrow at--" he named the hour--"and you shall see Dr. Martin Fulmer."

"I will be here at the hour," and bidding good-night! to Ezekiel, Gaspar bowed and moved to the door. He paused for a moment on the threshold----

"Pardon me, sir, but I would like to ask you a single question."

"Well, sir."

"I am curious to know what has induced you, to disclose to me--almost an entire stranger--the secrets and resources of the Van Huyden Estate?"

"Sir," responded Ezekiel Bogart, in a voice which deep and stern, was imbued with the consciousness of Power; "you will excuse me from giving you a direct reply. But you would not have crossed the threshold of any one of the seven apartments, had I not been conscious, that it is utterly out of your power, to _abuse_ the knowledge which you have obtained."

Again Gaspar Manuel bowed, and without a word, left the room.

Ezekiel Bogart was alone.

He folded his arms and bowed his head upon his breast. Strange and tumultuous thoughts, stamped their deep lines upon his massive brow. The dimly-lighted room was silent as the grave, and the light fell faintly upon that singular figure, buried in the folds of the dark robe lined with scarlet, the head covered with an unsightly skullcap, the eyes vailed by a green shade, the chin and mouth concealed by the cumbrous cravat. Lower drooped the head of Ezekiel, but still the light fell upon his bared forehead, and showed the tumultuous thoughts that were working there. The very soul of Ezekiel, retired within itself and absent from all external things, was buried in a maze of profound, of overwhelming thought.

The aged servant entered with a noiseless step, "Here is a letter, sir," he said. But Ezekiel did not hear. "Sir, a letter from Philadelphia, by a messenger who has just arrived." But Ezekiel, profoundly absorbed, was unconscious of his presence.

The aged servant advanced, and placed the letter on the table, directly before his absent-minded master. He touched Ezekiel respectfully on the shoulder and repeated in a louder voice--"A letter, sir, an important letter from Philadelphia, by a messenger who has just arrived."

Ezekiel started in his chair, like one suddenly awakened from a sound slumber. At a glance he read the superscription of the letter: "_To Ezekiel Bogart, Esq.--Important_."

"The handwriting of the Agent whom I yesterday sent to Philadelphia!" he ejaculated, and opened the letter. These were its contents:

_Philadelphia, Dec._ 23, 1844.

SIR:--I have just returned to the city, from the Asylum--returned in time to dispatch this letter by an especial messenger, who will go to New York, in the five o'clock train. At your request, and in accordance with your instructions, I visited the Asylum for the Insane, this morning, expecting to bring away with me the Patient whom you named. _He escaped some days ago_--so the manager informed me. And since his escape no intelligence has been had of his movements. I have not time to add more, but desire your instructions in the premises.

Yours truly, H. H.

To EZEKIEL BOGART, ESQ.

No sooner had Ezekiel scanned the contents of this epistle, than he was seized with powerful agitation.

"Escaped! The child of Gulian escaped!" he cried, and started from the chair--"to-morrow he was to be here, in this house, in readiness for the Day. Escaped! Why did not the manager at once send me word? Ah, woe, woe!" He turned to the aged servant, and continued, "Bring the person who brought this letter, to me, at once, quick! Not an instant is to be lost."

And as the aged servant left the room, Ezekiel sank back in his chair, like one who is overpowered by a sudden and unexpected calamity.