CHAPTER III.

"SAY, BETWEEN US THREE!"

Martin Fulmer uttered a deep sigh, and then gazing upon the representatives of Satan and of Mammon he said: "Gentlemen, you know the purpose for which you are here?"

"We do," they said, and each one laid his copy of the will on the table.

"The first thing in order, is the reading of the Will," said Martin Fulmer solemnly. And while a dead stillness pervaded, he read the will; and afterward briefly recounted the circumstances connected with the death of the testator.

When he had finished, the silence remained for some moments unbroken. The lights flashed upon the smart concealed visage of the financier,--the grand Satanic face of the statesman,--the calm face of Martin Fulmer, with the bold brow, and hair as white as snow; and as a breath of wind moved the lights, they flashed fitfully over the coffin, and the iron chest, the cedar pillars, and the marble image.

"There is no son in existence?" asked Israel nervously.

"None," answered Martin in a low voice.

"He did not die in a cause pre-eminent for its sanctity?" asked Gabriel in a deep voice.

"It cannot be said that he did," answered Martin, as though questioning his own conscience.

"The disposition of this estate, depends then entirely upon your integrity, and especially upon your fidelity to your _oath_?"--the statesman, as though he knew the chord most sensitive, in the strong honest nature of Martin Fulmer, watched him keenly, as he awaited his answer.

Martin bowed his head.

"Under those circumstances, it is clear to you, is it not, that the estate falls to those of the Seven Heirs, who are now present?"

"If I am faithful to my OATH, such will be my disposition of the estate."

"Faithful to your oath?" echoed Godlike.

"That would be highly immoral," said Israel Yorke.

It was in a slow and measured tone, and with his venerable head, placed firmly on his shoulders, that Martin Fulmer said,--

"Sir, you know me," to Godlike,--"in the times of the Bank panic, I met you in the vestibule of the senate, and had some interesting conversation with you. You know that I would sooner die than break my word, much less my oath, and of all others, THE OATH which I took to Gulian Van Huyden. But may not circumstances arise in which the breaking of that oath may be a lighter crime, than strict obedience to it?"

Godlike started--Yorke half rose from his chair.

"Reflect for a moment. Circumstances have arisen, which the testator could not have ever dreamed of, when he loaded me with this trust, under the seal of that awful oath. It was doubtless his wish that his estates, swelled by the accumulation of twenty-one years, should descend into the hands of his son, who having been reared in poverty and hardship, would know how to use this wealth for the good of mankind,--or in the absence of his son, that it should be _dispersed_ for the good of the race, by the hands of seven persons, selected from the descendants of the original Van Huyden, and scattered throughout the Union. Such was doubtless his idea. But behold how different the result. The son is dead. Only two of the Seven are here. Shall I, adhering to the letter of the law, to the oath in its strictest sense, divide this great estate between you two? Or, fearful of the awful evil which you may work to the world, with this untold wealth, shall I--in order to avoid this evil,--refuse to divide the estate, and take upon myself the moral penalty of the broken oath?"

"That is a question which you must settle with your own conscience," said Godlike slowly, as he fixed his gaze upon Martin Fulmer's face.

Was he aware of the one weak point in the strong, bold mind of Dr. Martin Fulmer? Did he know of Dr. Martin Fulmer's fear and horror of--the unpardonable sin?

Martin did not reply, but leaned his head upon his hand, and seemed buried in thought.

"In order to understand my position, reflect,--twenty-one years ago, the estate was but two millions; behold it now!" He unlocked the portfolio, and drew forth two half sheets of foolscap, covered with writing in a delicate but legible hand. "There is a brief statement of the estate as it stands."

Israel eagerly grasped one half sheet; Godlike took the other. Martin Fulmer intensely watched their faces as they read.

Rapidly Godlike's eagle eye, perused that index to the untold wealth of the Van Huyden estate.

"It would purchase the Presidency of the United States!" he muttered with a heaving chest,--"enthroned upon that pedestal, a man might call kings his menials, the world his plaything."

"One hundred millions! Astor multiplied by Girard!" ejaculated Israel Yorke,--"with such a capital, one might buy Rothschild, and keep him too!"

Glorious and eloquent half sheet of foolscap! Talk of Milton, Shakspeare, Homer,--your poetry is worth all theirs combined! What flight of theirs, in their loftiest moods, can match in sublimity, the simple and majestic march of this swelling line,--

"_One hundred millions of dollars!_"

"This is a dream," said Godlike,--and for once his voice was tremulous.

"Enough to set one raving!" cried Israel Yorke.

"And yet, adhering to the strict letter of my oath,--" the voice and look of Martin Fulmer was sad,--despairing,--"I am bound to divide this incredible wealth between you two."

"Say, between us three!" cried a new voice, and as Martin Fulmer raised his head, and the others started in their seats, the speaker came with a rapid stride from the curtained doorway to the table.

It was Randolph Royalton, the white slave. Folding his arms upon the breast of his frock coat,--made of dark blue cloth,--which was buttoned to his throat, he stood beside the table, his face lividly pale, and his dark hair floating wild and disheveled about his forehead.

"You!--a negro!"--and Godlike's lip curled in sardonic scorn.

Trembling as with an excitement continued for long hours, Randolph turned to Martin Fulmer, and said:

"I am the oldest child of John Augustine Royal ton, and his lawful heir. And I am here! There is the proof that my father was married to Herodia, my mother,--" he placed a paper in the hands of Martin Fulmer,--"I am here in the name of my father, to claim my portion of the Van Huyden estate."

Israel was very restless,--Godlike very gloomy and full of scorn, as Martin Fulmer attentively perused the document.

"You have a copy of the Will, addressed to your father?" asked the old man, raising his eyes to Randolph's colorless face.

Randolph drew a parchment from the breast of his coat,--"There is my father's copy, superscribed with his name."

"I recognize you as the elder son of John Augustine Royalton," said Dr. Fulmer, very calmly,--"These proofs are all sufficient. Be seated, sir."

Randolph uttered a wild cry, and pressed his forehead with both hands.

It was a moment before he recovered his composure. "You said _negro!_ just now!" he turned to Godlike, his blue eves flashing with deadly hatred, "learn sir, that had yonder bit of paper failed to establish my right, that this at least establishes my descent from ---- ----!"

Godlike repeated that great name, in a tone of mingled incredulity and contempt.

"Ay, _he_ was the father of Herodia,--I am his grandson. There is my grandfather's handwriting," he placed the paper in the hands of Martin Fulmer, "Read it, sir, for the information of this statesman. Let him know that the few drops of _negro blood_ which flow in my veins, are lost and drowned in the blood of a man whose name is history,--of ---- ----!"

Martin Fulmer read the paper aloud, adding, "You perceive he speaks the truth. He is the grandson of ---- ----."

"Pardon me,--I was hasty," said the statesman, extending his hand.

Randolph did not seem to notice the extended hand, but dropping into a chair, said, quietly,--"There are _three_ of us _now_, I believe."

And he regarded the statesman with a look which was full of triumph and scorn.

Martin Fulmer looked into the faces of the three, and then bent his head in deep thought,--deep and harrowing thought, extending over every instant of twenty-one years.

From the portfolio he drew forth two half sheets of paper, covered with writing in his own hand. One bore the signature of Gabriel Godlike, the other that of Israel Yorke.

"These papers, embracing an absolute renunciation of all their claims upon the Van Huyden estate, they signed before the Court of Ten Millions,--signed, without knowing their contents. Shall I produce them?"

He hesitated.--"But no! no! I am not clear as to the right of any one to dispose of his share."

Martin Fulmer, before the bar of his own conscience, was fanatically just. He _might_ use these papers, but before his own conscience he dared not.

"I am decided," he exclaimed, despair impressed upon his face,--"I must fulfill my oath. Gentlemen, I recognize you as the three heirs of the Van Huyden estate, you having appeared at the appointed hour."

The same electric throb of joy--joy intense to madness,--ran through the bosoms of the three, but manifested itself in different ways. The diminutive financier bounded from his chair; Godlike uttered an oath; Randolph muttered between his teeth, "The _negro_ is, indeed, then, one of the three."

"I will presently give to each of you a certificate, over my own hand, stating that you appeared at the appointed hour, and pledging myself, within a week, to apportion this vast estate among you."

Without taking time to notice the expression of their faces, he continued,--

"But first, we must open this,"--he pointed to the iron chest,--"and this,"--to the coffin, around which, as around the iron chest, tall wax candles were dimly burning. "Whatever these may contain, they cannot affect nor change my decision. But they must be opened,--so the will directs."