CHAPTER X.

"YES, YOU WILL MEET HIM."

As midnight drew near, Randolph was alone in his bedchamber,--a spacious chamber, magnificently furnished, and illumined by a single candle, which stood upon a rosewood table near the lofty bed. Seated in a chair, with his cloak thrown over his shoulders, and an opened letter in his hand, Randolph's eyes were glassy with profound thought. His face was very pale; a slight trembling of the lip, an occasional heaving of the chest, alone made him appear less motionless than a statue.

The letter which he held was the one which Mr. Hicks had given him, some three hours before, but he did not seem to be occupied with its contents.

"It look like a bridal chamber," he muttered, as his eye roved round the spacious apartment, "and this white couch like a bridal bed,"--a bitter smile crossed his face. "Think of it--the bridal bed of Eleanor Lynn and--the white slave!"

And he relapsed into his reverie; or rather, into a train of thought, which had occupied him for two hours at least, while he sat silent and motionless in his chamber.

Oh, dark and bitter thoughts--filling every vein with fire, and swelling every avenue of the brain with the hot pulsations of madness! The image of Eleanor, the story told two hours ago by Bernard Lynn, and the taint that corrupted the life-blood in his veins,--all these mingled in his thoughts, and almost drove him mad.

"And from this labyrinth, what way of escape? Will Eleanor be mine, when she learns that I am of the accursed race of the wretch who first dishonored and then outraged her mother? And the father,--ah!"

He passed his hand over his brow, as if to banish these thoughts, and then perused the letter which he held in his hand,--

"It is signed by my 'unknown friend of the half-way house,' and desires me, for certain reasons, to be at a particular locality, in the Five Points, at ten minutes past twelve. It is now,"--he took his gold watch from his pocket,--"half past eleven. I must be moving. A singular request, and a mysterious letter; but I will obey."

On the table lay a leather belt, in which were inserted two bowie-knives and a revolving pistol. Randolph wound it about his waist, and then drew a cap over his brow, and gathered his cloak more closely to his form.

He next extinguished the candle, and stole softly from the room. As he descended the stairway, all was still throughout the mansion. The servants had retired, and Eleanor, Esther, and the old man, no doubt, were sound asleep. Randolph passed along the hall, and opening the front door, crossed its threshold.

"Now for the adventure," he ejaculated, and hurried down Broadway. After nearly half an hour's walk, he turned into one of those streets which lead from the light and uproar of Broadway, toward the region of the Tombs.

Darkness was upon the narrow street, and his footsteps alone broke the dead stillness, as he hurried along.

As he reached a solitary lamp, which gave light to a portion of the street, his ear caught the echo of footsteps behind: and impelled by an impulse which he could not himself comprehend, Randolph paused, and concealed his form in the shadow of a deep doorway. From where he stood, by the light of the lamp, (which was not five paces distant,) he could command a view of any wayfarer who might chance to pass along the deserted street.

The footsteps drew nearer, and presently two persons came in sight. They halted beneath the lamp. Randolph could not see their faces, but he remarked that one was short and thick-set in form, while the other was tall and commanding. The tall one wore a cloak, and the other an overcoat.

And Randolph heard their voices--

"Are we near the hound? My back hurts like the devil, and I don't wish to go any farther than is necessary."

"Only a block or two, to go," replied the other. "Judas Iscariot! Just think that we're sure to find _him_ there, Royalton, and your back won't hurt a bit."

"Oh, by ----! let me but find _him_, and stand face to face with _him_, and I'll take care of the rest."

These words, accompanied by an oath, and uttered with the emphasis of a mortal hatred, were all that Randolph heard.

The twain proceeded on their way.

It was not until the sound of their footsteps had died away, that Randolph emerged from his hiding-place--

"Yes, you will meet _him_, and stand face to face with _him_, and--the rest is yet to be known."

He felt for his knives and pistols,--they were safe in the belt about his waist; and then, conscious that the crisis of his fate was near at hand, he silently pursued his way.

Return for a moment to the house in Broadway.

Esther is there, alone in her chamber, standing before a mirror, with a light in her hand. The mirror reaches from the ceiling to the floor; and never did mirror image forth before, a face and form so perfectly beautiful.

She has changed her attire. The green habit no longer incloses her form. A dress or robe of spotless white, leaves her neck and shoulders bare, rests in easy folds upon her proud bust, and is girdled gently to her waist by a sash of bright scarlet. The sleeves are wide, the folds loose and flowing, and the sleeves and the hem of the skirt are bordered by a line of crimson. The only ornament which she wears is not a diamond, brooch or bracelet, not even a ring upon her delicate hand, but a single lily, freshly gathered, which gleams pure and white from the blackness of her hair.

And what need she of ornament? A very beautiful woman, with a noble form, a voluptuous bust; a face pale as marble, ripening into vivid bloom on the lip and cheek, relieved by jet-black hair, and illumined by eyes that, flashing from their deep fringes, burn with wild, with maddening light. A very beautiful woman, who, as she surveys herself in the mirror, knows that she is beautiful, and feels her pulse swell, her bosom heave slowly into light, her blood bound with the fullness of life in every vein.

One hand holds the light above her dark hair--the other the letter which, three hours and more ago, she received from Mr. Hicks.

"It requested me to attire myself in the dress which I would find in my chamber, the costume of Lucretia Borgia. And I have obeyed. And then to enter the carriage, which at a quarter past twelve, will await me at the next corner, and bear me to _the Temple_. I will obey."

She smiled--a smile that disclosed the ivory of her teeth, the ripeness of her lips--lit up her eyes with new light, and was responded to by the swell of her proud bosom.

Take care Esther! You wear the dress of Lucretia Borgia, and you are even more madly beautiful than that accursed child of the Demon-Pope; but have a care. You are yet spotless and pure. But the blood is warm in your veins, and perchance there is ambition as well as passion in the fire which burns in your eyes. Have a care! The future is yet to come, Esther, and who can tell what it will bring forth for you?

"I will meet Godlike there," she said, and an inexplicable smile animated her face.

She placed a small poniard in the folds of her sash, and threw a heavy cloak, to which was attached a hood, over her form. She drew the hood over her face, and stood ready to depart.

The light was extinguished. She glided from the room, and down the stairs, and passed unobserved from the silent house. At the corner of the next street the carriage waited with the driver on the box.

"Who are you?" she said in a low voice.

"The Temple," answered the driver, and descended from the box, and opened the carriage door.

Esther entered, the door was closed, the carriage whirled away.

"What will be the result of the adventures of this night?" she thought, and her bosom heaved with mad agitation.

And as she was thus borne to the Temple, there was a woman watching by the bedside of an old man, in one of the chambers of the Broadway mansion,--Eleanor watching while her father slept.

Her night-dress hung in loose folds about her noble form, as she arose and held the dim light nearer to his gray hairs. There was agony stamped upon his face, even as he slept--an agony which was reflected in the pallid face and tremulous lips of his daughter.

"He sleeps!" she exclaimed in a low voice: "Little does he fancy that I know the fearful history which this night fell from his lips. And this night, before he retired to rest, he clasped me to his bosom, and said--" she blushed in neck and cheek and brow,--"that it was the dearest wish of his heart, that I should be united to Randolph."

She kissed him gently on the brow, and crept noiselessly to her own room, and soon was asleep, the image of Randolph prominent in her dreams.

Poor Eleanor!

Leaving Randolph, his sister, and those connected with their fate, our history now turns to other characters.

Let us enter the house of the merchant prince.