“So should I, too,” said the porter, “if I thought there was any harm in going a pleasanter road. You will not repent going to the end of the long passage. You have only to descend six steps.” “Often as I have been here,” said Arthur, “I never saw that dark passage before.” “For a very good reason,” said the porter; “the door was always locked, and Mr. Herman had the key. He came here this morning and opened it himself. You perceive that this door is locked, and that the windows are grated—so that, in truth, there is no way of getting out but down through that narrow passage.” “Well, if that is the case,” said Arthur, good-humoredly, “I must go that way. This is, however, the oddest of all odd things; but it is of a piece with the rest,” continued he to himself—respect for Grace Gordon preventing him from speaking lightly of the family. He descended and walked through the long passage which was only lighted at the end by a small window, or loop-hole, giving just light enough to see the white door, a flight of seven or eight steps leading to it. On opening it, he entered a handsomely-furnished parlor, with a table in the centre, on which was some fine fruit. He did not stop, however to taste it, but went to a folding-door opposite, and to his surprise, found himself in a lady’s boudoir—for there, on the table, were books, needle-work, and embroidery. What can all this mean, thought Arthur; surely the Herman family are a little deranged. Pride and wealth have caused them to act thus strangely. Heaven grant that Grace Gordon has none of their blood in her veins. As this thought passed through his mind, he heard the clear, gay laugh of his old acquaintance. For he now was convinced that it was the Mr. Herman he formerly knew, and whom he had seen that morning. He sprang to a door, which stood partly open, and there, to his surprise, he saw, not Mr. Herman, but Godfried Darg, and his two dogs, Barker and Growler. “Ah! are you here, my good friend,” said Arthur, shaking hands with him. “You gave us the slip in an odd way; and I have to thank you for a very valuable present.” “Did you spit in old Barnes’ face, and give him a kick, as I requested?” “No,” said Arthur, laughing, “I had no chance; for instead of becoming teacher to a score or two of village children, I had the honor of—” “Yes, yes, I know it; Herman told me all, and told me of your fine speech this morning.” “Why who are you, that can be so familiar with so reserved a gentleman as Mr. Herman?” “Who am I? Why plain Godfried Darg. But are you not a pretty fellow, to fall in love with a lady so entirely out of your reach. Did I not give you a dressing-case, in which lay the miniature of the pretty little girl that is to be your wife? Did not my note tell you that you were not to open the box till Barker and Growler gave you leave?”