"Herman," whispered Godiva, "look at that! Are you not proud of your work?" "Don't taunt me, Marion," he answered. "Had I never met you--had you never made my life but one continued dream of sensuality--I would not stand here at this hour, gazing upon this murdered girl." "Sweet boy! And so, when I first met you, you believed all that you preached in the pulpit?" "If I did not believe it, I certainly did not wish to doubt it. You, and the life I've led since first I knew you, have made me _dread_ the very mention of the existence of a God, or of the immortality of the soul." "Pretty boy! How sadly I've used you! But don't call me Marion again;--that name I left in the grave. Leave off preaching, and let us see what you intend to do?" "Godiva, whichever way I look is ruin. I am rid of this Dermoyne; but there are those persons who, conscious of _the event of that night in November_, 1842, will expose me to the world, unless I become their tool, in regard to the heirs of Anreke Jans and Trinity Church. I am sick of this life of suspense and dread! Let us fly, Godiva; I will change my name, and, in some distant place, begin life anew." "What, and leave your wife?" "Take care, Godiva, take care! Don't press me too hard! You know who it was that planned the dishonor of that wife, when she was a maiden, and betrothed to me. Take care!" "You needn't look so black at me with those devilish eyes," said Godiva, as her face lost that bitter sneer, which, for the last few moments, had made her resemble a beautiful fiend. "You mustn't be angry at my jests. Well--let us travel! I have money enough for both, and we can enjoy ourselves with money anywhere. But the Van Huyden estate?" "I cannot call my share my own, even if a share should happen to fall to me. These people who knew of _the event in_ 1842, and who are now playing conspirator between Trinity Church and the heirs of Anreke Jans, will demand my share as the price of their silence. I cannot live in this state of dread. Listen Godiva! A vessel sails this afternoon for one of the West India Islands. What think you of a life in the tropics, far away from this devilish _practical_ world? Why, we can make an Eden to ourselves, and forget that we ever lived before! I have engaged passage for two on board this vessel. It makes my heart bound! Groves of palm--a cloudless sky--good wine--days all dream, and nights!--ah, Godiva! Flight, Godiva, flight!" "Flight be it, and to-night!" cried Godiva, winding her arm about Herman's neck. They were disturbed by a sound, low and scarcely audible--it resembled the sound of a footstep. Herman turned his head, and saw, between him and the doorway, the haggard face of--Arthur Dermoyne, whose cheek was marked with a hideous gash, but whose eyes shone with a clear unfaltering light. Herman read his death in those eyes. * * * * * Let us turn from this scene, and enter once more the secret chamber of the Madam.