CHAPTER IV.

THE LEGATE OF HIS HOLINESS.

As he rose from his seat and advanced toward the iron chest, the curtain of the doorway was thrust aside, and the light shone upon a slender form, clad in black, and upon a pallid face, framed in masses of jet-black hair.

"Gaspar Manuel! at last!" ejaculated Martin Fulmer.

"Pardon me for this intrusion," said Gaspar Manuel, in a tone of quiet dignity,--"I would have seen you ere this, but unexpected events prevented me. It is of the last importance that I should converse with you without delay."

The entrance of the man, whose slender form was clad in a frock-coat of black cloth, single-breasted, and reaching to the knees,--whose face, unnaturally pale, was in strong contrast with the blackness of his moustache and beard, and of the hair, which fell in wavy masses to his shoulders,--created a singular and marked impression.

With one impulse, Godlike, Yorke and Randolph rose to their feet. For the first time, they remarked that the stranger wore on his right breast a golden cross, and carried in his left hand a casket of dark wood,--perchance ebony.

"I wish to see you in regard to the lands in California, near the mission of San Luis," said Gaspar Manuel, his voice, touched with a foreign accent, yet singularly sweet and emphatic in its intonation.--"Lands claimed by yourself, on behalf of the Van Huyden estate, and also by the Order of Jesus. Many acres of these lands are rich in everything that can bless a climate soft as Italy, but there are one thousand barren acres which abound in fruit like this."

He placed the casket upon the table, unlocked it, and displayed its contents.

"Gold!" burst from every lip.

"Those thousand acres contain gold sufficient to change the destinies of the world," said Gaspar Manuel, calmly, as he fixed his dazzling eyes upon the face of Godlike.--"The contest for the possession of this untold wealth lies between the Order of Jesus and the Van Huyden estate."

"Have not the Mexican Government appointed a Commissioner to decide upon their respective claims?" As he asked the question, Dr. Martin Fulmer, (who, as Ezekiel Bogart, had seen Gaspar Manuel dressed as a man of the world) gazed in surprise upon that costume which indicated the Jesuit. There was suspicion as well as surprise in his gaze.

"That Commissioner is one of the rulers of the Jesuits,--an especial Legate of the Roman Pope," continued Martin, surveying Gaspar Manuel with a look of deepening suspicion. "His name is----"

"Never mind his name," interrupted Gaspar Manuel,--"Let it satisfy you that I am a Jesuit, perchance one of the rulers of that Order. And I am the LEGATE of whom you speak."

"You!" echoed Martin Fulmer, and his ejaculation was repeated by the others.

"I am that Commissioner," replied Gaspar Manuel, "and my decision has been made. Allow me a few moments for reflection, and I will make it known to you. While you converse with those gentlemen, I will warm myself at yonder fire, for the climate is hard to bear, after the bland atmosphere of Havana."

With a wave of the hand and a slight inclination of the head, he retired from the table and bent his steps toward the fire-place. Seating himself in an arm-chair, he now gazed into the flame with his flashing eyes, and now,--over his shoulder,--surveyed the banquet-hall. Then taking tablets and pencil from a side-pocket, he seemed absorbed in the mazes of a profound arithmetical calculation; but every now and then he raised his eyes, and with that dazzling glance, took in every detail of the banquet-hall.

Meanwhile, the group around the table had not yet recovered from the impression, produced by his presence.

"A singular man,--eh?" quoth Yorke.

"A man of rank. I think I have seen his face in Washington City," remarked Godlike.

"A dignitary of the Catholic Church," exclaimed Randolph.--"A man of no common order."

As for Martin Fulmer, glancing by turns at the box, filled with golden ore, and at the form of the Legate, who was seated quietly by the fire-place, he said, with a sigh,--"More gold, more wealth!" and thought of Carl Raphael, the son of Gulian Van Huyden.

"Let us open the iron chest," he said, and placed the key in the lock, while Randolph, Godlike and Yorke, gathered round, in mute suspense.

But ere the key turned in the lock, a new interruption took place. The aged servant, Michael, entered, and placed a slip of paper, on which a single line was written, in the hands of Martin Fulmer. The old man read it at a glance, and at once his face glowed, his eyes shone with new light.

"The person who wrote this, Michael,--where--where is he?" he said, in a tremulous voice.

"In the reception-room," answered Michael.

"Show him here,--at once,--at once,--quick, I say!" and he seized Michael by the arm, and pointed to the door, his face displaying every sign of irrepressible agitation. Michael hurried from the room.

"Let us all thank God, for HE has not failed us!" cried Martin Fulmer, spreading forth his hands, as he walked wildly to and fro.--"The son of Gulian Van Huyden is not dead!"

A thunderbolt crushing through the ceiling, would not have created half the consternation caused by these words.

They dashed the hopes of Randolph, Godlike and Yorke to the dust.

"Not dead!" they echoed, in a breath.

"He is not dead. He is living, and in this house. In a moment he will be here,--here, to claim his father's estate."

And in the wildness of his joy, Martin Fulmer hurried to and fro, now wringing his hands, now spreading them forth in thankfulness to heaven.

"I knew," said the old man, standing erect, the light shining full upon his white hairs, "I knew that Providence would not desert me!"