It was about ten o'clock on the night

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following the events recorded in the last three
chapters of our story, that Carlo Carlini, the
astrologer, sat alone in the Chamber of Fate.
As we have once or twice given our readers
a description of this apartment, it will only
be necessary to state, that it had undergone
no alterations since then. Every thing, as
then, was hung in black, and the room had
the same mysterious and awe-inspiring effect.
The same black drapery concealed the walls,
and covered the tables and seats, and the same
ponderous globe lamp, of ground glass suspended
from the ceiling, above the table, gave out its
full, mellow light. To complete the picture, and
as it were to give a true duplicate of the former
one, the astrologer, dressed in plain black velvet,
with his jet black hair falling in profusion
down the sides of his deadly-pale face, and over
his shoulders, was seated exactly as then, on
the same stool, and in the same place. He
was alone, and apparently in a deep reverie;
for his small, dark, fiery eyes were fixed, with
a vacant gaze, on the table before him, and
not a sound disturbed the solemn silence of
the chamber.

Minute succeeded minute, and a quarter of
an hour passed away, during which the astrologer
might have been taken for a statue, he
was so quiet, so motionless. At the end of
this time, however, he suddenly altered his
position, and inclining his head one side, appeared
to be listening. He evidently heard
some expected sound, for he immediately
placed his hand on the bell-knob projecting
from the table, and gave it a jerk; and as a
black servant entered the room, almost at the
same instant, he said, in his own peculiar sonorous
tones, which, without being loud, fell on
the ear clear and distinct:

“I think one or more of my expected
guests has arrived. Thou wilt be cautious in
all that pertains to the signals and watchwords,
and obey thy instructions to the letter. Fail
(and here the dark eyes seemed to penetrete
to the very soul of the negro), fail, and thy
life is forfeit. Go.”

He waived his hand, and was again alone.
Through the black drapery the negro had suddenly
appeared, noiseless as fate, and, at the
last word, he vanished like a shadow.

Some moments now elapsed, during which
the astrologer seemed to listen attentively,
and then three distinct raps were heard on
the door.

“Who knocks?” inquired the astrologer.

“A friend of the cause,” was the answer.

“The watchword?”

“Liberty.”

“Enter.”

The door opened, and Sergeant Champe
advanced into the room.

“Welcome, worthy friend of the true
cause,” said Carlini, meeting him with extended
hand. “Brother, I give the greeting—
thou art the first guest to-night, though the
hour appointed is at hand.”

If the reader is very observant of minor
things, he or she has doubtless noticed a certain
lack of uniformity in the language of the
astrologer, as quoted on different occasions;
for instance, in the use of the personal pronouns,
he sometimes confining himself wholly
to the singular number, as thee and thou, and
at other times using the plural in the manner
most in vogue at the present day. We have
only to say, in respect to this disparity of language,
that we suppose the astrologer had his
own reasons for his different styles of speech,
and that we, as a faithful chronicler, are in
duty bound to record his language as he chose
to utter it, without asking any questions, or
being bound to give any particular reasons
therefor. But at the same time, we may, perhaps,
be permitted to surmise, that when he
desired to be solemn, impressive, and formal,
he used the pronouns of the singular number,
as being the most effective; but on other occasions
discarded them, as being too stiff,
stately, and marked.

“I hope there will be no failure,” said
Champe, in reply to the other—“for time
now is too precious to be wasted.”

“I trust that all will be here soon,” returned
Carlini. “Hark! I think I hear another
signal.”

The result proved him correct; and a few
moments after, another knock was heard on the
door. The same interrogations and answers
being gone through with, the door opened,
and disclosed the person of Captain Milford.

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The moment his eye fell upon Champe, he
exclaimed:

“Ah, it is as I thought: my old and tried
friend, you are one of us, I see;” and rushing
together, the two officers greeted each
other with a warm embrace.

“Yes,” said Champe, “I see we both have
one object here. I heard you were in the
city, and I readily conjectured why. I questioned
Carlini here, but he would tell me
nothing.”

“It is not prudent to speak all one knows
on every occasion,” rejoined the astrologer.

“Besides, I knew you, gentleman, it true
to your promises, would soon meet, and then
it would be time enough to make such explanations
as you might think proper.”

Here Milford and Champe held a low, hurried
conversation of several minutes duration,
apart from Carlini; and then the Captain, advancing
to the astrologer, said:

“With your permission, Signor Carlini,
I will admit a friend to our secret conference.”

“Art willing to be responsible with thy life
for his fidelity?” asked the other.

“Yes, since this very proceeding places my
life in jeopardy, in the event of his playing us
false.”

“I trust thou hast been prudent, then, in
the bestowing of thy confidence.”

“I have, Signor, for I feel my life too valuable,
at the present time, to risk it lightly or
foolishly. The person I wish to admit, is true
to his country.”

“Well, if Sergeant Champe objects not,
my permission is granted,” answered Carlini.

“I have already been consulted in the matter,”
returned the Sergeant, “and have
yielded to the request of my friend—the more
readily, perhaps, that I know something of the
person in question, having made his acqaintance
under rather singular circumstances;”
and he gave Milford an arch look, who replied,
with a smile:

“Ay, it is was a matter of far-seeing.”

“Let the stranger be admitted, since his
integrity is so well vouched for,” said Carlini.

The Captain left the room, but soon returned
saying:

“Your servant, Signor, refused to let my
friend enter.”

“Ah, true—I had forgotten; do not blame
him; he is faithful to his instructions;” and
ringing the bell, Carlini, as soon as the black
made his appearance, said to him: “Obey
this gentleman (pointing to Milford), as though
he were myself.”

Milford went out again, but presently returned,
accompanied by Joshua Snipe. He
at once introduced him to Carlini, who seemed
to regard him with considerable suspicion—
more especially, perhaps, that, true to his inquisitive
disposition, he had no sooner nodded
awkwardly to Carlini, than he began to peer
about the room, with an air of great curiosity,
and even went so far as to take hold of the
black drapery, as if to examine what sort of
stuff it was, and then try whether or no there
was a wall behind it. Milford and Champe
exchanged glances, and smiled; but Carlini
seemed to view the matter in a very different
light; for advancing to the innocent Mr.
Snipe, he tapped him on the shoulder, and
said, sternly and cuttingly:

“If thy business here is to pry into my secrets,
thou hast chosen a very inappropriate
time. We are met for more important matters.”

Josh surveyed the astrologer, while he was
speaking, with a mingled look of rustic timidity,
shrinking awe, and impudent curiosity
and then said, with a ludicrous sincerity, that
caused both Milford and Champe to turn aside
their faces, to conceal a suppressed laugh:

“I 'spose you're the owner of these here
fixens? I didn't mean no harm, mister.
Gosh-all-thunder! what a curious place you
have got here!”

“Is this the man you have taken into your
confidence, gentlemen?” said Carlini, turning
away from Josh, with an expression of disgust,
and addressing the others.

“He has his rustic peculiarities,” auswered
Milford, “but he is none the less true to our
cause.”

“Not a darned bit,” rejoined Josh, who
now felt himself insulted, and spoke rather
indignantly. “I 'spose a feller can feel of a
little black cloth, and not altogether play the
darned scamp, for all that. I told ye I didn't
mean no harm, mister,” he continued, eyeing
Carlini insultingly, “and if you aint a mind

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to take the apology, just as I meant it, you
can let it alone.”

“Silence, sir!” cried Milford, in a stern,
commanding tone; while a flush of anger
passed over the deadly pale features of Carlini,
and then, retreating, seemed to leave
them more ghastly pale than ever.

Milford was about to proceed with a severe
reprimand, when Carlini motioned him to silence,
saying:

“Leave me to deal with this fellow.” Then
striding up to Josh, who began to retreat in
some dismay, not knowing exactly what might
be the consequences of too boldly “bearding
the lion in his den,” Carlini exclaimed, in his
peculiarly full, sonorous tones: “I command
thee to stand! Young man, thou dost not
know me, or never would'st thou have addressed
to me the language I just now heard.
Doubtless thou thinkest me like unto other
men—but I will prove to thee I am more
Thou shalt learn to fear and respect me
Here is my first lesson! I command thee too
stand, paralyzed and powerless—to become a
breathing statue—a living sentient thing,
without the power of volition!” and as he
spoke, he slowly raised his right fore-finger to
a level with his head, and fixed his black,
fiery eyes, with piercing intensity upon the
eyes of the other.

Josh was completely over-awed by that
look; and he would have withdrawn his gaze,
in confusion—but, to his surprise and dismay,
he found it riveted there, as by a spell. Then
he attempted to retreat—but, horror of horrors,
he could not move a limb! He was indeed
a “living statue,” rooted to the spot,
against his will; and a cold shudder passed
through his frame, and he felt truly he was in
the presence of a being superhuman. His
respiration became quick and heavy, like one
panting from fatigue; an expression of terror
gradually settled on his features, and large
beads of perspiration pressed through the
pores of his skin. Milford and Champe silently
drew nigh, and gazed upon the two
with surprise and curiosity; but they were
not aware it was impossible for Josh to move,
and they wondered at the mere position and
look of the astrologer producing so singular
an effect upon the other.

“Wilt be careful of thy speech to me henceforth?”
sternly demanded Carlini, at length.

“I'll do any thing you say, mister, if you'll
only take them are eyes of yourn off on me,”
replied the Yankee, in a pleading, tremulous
tone.

“Enough!” returned the astrologer, or perhaps
we should say magnetizer; “we understand
each other now, and thou art free. But
beware!” he added, impressively—“beware
what thou doest! for the same eye that is upon
thee now, will watch thy secret acts—ay, thy
very thoughts.”

He then turned calmly away, and walking
to the table, resumed the seat he occupied
when introduced at the beginning of this
chapter; while Josh turned aside, every limb
trembling with fear, and wiped the perspiration
from his face.

“Come, gentlemen,” said Carlini “let us
proceed with our business. George!”

As he pronounced this name, a slight noise
was heard, as of the opening of a door on the
opposite side of the room to where our friends
entered, the black drapery was thrust aside,
and our young hero of the prison stood revealed
to the company.

“Thou mayest enter now, George,” pursued
Carlini, “and bring with thee three seats
for our guests.”

The youth retired behind the hangings, and
presently returned, bringing three black stools,
whieh he placed round the table, and then silently
seated himself on the one opposite Carlini.

“Seats, gentlemen,” continued Carlini,
pointing to the vacant stools; and as all complied
with the request (Josh still trembling
from his recent fright), the host added: “Gentlemen,
it is necessary, in the first place, that
you all know each other. This youth is
George Nugent, the messepger dispatched by
me to General Washington, to carry news of
Arnold's treason, but who was detected crossing
the British lines, thrown into prison shortly
after, and subsequently released, in what manner
matters not. Suffice, that detection now,
within the British camp, would be a momentary
prelude to his execution; therefore, in
intrusting you with this secret, I have not
only placed his life, but mine, in your hands.

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It seems needless for me to say, I fear nothing
from this avowal—otherwise, it would not
have been made. George Nugent, these gentlemen
here present are persons who prize
their country, and the cause of liberty, above
all other considerations, and are at this moment
perfling their lives to obtain an important
object—no less, if I mistake not, than the
seizure of that vile traitor, who, through your
seizure by the British, escaped the hands of
justice. Am I right gentlemen?”

“You are right,” returned Milford, while
Champe nodded, and Josh gave his head an
affirmative jerk. “But pardon me, Signor
Carlini,” pursued Milford, rising, “if I seem
to break the rules of order. I must take this
youth by the hand, and, in the name of liberty,
say God bless him, for his noble and daring
efforts in the cause of right!” and as he spoke,
the Captain shook the hand of George Nugent
warmly, who, overwhelmed with modest confusion,
blushed to the temples, and seemed
unable to artieulate a word in reply; though
he evidently strove to do so.

“I thank you for the hint, Captain,” said
Champe, also rising. “I too must express
my admiration of his noble devotion to our
cause;” and he grasped the hand of the youth
with a pressure that could leave no doubt of
his sincerity.

The astrologer looked on in silence, but
evidently more affected at this ebulition of
feeling than he wished to be apparent to his
colleagues. He coughed once or twice, moved
restlessly on his seat, and, when the others
had resumed their places, said.

“Since we all know each other, gentlemen,
let us now proceed to business As a matter
of form, I would suggest that each and all of
us take a solemn oath, to be true to ourselves,
each other, and the cause of liberty.

“The suggestion does not seem improper,”
returned Milford.

“I can not object to it—though, for one, I
know it will add nothing to my firmness of
purpose,” said Champe.

“Arise, gentlemen—I will dictate the oath,”
rejoined the astroleger.

And as each stood upon his feet, he continued:

“By this token, we each and all solemnly
pledge our honor, and, in the presence of the
most high God, our great author—to whom we
must render a strict account, not only of our
deeds, but our thoughts—we each and all sacredly
swear, that we will be true to each
other, so far as the great cause of liberty to
America from English oppression blends our
interests; and should either of us harbor a
single thought, now or henceforth, of treachery
to a comrade, or to the principles we profess
to hold, may the great Author of our being
snatch us a way from earth, and consign us to
eternal perdition! As a further token of acknowledging
this oath to be our true sentiment,
we herewith, each and all, place our
hands upon our hearts, and say, Amen!”

“Amen!” was the solemn response of all, as
each pressed his heart with his hand.

“And now,” continued Carlini, as each
again resumed his seat, “if either of you gentlemen
have a plan to propose, I, for one, am
ready to listen.”

“For myself,” said Milford, “I have not
settled on any thing definite, and I should be
pleased to hear a suggestion from my friend
Champe, who has been longer in the city than
I, and doubtless has a better idea of what can
with safety be attempted.”

“My sole object in coming hither, was the
seizure of Arnold,” replied the Sergeant; “and
to decide on the best manner of effecting this
purpose, is the business on which we are met
to-night. It may not be improper here to
state, that I have had a private interview with
Arnold, since my arrival in New York, and
that, believing me to have deserted the rebels,
as he now terms his countrymen, he received
me with much condescension and kindness.
He is anxious I shall join the American legion,
composed wholly of American deserters, and
which is to be under his especial command.
As yet I have not given him a decided answer,
but shall do so to-morrow; whether I
join or not, will depend upon the decision of
this secret council to-night.”

“If I am not mistaken,” said Carlini, “Arnold
has changed his quarters, and no longer
occupies apartments at the residence of Sir

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Henry Clinton, but has taken a house near,
which is exclusively devoted to his use.”

“Such, sir, is the fact,” replied Champe
“he removed to this new abode yesterday; and
I further learn, has written for his wife and
family to join him.”

“Well, Champe, what advantages do you
expect to result from your enlistment in the
Legion?” inquired Milford.

“I do not know that any will, unless it be
in gaining the confidence of the General, and
being near enough to his own person, to closely
note his habits, and watch his movements.”

“But will you be able to effect so much by
this means? Is if not more likely that, on
joining the Legion, you will be dispatched to
some distant quarters, there to remain till ordered
from the city?”

“I think not at present,” replied Champe;
“and for the simple reason, that the deserters
as yet have no fixed quarters, but take up
their lodgings wherever they please about the
city. I accidentally heard something said
about having them embarked ere long, on one
of the vessels in the harbor, to prevent them
changing their minds and running away; but
as it is not probable this will be done for a
week or two, there will, I trust, be an opportunity
between this and then to effect our
purpose.”

“Have you any plan devised, by which the
traitor can be safely kidnapped?” inquired
Carlini; “for if I understand your instructions
rightly, gentlemen, you are to take Arnold
away without harming him, that he may be
yielded up to justice.”

“Such are our instructions, Signor,” said
Milford.

“I have not settled on any certain plan as
yet, for seizing the traitor,” replied Champe
to Carlini's question; “nor can I till I have
further opportunity of closely noting all his
habits.”

“And you think enlisting into the Legion
will aid you in this matter?”

“I think it will at least put no obstacles in
my way. Of course, I should retain my rank;
and officers of the Legion are at all times admitted
to the presence of Arnold, who is at
present unusuall affable and condescending,
doubtless with a view to get well in favor in
his new quarters, before resuming his natural
hauteur and tyranny. Taking advantage of
these favorable circumstances, I can be much
about his person, on one pretext and another,
and I will note every thing carefully, not only
himself, his habits, but also his dwelling, with
a view to carrying out our design.”

“But how do you propose to get him out of
the city when captured?” asked Carlini.

“He must by some means be gagged, and
taken to the river, where a boat must be in
waiting to convey him to Hoboken, where an
escort must be ready, also, to conduct him
speedily to the American head-quarters. To
effect all this, it will be necessary to fix on a
certain time for the bold attempt, and have all
parties act in concert.”

“It will also be necessary then, I suppose,
to have direct communication with the American
camp?” said Carlini.

“It will.”

“Have you fixed on any mode of transmitting
information to any person there?”

“I hope to be able to find a messenger.”

“Well, when you require one, let me know.
I suppose, George, thou art willing to venture
again, in a case of necessity?” pursued Carlini,
addressing the youth.

“You are my protector and benefactor,”
answered young. Nugent—“my life is at your
disposal—do with it as you will.”

“But I will not risk thy life again, lad, if I
can avoid it. Heaven knows I suffered enough
before, when thou wast in the tyrant's
clutches. This city, however, is no safe place
for thee, boy, and at the first favorable opportunity
thou must leave it, to return no more,
until it be in the possession of those to whom
it rightfully belongs. But of this more anon.”

It is needless for us to report farther, at
present, what was said and done that night,
by this little band of patriots, Let it suffice,
that, soon after, the party broke up, and the
guests departed, with the understanding that
each should keep the same object in view, and
meet again on the second night following, to
take further counsel of each other, in regard
to their hazardous design. Each of the guests
went away separately, at differnt times, and

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in different directions, so as to avoid giving
the sentinels any clue to their meeting, in the
event of their being observed by these nocturnal
guardians of the town.