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. CHAPTER III. THE GOLDEN ROOM. Roderick Borgia leads Lucretia across the threshold of the Golden Room. She utters an ejaculation of wonder mingled with terror. For it is a magnificent, and yet a gloomy place that Golden Room. A large square apartment, the walls concealed by black hangings,--hangings of velvet fringed with gold. The floor is covered with a dark carpet, the ceiling represents a sun radiating among sullen clouds. The chairs, the sofa, are covered with black velvet, and framed in gold. Only a single mirror is there,--opposite the sofa, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, framed in ebony, which in its turn is framed in a border of gold. A lamp, whose light is softened by a clouded shade, stands on an ebony table, between the sofa and the mirror, and around the lamp are clustered fruits and flowers, two long necked glasses, and a bottle of Bohemian glass, blue, veined with gold. A single picture, suspended against the dark hangings, alone relieves the sullen grandeur of the place. It is of the size of life, and represents Lucretia Borgia, her unbound hair waving darkly over her white shoulders, and half bared bosom, her eyes shooting their maddening glance, from the shadow of the long eyelashes, her form clad in a white garment, edged with scarlet,--a garment which, light and airy, floats like a misty vail about her beautiful shape. Coming from the darkness into this scene, the masked Lucretia, as we have said, could not repress an ejaculation, half astonishment, half fear-- "Never fear," cries Roderick gayly, as he flung his plumed cap on the table. "It looks gloomy enough, but then it is like the Golden Room in the Vatican, of which history tells. And then,"--he pointed to the picture, "the living Lucretia need not fear a comparison with the dead one. Remove your mask! I am dying to look upon you." Lucretia sank upon the sofa with Roderick by her side. Roderick unmasked and revealed the somber features of Gabriel Godlike. Lucretia dropped her mask, and the light shone on the face of Esther Royalton. "By heavens, you are beautiful!"--his eyes streamed with singular intense light, from the shadow of his projecting brow.