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?"