CHAPTER II.

THE BLUE ROOM.

The diminutive Turk, followed by the Lady in Black, led the way from the hall, to a distant and secluded apartment. She still gathered the hood of her robe closely about her face, and not a word was spoken as they pursued their way along the dark passage. A door was opened, and they entered a small although luxurious apartment, hung with hangings of azure, veined with golden flowers. A wax candle, placed in its massive candlestick, on a table before a mirror, gave light to the place. It was a silent, cozy, and luxurious nook of the Temple, remote from the hall, and secure from all danger of interruption.

As the Turk entered he flung aside his mask and turban, and disclosed the ferret eyes, bald head and wiry whiskers of Israel Yorke. Israel's bald head was fringed with white hairs; his wiry whiskers touched with gray; it was a strange contrast between his practical _bank-note_ face, and his oriental costume.

"Now," he cried, flinging himself into a chair, "let us come to some understanding. What in the deuce do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" echoed the Lady in Black, who, seated on the sofa, held the folds of the robe across her face.

"Yes, _what_ do you mean?" replied Israel, giving his Turkish jacket a petulant twitch. "Did I not help you out of that difficulty in Canal street, last evening, and rescue you from the impertinence of the shop-keeper?"

"Yes," briefly responded the lady.

"Did I not, seeing your forlorn and desolate condition, pin a note to your shawl, signed with my own name, asking you to meet me at this place, at twelve o'clock, 'where,' so I said, 'my worthy and unprotected friend, now so bravely endeavoring to get bread for an afflicted father, you will hear of something greatly to your advantage.' Those were my words, '_greatly to your advantage_.'"

"Those were the words," echoed the lady, still preserving her motionless attitude.

"And in the note I inclosed the password by which only admittance can be gained to this mansion?"

"You did. I used it; entered the mansion and met you." Her voice was scarcely audible and very tremulous.

"You met me, oh, indeed you met me," said Israel, pulling his gray whiskers; "but what of that? An hour and more has passed. You have refused even a glass of wine,--have never replied one word to all my propositions; egad! I have not even seen your face."

"And now you have brought me to this lonely apartment to repeat your proposals?"

"Yes!" Israel picked up his turban and twirled it round on the end of his finger. "I want a plain answer, yes, or no! I am a plain man,--a man of business. You are poor, almost starving (pardon me if I pain you), and you have an aged and helpless father on your hands. You have nothing to look forward to, but starvation, or, the streets. You remember the scene in the shirt-store to-night?"

The lady gently bowed her head, and raised both hands to her face.

"I am rich, benevolent, always had a good heart,"--another twirl of the turban,--"and in a day or two I am about to sail for Havana. Accompany me! Your father shall be settled comfortably; the sea-breezes will do you good, and,--and,--the climate is delicious." And the fervent Turk stroked his bald head, and smoothed his white hairs.

"Accompany you," said the lady, slowly; "in what capacity? As a daughter, perchance?"

"Not ex-act-ly as a daugh-t-e-r," responded Israel; "but as a _companion_."

There was a pause, and the robe was gently removed from the head and face of the Lady in Black. A beautiful countenance, shaded by dark brown hair, was disclosed; young and beautiful, although there was the shadow of sorrow on the cheeks, and traces of tears in the eyes. An expression inexpressibly sad and touching came over that face, as she said, in a voice which was musical in its very tremor,--

"And you, sir, knew my father in better days?"

"I did."

"You never knew any one of his race guilty of a dishonorable act?"

"Never did."

"And now you find him aged and helpless,--find myself, his only hope, reduced to the last extreme of poverty, with no prospect but (your own words), starvation, or the streets,--"

"Ay." Israel, beneath his spectacles, seemed to cast an admiring glance at his Turkish trowsers and red morocco boots.

"And in this hour, you, an old friend of the family, who have never known one of our name guilty of an act of dishonor, come to me, and seeing my father's affliction, and my perfectly helpless condition, gravely propose that I shall escape dishonor by becoming your--_mistress_! That is your proposition, sir."

She rose and placed her hand firmly on Israel's shoulder, and looked him fixedly in the eye. The little man was thunderstruck. Her flashing eyes, her bosom heaving proudly under its faded covering, the proud curl of her lip, and the firm pressure of the hand which rested on his shoulder, took the Financier completely by surprise.

"I am scarce sixteen years old," she continued, her eyes growing larger and brighter, "my childhood was passed without a care. But in the last two years I have gone through trials that madden me now to think upon; trials that the aged and experienced are rarely called upon to encounter; but in the darkest hour, I have never forgotten these words, 'Trust in God;' never for an instant believed that God would ever leave me to become the prey of a man like _you_!"

And she pressed his shoulder, until the little man shook again, his gold spectacles rattling on his nose.

"For, do you mark me, the very trials that have well-nigh driven me mad, have also given me strength and courage, may be, the strength, the courage of despair, but still the courage, when the last hope fails, to choose death before dishonor!"

"But your father," faltered Israel.

"My father is without bread; but once in twenty-four hours have I tasted food, and that a miserable morsel; but rather than accept your proposals, and lie down with shame, I would put the poison vial first to my father's lips, then to my own! Yes, Israel Yorke, there is a God, and He, in this house, when the last hope has gone out, when there is nothing but death before, gives me strength to spit upon your infamous proposals, and to die! Strength such as you will never feel in your death-hour!"

"Pretty talk, pretty talk," faltered Israel; "but what does it amount to? Talk on, still the fact remains; you and your father are starving, and you reject the offer of the only one who can relieve you."

She raised her eyes to heaven. She folded her hands upon her heaving breast. Her face was unnaturally pallid; her eyes unnaturally bright. As she stood, in an attitude so calm and severe, she was wondrously beautiful. Her voice was marked with singular elation,--

"O, my God! there must be a hell," she said. "There must be a place where the injustice of this world is made straight; else why does this man sit here, clad in ill-gotten and superfluous wealth, while my aged father, one of his victims, lacks at this hour even a crust of bread?"

Israel's feelings can only be described by a single word--"uncomfortable." He shifted nervously in his chair, and twirled his turban on the end of his finger; then rubbed his bald head, smoothed his white hair, and pulled his wiry whiskers.

"What in the devil did you come to see me for, if such was your opinion of me?"

"I came to see you as a last hope;" her countenance fell, and her tone was that of unalloyed despair. "I thought that remorse had been busy at your heart; that you wished to atone for the past by a just, although tardy, restitution. I thought----"

"Remorse! restitution!" laughed the Financier. "Come, I like that!"

"That knowing the utterly destitute condition of the father, you had summoned the daughter, in order to tender to her, at least, a portion of the wealth which you wrung from him----"

Choked by emotion, she could not proceed, but grew pale and paler, until a flood of tears came to her relief.

"O, sir, a pittance, a pittance, to save my father's life!" She flung herself at his feet, and clutched his knees. Her much-worn bonnet fell back upon her neck, and her hair burst its fastening, and descended in wavy masses upon her shoulders. Her face was flushed with sudden warmth; her eyes shone all the brighter for their tears. "A pittance out of your immense wealth, to save the life of your old friend, my father! His daughter begs it at your feet."

Israel gazed at her deliberately through his gold spectacles,--

"Oh, no, my dear," he said, and a sneer curled his cold lip; "you are too damnably virtuous."

The maiden said no more. Relaxing her grasp, she fell at his feet, and lay there, pale and insensible, her long hair floating on the carpet. The agony which she had endured in the last twenty-four hours had reached its climax. She was stretched like a dead woman at the feet of the Financier.

"Trust in God,--good motto for a picture-book; but what good does it do you now my dear?" thus soliloquized Israel, as he knelt beside the insensible girl. "Don't discount that kind of paper in my bank that I know of. Fine arm, that, and splendid bust!" He surveyed her maidenly, yet rounded proportions. "If it was not for her stubborn virtue, she would make a splendid companion. Well, well,----"

A vile thought worked its way through every lineament of his face.

"Once in my power, all her scruples would be at an end. We are alone,"--he glanced around the cozy apartment,--"and I think I'll try the effect of an anodyne. Anodynes are good for fainting spells, I believe."

He drew a slender vial from beneath his Turkish jacket, and holding it between himself and the light, examined it steadily with one eye.

"It is well I thought of it! 'Twill revive her,--make her gently delirious for a while, and she will not come to herself completely until to-morrow; much surer than persuasion, and quicker! Trust in God,--a-hem!"

He raised her head on his knee, and un corked the vial and held it to her lips.

At that moment there was a quick, rapid knock at the door. It broke startlingly upon the dead stillness.

"Why did I not lock it?" cried Israel, his hand paralyzed, even as it held the vial to the poor girl's lips.

Too late! The door opened, and one by one, six sturdy men, in rough garments and with faces by no means ominous of good stalked into the room.

And over the shoulders of the six, appeared six other faces, all wearing that same discouraging expression. It may not be improper to state that every one of the twelve carried in his right hand a piece of wood, that deserved the name of a stick, perchance, a club.

And shuffling over the floor, they encircled Israel. "Got him," said one who appeared to be the spokesman of the band, "safe and tight! Had a hunt, but fetched him at last. I say, Israel, my Turk, (a gentle hint with a club), get up and redeem your paper!"

And he held a bundle of bank notes,--Chow Bank, Muddy Run, Terrapin Hollow, under the nose of the paralyzed Financier.