"Don't doubt it,--don't doubt it," and she rubbed her hands joyfully together. "It's a sure thing!" A raven-like voice, behind her, echoed, "Sure thing!" It was Corkins, of course. "And _she_,--how is _she_?"--Herman lowered his voice, and pointed upward. "She is well!" was the emphatic response of the Madam,--"But how did you know of the secret bell? Only four persons in the world know of it, and you are not one of them." Herman pointed to the person who had entered with him, and who now stood in the darkness at his back,--"Godiva!" he said. The Madam gave a start, echoing "Godiva," and Corkins, behind the Madam, as in duty bound, re-echoed "Godiva!" The person called by this name,--the name of the beautiful lady, famed in ancient story, for the sacrifice which she made of her modesty in order to achieve a noble purpose,--advanced from the shadows into the light, saying, "This boy came to me this morning, in a world of trouble; he confided all his sorrows to me. It appears he is in a devil of a scrape. I came here to get him out of it." And removing cap and cloak, Godiva stood disclosed in the candle-light. Godiva was a woman of some twenty-five years, with a rounded form, brown complexion, large eyes that were hazel in the sun, and black by night; and Godiva wore her raven hair in rich masses on either side of her warm, tropical face. Godiva was dressed, not in those flowing garments which give such bewitching mystery to the form of a lovely woman, but, in male costume from head to foot,--a shirt, with open collar, dark satin vest, blue frock-coat, black pantaloons, and boots of patent leather. Although looking short in stature beside the tall Barnhurst, she was tall for a woman, and her male costume, which did full justice to her throat, her ample bust, and rounded limbs, became her exceedingly. With her cloak on her right arm, her cap in her right hand, she rested her left hand on her hip, and looked in the face of the Madam with an air of insolent condescension that was quite refreshing. "How _do_ you _do_, my dear child?"--and the Madam offered her hand. Godiva waved her back. "Don't be impertinent, woman," was the response. "The few days that I once passed in your house, by no means give you the right to be familiar. I am here, simply, for two reasons,--I wish, in the first place, to get the boy (she pointed to Barnhurst,) out of his 'scrape;' and, in the second place, to recover a certain manuscript which, it seems, I left in this house when I was here." The Madam was an essentially vulgar, as well as wicked woman, but she could not help feeling the cutting insolence which marked the tone of the queenly Godiva. "There is no _sich_ manuscript here," she said, tartly, and her thoughts reverted to the Red Book. "Hadn't you better wait to know what kind of manuscript it was, before making such a flat denial?" coolly responded Godiva. "But now let's talk of this boy! What's the amount of his entanglements? How's the girl?"