And in the street without, black with heads, there were at least three thousand people who would have cut the throat of Israel, had they once laid hands upon him. "THE TEMPLE!" he again ejaculated, and sinking back in his chair, he inserted his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest, and resigned himself to a pleasant dream. * * * * * Leaving Israel Yorke for a little while, we will trace the movements, and listen to the words of a personage of far different character. CHAPTER IV. THE SEVEN VAULTS. About the hour of nine o'clock, on the 23d of December, a gentleman, wrapped in the folds of a Spanish mantle, passed along Broadway, on his way to the Astor House. Through the glare and glitter, the uproar and the motion of that thronged pathway, he passed rapidly along, his entire appearance and manner distinguishing him from the crowd. As he came into the glare of the brilliantly-lighted windows, his face and features, disclosed but for an instant, beneath his broad sombrero, made an impression upon those who beheld them, which they did not soon forget. That face, unnaturally pale, was lighted by eyes that shone with incessant luster; and its almost death-like pallor was in strong contrast with his moustache, his beard and hair, all of intense blackness. His dark hair, tossed by the winter winds, fell in wavy tresses to the collar of his cloak. His movements were quick and impetuous, and his stealthy gait, in some respects, reminded you of the Indian. Altogether, in a crowd of a thousand you would have singled him out as a remarkable man,--one of those whose faces confront you at rare intervals, in the church, the street, in the railroad-car, on ship-board, and who at first sight elicit the involuntary ejaculation, "That man's history I would like to know!" Arrived at the Astor House he registered his name, GASPAR MANUEL, _Havana_. He had just landed from the Havana steamer. As he wrote his name on the Hotel book, he uncovered his head, and--by the gas light which shone fully on him,--it might be seen that his dark hair, which fell to his shoulders, was streaked with threads of silver. The vivid brightness of his eyes, the death-like pallor of his face, became more perceptible in the strong light; and when he threw his cloak aside, you beheld a slender frame, slightly bent in the shoulders, clad in a dark frock coat, which, single breasted, and with a strait collar, reached to the knees.