"Sam, show this gentleman to Mr. Green."

Sam, who was a red-faced child in buttons, with a man's walk and the back of one who knew as much as most people, obeyed this command, and ushered the Prophet into a room with a sealing-wax red paper, in which Robert Green was sitting alone, smoking a large cigar and glancing at the "stony-broke edition" of an evening paper. He greeted the Prophet with his usual unaffected cordiality, offered him every drink that had yet been invented, and, on his refusal of them all, handed him a cigar and a matchbox, and whistled "Ta-ra-ra-boom-de-av" at him in the most friendly manner possible.

"Bob," said the Prophet, taking a very long time to light the cigar, "what, in your opinion, is the exact meaning of the term honour?"

Mr. Green's cheerful, though slightly belated, face assumed an expression of genial betwaddlement.

"Oh, well, Hen," he said, "exact meaning you know's not so easy. But—hang it, we all understand the thing, eh, without sticking it down in words. What?"

"I don't, Bob," rejoined the Prophet, in the tone of a man at odds with several consciences. "In what direction does honour lie?"

"It don't lie at all, old chap," said Mr. Green, with the decided manner which had made him so universally esteemed in yeomanry circles.

The Prophet began to look very much distressed.

"Look here, Bob, I'll put it in this way," he said. "Would an honourable man feel bound to keep a promise?"

"Rather."

"Yes, but would he feel bound to keep two promises?"

"Rather, if he'd made 'em."

"Suppose he had!"

"Go ahead, Hen, I'm supposing," said Mr. Green, beginning to pucker his brows and stare very hard indeed in the endeavour to keep the supposition fixed firmly in his head.

"And, further, suppose that these two promises were diametrically opposed to one another."

Mr. Green stuck out one leg, looked obliquely at the carpet, pressed his lips together and nodded.

"So that if he fulfilled them both he'd have to break them both—"

"Stop a sec! Gad, I've lost it! Start again, Hen!"

"No, I mean so that if he didn't break one he would be forced to break the other. Have you got that?"

"Stop a bit! Don't believe I have. Let's see!"

He moved his lips silently, repeating the Prophet's words.

"Yes. I've got that all right now," he said, after three minutes of strenuous mental exertion.

"Well, what would you say of him?"

"That he was a damned fool."

The Prophet looked very much upset.

"No, no, Bob, I meant to him. What would you say to him?"

"That he was a damned fool."

The Prophet began to appear thoroughly broken down. However, he still stuck to his interpellation.

"Very well, Bob," he said, with unutterable resignation—as of a toad beneath the harrow—"but, putting all that aside—"

"Give us a chance, Hen! I've got to shunt all that, have I?"

"Yes, at least all you would say of, and to, the man."

"Oh, only that. Wait a bit! Yes, I've done that. Drive on now!"

"Putting all that aside, what should you advise the man to do?"

"Not to be such a damned fool again."

"No, no! I mean about the two promises?"

"What about 'em?"

"Which would his sense of honour compel him to keep?"

"I shouldn't think such a damned fool'd got a sense of honour."

The Prophet winced, but he stuck with feverish obstinacy to his point.

"Yes, Bob, he had."

"I don't believe it, Hen, 'pon my word I don't. You'll always find that damned f—"

"Bob, I must beg you to take it from me. He had. Now which promise should he keep?"

"Who'd he made 'em to?"

"Who?" said the Prophet, wavering.

"Yes."

"One to—to a very near and dear relative, the other to—well, Bob to two comparative strangers."

"What sort of strangers."

"The sort of strangers who—who live beside a river, and who—who mix principally with—well, in fact, with architects and their wives."

"Rum sort of strangers?"

"They are decidedly."

"Oh, then, you know 'em?"

"That's not the point," exclaimed the Prophet, hastily. "The point is which promise is to be kept."

"I should say the one made to the relative. Wait a bit, though! Yes, I should say that."

The Prophet breathed a sigh of relief. But some dreadful sense of honesty within him compelled him to add,—

"I forgot to say that he'd pledged his honour to the architects—that is, to the strangers who lived beside a river."

"What—and not pledged it to the relative?"

"Well, no."

"Then he ought to stick to the promise he'd pledged his honour over, of course. Nice for the relative! The man's a damned fool, Hen. Do have a drink, old chap."

Thus did Mr. Robert Green drive the Prophet to take the first decisive step that was to lead to so many complications,—the step towards Mr. Ferdinand's pantry.

At precisely a quarter to eleven p.m. the Prophet stood upon his doorstep and, very gently indeed, inserted his latchkey into the door. A shaded lamp was burning in the deserted hall, where profound silence reigned. Clear was the night and starry. As the Prophet turned to close the door he perceived the busy crab, and the thought of his beloved grandmother, sinking now to rest on the second floor all unconscious of the propinquity of the scorpion, the contiguity of the serpent, filled his expressive eyes with tears. He shut the door, stood in the hall and listened. He heard a chair crack, the ticking of a clock. There was no other sound, and he felt certain that Mr. Ferdinand and Gustavus had heeded his anxious medical directions and gone entirely to bed betimes, leaving the butler's pantry free for the nocturnal operations of the victim of Madame. For he recognised that she was the guiding spirit of the family that dwelt beside the Mouse. He might have escaped out of the snare of Mr. Sagittarius, but Madame was a fowler who would hold him fast till she had satisfied herself once and for all whether it were indeed possible to dwell in the central districts, within reach of the Army and Navy heaven in Victoria Street, and yet remain a prophet. Yes, he must now work for the information of her ambitious soul. He sighed deeply and went softly up the stairs. His chamber was on the same floor as Mrs. Merillia's, and, as he neared her door, he rose instinctively upon his toes and, grasping the tails of his evening coat firmly with his left hand, to prevent any chance rustling of their satin lining, and bearing his George the Third silver candlestick steadily to control any clattering of its extinguisher, he moved on rather like a thief who was also a trained ballerina, holding his breath and pressing his lips together in a supreme agony of dumbness.

Unluckily he tripped in the raised pattern of the carpet, the candlestick uttered a silver note, his pent-in breath escaped with a loud gulp, and Mrs. Merillia's delicate voice cried out from behind her shut door,—

"Hennessey! Hennessey!"

The Prophet bit his lip and went at once into her room.

Mrs. Merillia looked simply charming in bed, with her long and elegant head shaded by a beautiful muslin helmet trimmed with lace, and a delicious embroidered wrapper round her shoulders. The Prophet stood beside her, shading the candle-flame with his hand.

"Well, grannie, dear," he said, "what is it? You ought to be asleep."

"I never sleep before twelve. Have you had a pleasant dinner?"

"Very. Stanyer Phelps, the American, was there and very witty. And we had a marvellous supreme de volaille. Everybody asked after you."

Mrs. Merillia nodded, like an accustomed queen who receives her due. She knew very well that she was the most popular old woman in London, knew it too well to think about it.

"Well, good-night, grannie."

The Prophet bent to kiss her, his heart filled with compunction at the thought of the promise he was about to break. It seemed to him almost more than sacrilegious to make of this dear and honoured ornament of old age a vehicle for the satisfaction of the vulgar ambitions and disagreeable curiosity of the couple who dwelt beside the Mouse.

"Good-night, my dear boy."

She kissed him, then added,—

"You like Lady Enid, don't you?"

"Very much."

"So does Robert Green. He thinks her such a thoroughly sensible girl."

"Bob! Does he?" said the Prophet, concealing a slight smile.

"Yes. If you want her to get on with you, Hennessey, you should come up to tea when she is here."

"I couldn't to-day, grannie."

"You were really busy?"

"Very busy indeed."

"I suppose you only saw her for a moment on the stairs?"

"That was all."

It was true, for Lady Enid had scarcely stayed to speak to the Prophet, having hurried out in the hope of discovering who were the "two parties" he had been entertaining on the ground floor.

Mrs. Merillia dropped the subject.

"Good-night, Hennessey," she said. "Go to bed at once. You look quite tired. I am so thankful you have given up that horrible astronomy."

The Prophet did not reply, but, as he went out of the room, he knew, for the first time, what criminals with consciences feel like when they are engaged in following their dread profession.

As he walked across the landing he heard a clock strike eleven. He started, hastened into his room, tore off his coat, replaced it with a quilted smoking-jacket, sprang lightly to his table, seized a planisphere, or star-map, which he had succeeded in obtaining that night from a small working astronomer's shop in the Edgeware Road, and, mindful of the terms of his oath and the decided opinion of Robert Green, scurried hastily, but very gingerly, down the stairs. This time Mrs. Merillia did not hear him. She had indeed become absorbed in a new romance, written by a very rising young Montenegrin who was just then making some stir in the literary circles of the elect.

Very surreptitiously the Prophet tripped across the hall and reached the stout door which gave access to the servants' quarters. But here he paused. Although he had lived in Mrs. Merillia's most comfortable home for at least fifteen years, he had actually never once penetrated beyond this door. It had never occurred to him to do so. Often he had approached it. Quite recently, when Mrs. Fancy Quinglet had broken into tears on the refusal of Sir Tiglath Butt to burst according to her prediction, he had handed her to this very portal. But he had never passed through it, nor did he know what lay beyond. No doubt there was a kitchen, very probably the mysterious region of watery activities commonly known as a scullery, quite certainly a butler's pantry. But where each separate sanctum lay, and what should be the physiognomy of each one the Prophet had not the vaguest idea. As he turned the handle of the door he felt like Sir Henry Stanley, when that intrepid explorer first set foot among the leafy habitations of the dwarfs.

As the door opened the Prophet found himself in a large apartment whose walls were decorated with the efforts of those great painters who feed the sentimental imaginations of the masses in the beautiful Christmas numbers of our artistic day. Enchanting little girls and exceedingly human dogs observed his entrance from every hand, while such penetrating and suggestive legends as "Don't bite!" "Mustn't!" "Naughty!" "Would 'ums?" and the like, filled his mind with the lofty thoughts so suitable to the Christmas season. Over the mantelpiece was a Cook's Almanac for the Home, decorated in bright colours, a Butler's own book, bound in claret-coloured linen, and a large framed photograph of Francatelli, that immortal chef whose memory is kept green in so many kitchens, and whose recipes are still followed as are followed the footprints of the great ones in the Everlasting Sands of Time. One corner of the room Gustavus had made his own, and here might be seen his tasteful what-not and his little library—neatly arranged unabridged farthing editions of Drummond's Ascent of Man, Mill's Liberty, Crampton's Origin of Self-Respect, Barlow's A Philosophical Examination into the Art and Practice of Tipping and Receiving Tips, and other volumes suitable for an intellectual footman's reading. An eight-day clock, which was carefully and lovingly wound up by the prudent Mrs. Fancy Quinglet every morning and evening, snored peacefully in a recess by the hearth, and, from a crevice near the window, the bright, intelligent eyes of a couple of well-developed black-beetles—mother and son—contentedly surveyed the cheerful scene.

The Prophet, after a moment's pause of contemplation, passed on through a swing door, covered with green baize, and down some stairs to the inner courts of this interesting region. This time he came to anchor in a room which, he thought, might well have been a butler's pantry had it contained a large-sized telescope. It was in fact the parlour set apart for the use of the kitchen and scullery maids, and was brightly fitted up with a dresser, a cupboard for skewers, a rolling-pin, a basting machine, and other similar adjuncts. It gave on to the kitchen, in which the cat of the house was enjoying well-earned slumber in the attitude of a black ball. So far his exploring tour had quite fulfilled the rather vague expectations of the Prophet, but he now began to feel anxious. Time was passing on and he had sworn to be at the telescope by eleven sharp. He had, therefore, already slightly fractured his oath, and he had no desire to earn the anathema of all such men as Robert Green by breaking it into small pieces. Where was the butler's pantry? He glanced eagerly round the kitchen, perceived a door, passed through it, and found himself confronted by a sink. He had gained the scullery, but not his goal. To the right of the sink was yet another door through which the Prophet, who carried the planisphere in one hand, the George the Third candlestick in the other, rather excitedly debouched into a good-sized passage. As he did so he heard the muffled alto voice of the eight-day clock proclaim that it was a quarter-past eleven. Feeling that he was now upon the point of breaking both the promises of the damned fool, the Prophet hastened along the passage, darted through the first outlet, and found himself abruptly face to back with what appeared at first glance to be an enormously broad and bow-legged dwarf, with a bald head and a black tail coat, which, in an attitude of savage curiosity, was gazing through a gigantic instrument, whose muzzle projected from an open window into a spacious area. So great was the Prophet's surprise, so supreme the shock to his whole nervous system occasioned by this unexpected encounter, that he did not utter a cry. His amazement carried him into that terrible region which lies beyond the realms of speech. He simply stood quite still and gazed at the bow-legged dwarf, which, in its turn, continued to gaze savagely through the gigantic instrument into the area. Not for perhaps three or four minutes did the Prophet realise that this dwarf was merely an ingeniously shortened form of Mr. Ferdinand, who, with his legs very wide apart, and making two accurate right angles at their respective knee-joints, his head thrown well back, and his arms arranged in two perfect capital V's, with the elbows pointing directly at the walls on either side of him, had been busily engaged for the last hour and a quarter in trying to focus firstly the Lord Chancellor's house on the opposite side of the square, and secondly the pleasant-looking second-cook in it. That his chivalrous efforts had not yet been crowned with complete success will be understood when we say that he had seen during his first half-hour of contemplation nothing at all, during his second half-hour the left-hand top star of the Great Bear, and finally the fourth spike from the end of the iron railing which enclosed the square garden, at which he had been gazing closely for precisely fifteen minutes and a half when the Prophet darted into the pantry.

Having at length recovered from his shock of surprise sufficiently to realise that the enormous and immobile dwarf was Mr. Ferdinand, and that Mr. Ferdinand was not yet aware of his presence, the Prophet resolved to beat a rapid and noiseless retreat. He carried this resolve into execution by turning sharply round, knocking his head against a plate chest, firing the George the Third candlestick into the passage, and letting the planisphere go into the china jar of "Butler's own special pomade" which Mr. Ferdinand kept always open for use upon the pantry table.

To say that Mr. Ferdinand ceased from looking through the telescope for the Lord Chancellor's second-cook at this juncture would, perhaps, not convey quite a fair idea of the activity which he could on occasion display even at his somewhat advanced age. It might be more just to state that, without wasting any precious time in useless elongation, he described an exceedingly rapid circular movement, still preserving the shortened form of himself which had so deceived and startled his master, and brought his eye from the orifice of the telescope to a level with the Prophet's knees exactly at the moment when the Prophet rebounded from the plate chest into the centre of the apartment.

"Oh, is it you, Mr. Ferdinand?" said the Prophet, controlling every symptom of anguish, with the exception of a rapid flutter of the eyelids. "I was looking for—for a bradawl."

The Prophet's choice of this useful little implement as the reason for his presence in Mr. Ferdinand's special sanctum was prompted by the fact that, just as he was speaking, he happened to see a bradawl lying upon a neighbouring knife cupboard in the company of a corkscrew.

"And here, I see, is just what I want," he added calmly.

So far he had displayed extraordinary composure, but at this point he made a slight mistake, for he picked up the corkscrew and sauntered quietly away with it into the darkness, leaving Mr. Ferdinand still in the attitude of a Toby jug, the planisphere still head downwards in the butler's own special pomade, and the George the Third candlestick stretched at full length upon the passage floor.



CHAPTER X

THE PROPHET AND MALKIEL THE SECOND CONVERSE BY TELEGRAM

"Hennessey Vivian, 1000 Berkeley Square, W.

"Please wire result of last night's observations from eleven till three inclusive.—Sagittarius."

"Jupiter Sagittarius, Sagittarius Lodge, Crampton St. Peter, N.

"Impossible wire result, will write at length after taking further observations to-night.—Vivian."

"Certainly write at length, but meanwhile wire all important results in condensed form.—Sagittarius."

"Results not sufficiently important to wire, letter without fail to-morrow.—Vivian."

"Never mind unimportance, wire whatever results obtained.—Sagittarius."

"On consideration think results too important to wire, will explain by letter.—Vivian."

"Your second and third wires in direct contradiction; kindly reconcile opposing statements.—Sagittarius."

"Cannot reconcile by wire, will do so by letter.—Vivian."

"Then meanwhile request forecast of grandmother so far as gathered last night.—Sagittarius."

"Quite impossible discuss grandmother by wire.—Vivian."

"Not at all; couch in careful terms, shall understand; no need put grandmother's name.—Sagittarius."

"Quite impossible; grandmother too sacred for treatment by wire, long and full letter to-morrow.—Vivian."

"Absurd! Call her Harry and wire her future as obtained last night; shall understand.—Sagittarius."

"Cannot possibly consent call grandmother Harry; pray cease; succession of telegraph boys to house attracting general attention in square.—Vivian."

"Must insist; then call her Susan and wire.—Sagittarius."

"Cannot possibly consent to call her Susan; discussion of such matter by wire not decent; regret must absolutely decline.—Vivian."

"Madame and self insulted by accusation not decent; demand explanation and apology.—Sagittarius."

"Regret; no desire give pain to lady, but this must cease; grandmother and square seriously upset by procession of telegraph boys.—Vivian."

"Cannot help square and grandmother; must have last night's result to compare with own observation of grandmother with crab and scorpion.—Sagittarius."

"Pray cease; would rather die than discuss grandmother with crab and scorpion by wire.—Vivian."

"Rubbish! Call crab Susan, scorpion Jane, grandmother Harry, and wire; absolutely insist.—Sagittarius."

"Absolutely decline discuss crab, scorpion and grandmother by wire; final.—Vivian.

"Scandalous! not behaviour of gentleman; Madame cut to heart; infamous.—Sagittarius."

"Mater familiaris pallidibus ira.—Madame Sagittarius."

"If receive no reply as to grandmother and crab, et cetera, shall start at once for Square.—Jupiter and Madame Sagittarius."

"On no account trouble come up; going out immediately; important engagement.—Vivian."

"Madame putting on boots.—Sagittarius."

"Utterly useless put on boots; leaving house.—Vivian."

"Madame boots on; tying bonnet.—Sagittarius."

"Totally useless tie bonnet; absolutely forced leave house.—Vivian."

"Madame in pelisse; shall come in wait till your return.—Sagittarius."

"Regret pelisse; quite useless; out till late evening.—Vivian."

"Shall stay till whatever hour; have on hat and bonnet now; starting.—Jupiter and Madame Sagittarius."

"For Heaven's sake don't; will wire whatever you wish.—Vivian."

"Don't. Ankles perhaps catching; dangerous Capricornus.—Vivian."

"Have you started?—Vivian."

"Have not started, but at threshold of door; wire full explanation of crab with grandmother, et cetera, last night or shall start instanter.—Jupiter and Madame Sagittarius."

"Truth is very little result last night; did not see crab with grandmother; deeply regret.—Vivian."

"Then wire result of scorpion with grandmother.—Sagittarius."

"Very sorry did not see scorpion with grandmother.—Vivian."

"Impossible; believe stars out; clear sky; self and Madame distinctly observed crab and scorpion with grandmother for four hours.—Sagittarius."

"On honour did not see crab, scorpion or grandmother.—Vivian."

"Then has grandmother passed over?—Sagittarius."

"Certainly not, but no result; pray cease discussion, grandmother and square distracted by incessant uproar of boys at door.—Vivian."

"Leaving house; with you as soon as possible.—Jupiter and Madame Sagittarius."

"Heaven's sake don't; tell truth; did not look through telescope at all last night.—Vivian."

"What meaning of this swore oath broken; no gentleman; coming at once for explanation.—Jupiter and Madame Sagittarius."

"Stop; sending boy messenger with full explanation; severe accident last night, injured head, so unable look for crab, grandmother and scorpion.—Vivian."

"Astounded, upset, Madame says not conduct gentleman; might have seen crab, grandmother and scorpion with injured head; mere excuse—caput mortuus decrepitum cancer.—Sagittarius."

"Pray excuse; look to-night without fail; Heaven's sake cease writing; grandmother and whole square amazement, confusion; shall go mad if continues.—Vivian."

"Very well, but insist on full letter; confidence in oath much shaken; wires most shifty; gross neglect of crab, grandmother and scorpion.—Sagittarius."

"Homo miserum sed magnum est veritatus et praevalebetur.—Madame Sagittarius."



CHAPTER XI

MISS MINERVA OPENS HER BOOK OF REVELATION IN A CAB

"Assure the Lord Chancellor that the last boy has been and gone—gone away, that is, Mr. Ferdinand, and that I pledge my sacred word not to have another telegram to-day."

"Yes, sir. His lordship desired that you should be informed that, according to the law regulating public abominations and intolerable street noises, you was liable to—"

"I know, I know."

"And that, by the Act dealing with gross offences against the public order and scandalous crimes against the peace of metropolitan communities, you was amenable—"

"Exactly. Go to his lordship and swear—"

"I couldn't do that so soon again, sir, really. I swore only as short ago as yesterday, sir, by your express order, but—"

"I mean asseverate to his lordship that the very last boy has knocked for the very last time."

"It wasn't so much the knocking, sir, his lordship complained of, as the boys coming to the door meeting the boys going away from it, and blocking up the pavement, sir, so that no one could get past and—"

"Yes, yes. Go and asseverate at once, Mr. Ferdinand."

"Very well, sir. And Her Grace, the Duchess of Camberwell, who is passing from one fit to another, sir, from fright at the uproar and telegrams going to the wrong house, sir?"

"Implore Her Grace to have courage and to trust me as a gentleman when I promise solemnly that the knocking shall not be renewed."

"Very well, sir."

"Mr. Ferdinand!"

"Sir?"

"Have the knockers swathed in cotton-wool at once."

"Yes, sir."

"And—fix a bulletin on the door. Wait! I'll write it."

The Prophet hastened to his writing table and, with a hand that trembled violently, wrote on a card as follows:—

"Owner of this house seriously ill, pray do not knock or death shall certainly ensue."

"There! Poor grannie will have peace now. Nail that up, Mr. Ferdinand, under the cotton-wool."

"Very well, sir. Mrs. Merillia, sir, would be glad to speak to you for a moment. You remember I informed you?"

"I'll go to her at once. But first bring me a glass of brandy, Mr. Ferdinand. I'm feeling extremely unwell."

And the Prophet, who was paler far than ashes, and beaded from top to toe with perspiration, sank down feebly upon a chair and let his head drop on the blotting-pad that lay on his writing-table.

When he had swallowed an inch or two of cognac he got up, pulled himself together with both hands, and walked, like an elderly person afflicted with incipient locomotor ataxy, upstairs into the drawing-room where Mrs. Merillia was lying on a sofa, ministered to by Fancy Quinglet, who, at the moment of his entrance, was busily engaged in stuffing a large wad of cotton-wool into the right ear of her beloved mistress.

"Leave us please, Fancy," said Mrs. Merillia, in a voice that sounded much older than usual. "And as your head is so bad, too, you had better lie down."

"Thank you, ma'am. If I keep upright, ma'am, I feel my head will split asunder. I can't speak different nor feel other."

"Then don't be upright."

"No, ma'am. Them that feels other, let them declare it!" and Mrs. Fancy retired, holding both hands to her temples, and uttering very distinctly sundry stifled moans.

Mrs. Merillia motioned the Prophet to a chair, and, after lying quite still for about five minutes with her eyes tightly shut, said in a weak tone of voice,—

"How many more telegrams do you expect, Hennessey? You have had twenty-seven within the last three hours. Can you give me a rough general idea of the average number you anticipate will probably arrive every hour from now till the offices close?"

"Grannie, grannie, forgive me! I assure you—"

"Don't be afraid to tell me, Hennessey. It is much better to know the worst, and fact it bravely. Will the present average be merely sustained, or do you expect the quantity to increase towards night? because if so—"

"Grannie, there will be no more. I swear to you solemnly that I will not have another telegram to-day. I will not upon my sacred honour. Nothing—not wild horses even—shall induce me."

"Horses! Then were they racing tips, Hennessey? Yes, give me the eau de Cologne and fan me gently. Were they racing tips?"

"Oh, grannie, how could you suppose—"

At this moment Mr. Ferdinand entered softly and went up to Mrs. Merillia.

"Mr. Q. Elisha Hubsbee, ma'am. He is deeply distressed and asks for news . . ."

"The Central American Ambassador's grandfather," said Mrs. Merillia, reading the card which Mr. Ferdinand handed to her.

"Shocked to hear you are so ill that a knock will finish you. Guess you must be far gone. Earnest sympathy. Have you tried patent morphia molasses?

"Q. E. H."

"Ah! how things get about! Tell Mr. Elisha Hubsbee the knocks have nearly killed us all, Mr. Ferdinand, but we are bearing up as well as can be expected. If necessary we will certainly try the molasses."

"Yes, ma'am."

"It is two o'clock now, Hennessey. The Charing Cross office is open till midnight, I believe, so at the present rate you should only have about ninety more telegrams to-day. But if you have reason to expect—"

Mr. Ferdinand re-entered.

"Mrs. Hendrick Marshall has called, ma'am. She desired me to say she was passing the door and was much horrified to find that you are so near the point, ma'am."

"What point, Mr. Ferdinand?"

"Of death, ma'am. She had no idea at all, ma'am."

"Oh, thank Mrs. Hendrick Marshall, Mr. Ferdinand, and say we shall try to keep from the point for the present.

"Yes, ma'am."

"—That the numbers will go up as the afternoon draws on, Hennessey—"

"Grannie, haven't I sworn, and have you ever known me to tell you a—"

Suddenly the Prophet stopped short, thinking how that very night he would be forced by his oath to "Madame and self" to break his promise to his grandmother, how already it would have been broken had not Mr. Ferdinand on the previous night been in possession of the telescope.

"The Chancellor of the Exchequer, ma'am, desires his compliments, and he begs you to last out, if possible, till he has fetched Sir William Broadbent to see you. He is going there on his bike, ma'am, and had no conception you was dying till he knew it this moment, ma'am."

"Thank the Chancellor, Mr. Ferdinand, and say that though we must all go out some day I have no desire for a dissolution at present, and shall do my best to prove myself worthy of my constitution."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mr. Ferdinand retired, brushing away a tear.

"It would not be feasible, I suppose, Hennessey, to station Gustavus permanently at the telegraph office with a small hamper, so that he might collect the wires in it as they arrive and convey them here, once an hour or so, entering by the area door. I thought perhaps that might obviate—"

Mr. Ferdinand once more appeared, looking very puffy about the eyes.

"If you please, ma'am, La—ady Julia Pos—ostlethwaite is below, and asks whe—ether you are truly going ma'am?"

"Going? Where to, Mr. Ferdinand?"

"The other pla—ace, ma'am. Her ladyship is crying something terrible, ma'am, and says, till she no—no—noticed the fact she had no—no—notion you was leaving us so soon, ma'am."

Here Mr. Ferdinand uttered a very strange and heartrending sound that was rather like the bark of a dog with a bad cold in its head.

"It is really very odd so many people finding out so soon!" said Mrs. Merillia in some surprise. "Tell her ladyship, Mr. Ferdinand, that—"

But at this moment there was the sound of feet on the stairs, and Lady Enid Thistle hurried into the room, closely followed by Mr. Robert Green. Lady Enid went up at once to Mrs. Merillia.

"I am so shocked and distressed to see your news, dear Mrs. Merillia," she cried affectionately. "But," she added, with much inquisitiveness, "is it really true that if anyone tapped on the door you would certainly die? How can you be so sure of yourself."

"What do you mean? Ah, Mr. Green, how d'you do? See my news!"

"Yes, written up on the front door. Everyone's shocked."

"Rather!" said Mr. Green, gazing at Mrs. Merillia with confused mournfulness. "One doesn't see death on a front door every day, don't you know, in big round hand too, and then one of those modern words."

"Death on the front door in big round hand!" said Mrs. Merillia in the greatest perplexity.

"I put it there, grannie," said the Prophet, humbly. "I wrote that if another boy knocked, death would certainly ensue."

"Ensue. That's it. I knew it was one of those modern words," said Mr. Green.

"Another boy?" said Lady Enid. "Why should another boy knock?"

"Hennessey receives about nine telegrams an hour," answered Mrs. Merillia.

"Really!"

Lady Enid looked at him with keen interest, while Mrs. Merillia continued,—

"You had better take death off the door now, Mr. Ferdinand. I feel more myself. Please thank her ladyship and tell her so."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Nine telegrams an hour!" repeated Lady Enid. "Mr. Vivian, would you mind just seeing me as far as Hill Street? Bob has to go to Tattersall's."

"Have I, Niddy?" asked Mr. Green, with evident surprise.

"Yes, to pick up a polo pony. Don't you recollect?"

"A polo pony, was it? By Jove!"

"I will come with pleasure," said the poor Prophet, who felt fit only to lie down quietly in his grave. "If you don't mind being left, grannie?"

Mrs. Merillia was looking pleased.

"No, no. Go with Lady Enid, my dear boy. If any telegrams come shall I open—"

"No," cried the Prophet, with sudden fierce energy. "For mercy's sake—I mean, grannie, dear; that none will come. If they should"—his ordinary gentle eyes flamed almost furiously—"Mr. Ferdinand is to burn them unread—yes, to ashes. I will tell him." And he escorted Lady Enid tumultuously downstairs, missing his footing at every second step.

In the square they parted from Mr. Green, who said,—

"Good-bye, Niddy, old girl. What do I want to pick up at Tattersall's?"

"A polo pony, Bob," she answered firmly.

"Oh, a polo pony. Thanks, Chin, chin, Hen. Polo pony is it?"

He strode off, whistling "She wore a wreath of roses" in a puzzled manner, but still preserving the accepted demeanour of a bulwark.

As soon as Mr. Green was out of sight Lady Enid said,—

"We aren't going to Hill Street."

"Aren't we?" replied the Prophet, feebly.

"No. I must see Sir Tiglath Butt to-day. I want you to take me to his door."

"Where is his door?"

"In Kensington Square. Do you mind hailing a four-wheeler. We can talk privately there. No one will hear us."

The Prophet hailed a growler, wondering whether they would be able to hear each other. As they got in Lady Enid, after giving the direction, said to the cabman, who was a short person, with curling ebon whiskers, a broken-up expression and a broken-down manner:

"Drive slowly, please and I'll give you an extra six-pence."

"Lydy?"

"Drive slowly, and I'll give you another six-pence."

"How did yer think I was gawing to drive, lydy?"

"I wonder why cabmen are always so interested in one's inmost thoughts," said Lady Enid, as the horse fell down preparatory to starting.

"I wonder."

"I hope he will go slowly."

"He seems to be doing so."

At this point the horse, after knocking on the front of the cab with his hind feet ten or a dozen times, got up, hung his head, and drew a large number of deep and dejected breaths.

"Am I gawing slowly enough, lydy?" asked the cabman, anxiously.

"Yes, but you can let him trot along now."

"Right, lydy, I ain't preventing of him."

As eventually they scrambled slowly forward in the Kensington direction, Lady Enid remarked,—

"Why don't you have them sent to Jellybrand's?"

"Have what?" asked the Prophet.

"Your telegrams. The messages from your double life. I do."

"But I assure you—"

"Mr. Vivian, it's useless really. I find you hidden away in the inner room of Jellybrand's with Mr. Sagittarius, closely guarded by Frederick Smith; fourpenny champagne—"

"Four bob—shilling, I mean."

"Oh, was it?—Upon the table. After I've been poisoned, and we are leaving, Mr. Sagittarius calls after you such expressions as 'Banks of the Mouse—hear from me—marrow—architects and the last day.' You are obviously agitated by these expressions. We reach your house. I find you have been prophesying through a telescope. The name of Malkiel—a well-known prophet—is mentioned. You turn pale and glance at me imploringly, as if to solicit my silence. I am silent. The next day you announce that you are going to have two afternoon parties."

"No, no, not afternoon! I never said afternoon!" interposed the Prophet, frantically, as the horse fell down again in order to earn the extra sixpence.

"Well, two parties in the afternoon. It's the same thing. You say they are odd. You yourself acknowledge it. You tell me you have secrets."

"Did I?"

"Yes. When I said I had guessed your secret you replied, 'Which one?'"

"Oh!" murmured the Prophet, trying not to say "come in!" to the horse, which was again knocking with both feet upon the front of the cab.

"You go home. I call during the afternoon, and find that you are entertaining all your guests in your own little room and that your grandmother knows nothing of it and believes you to be working. As I am leaving I see the backs of two of your guests. One is a pelisse, the other a spotted collar. As I near them they mount into a purple omnibus on which is printed in huge letters, 'To the "Pork Butcher's Rest'—"

"No! No!" ejaculated the Prophet, pale with horror at this revelation.

"Rest, Crampton Vale, N. I lose them in the shadows. The next day I call and find your grandmother is dying from the noise made by boys bringing you private telegrams. And then you tell me, me—Minerva Partridge—that you have no double life! Yes, you can let him get up now, please."

The cabman permitted the horse to do so and they again struggled funereally forward. The Prophet was still very pale.

"I suppose it is useless to—very well," he said. "My life is double."

"Ah!"

"But only lately, quite lately."

"Never mind that. Oh! How glad I am that you have had the courage too! You will soon get into it, as I did. But you should have all your telegrams and so forth directed to Jellybrand's."

"It's too late," replied the Prophet, dejectedly. "Too late. I do wish that horse wouldn't fall down so continually! It's most monotonous."

"The poor man naturally wants the extra sixpence. I think I shall give him a shilling. But now who is Mr. Sagittarius?"

"Who is he?"

"Yes. I've seen him several times at Jellybrand's, and when I first met him I though he was an outside broker."

"You! Was it on the pier at Margate?"

"Certainly not! Really, Mr. Vivian! even in my double life I occasionally draw the line."

"I beg your pardon. I—the horse confuses me."

"Well, he's stopped knocking now and will be up in another minute. Who did you say Mr. Sagittarius was?"

"I didn't say he was anybody, but he's a man."

"I'd guessed that."

"And an acquaintance of mine."

"Yes?"

"I'm afraid it's going to rain."

"It generally does in Knightsbridge. Yes?"

"Is Sir Tiglath likely to be in?"

"He knows I'm coming. Well, you haven't told me who Mr. Sagittarius is."

"Lady Enid," said the Prophet, desperately, "I know very little of Mr. Sagittarius beyond the fact that he's a man, which I've already informed you of."

"Is he an outside broker?"

"No."

"Then he's Malkiel. You can't deny it."

"I can deny anything," said the Prophet, who, already upset by the events of the day, was now goaded almost to desperation. "I can and—and must. There's the horse down again!"

"I shall have to give the man one and sixpence. Are your going to keep your promise to Mrs. Merillia and Sir Tiglath?"

To this question the Prophet determined to give a direct answer, in order to draw Lady Enid away from the more dangerous subjects.

"No," he said, with a spasm of pain.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to."

"Why?"

"Because when one's once been really and truly silly it's impossible not to repeat the act, absolutely impossible. You'll never stop now. You'll go on from one thing to another, as I do."

"I cannot think that prophecy is silly," said the Prophet, with some stiffness.

She looked at him with frank admiration.

"You're worse than I am! It's splendid!"

"Worse!"

"Why, yes. You're foolish enough to think your silly acts sensible. I wish I could get to that. Then perhaps I could impose on Sir Tiglath more easily too."

She considered this idea seriously, as they started on again, and gradually got free of the little crowd that had been sitting on the horse's head.

"I must impose upon him," she said. "And you've got to help me."

"I!" cried the Prophet, feeling terribly unequal to everything. "I cannot possibly consent—"

"Yes, dear Mr. Vivian, you can. And if two thoroughly silly people can't impose upon one sensible old man, it will be very strange indeed. And now I'm going to tell you what I hadn't time to tell you yesterday."

She leaned forward and tapped sharply on the rattling glass in front of the cab. The cabman, bending down, twisted his whiskers towards her.

"Don't go too fast."

"I can't get 'im to fall down agyne, lydy. 'E's too tired."

"I daresay. But don't let him walk quite so fast."

She drew back.

"Mr. Vivian," she said—and the Prophet thought she had never looked more sensible than now, as she began this revelation—"Mr. Vivian, among the silly people I have met in my dear double life, who do you think are the very silliest?"

"The anti-vaccinators?"

"No. Besides, they so often have small-pox and become quite sensible."

"The atheists?"

"I used to think so, but not now. And most of those I knew are Roman Catholics at present."

"The women who don't desire to be slaves?"

"There aren't any."

"The tearers of Paderewski's hair?"

"I so seldom meet them, because they all live out in the suburbs."

"The tight-lacers?"

"They get red noses, poor things, and disappear. They're not permanent enough to count as the very silliest."

"I give it up."

"The Spiritualists and the Christian Scientists. That's why I love them best, and spend most of my double life with them. How you would get on with them! How much at ease you would be in their midst!"

"Really! But aren't they in opposite camps?"

"Dear things! They often think so, I believe. But really they aren't. Half the Christian Scientists begin as Spiritualists. And a great many Spiritualists were once Christian Scientists."

"Which are you?"

"Both, of course."

"Dear me!"

"As you will be when you've got thoroughly into your double life. Well, my greatest friend—in my double life, you understand—is a Mrs. Vane Bridgeman, a Christian Scientist and Spiritualist. She is very rich, and magnificently idiotic. She supports all foolish charities. She has almshouses for broken-down mediums on Sunnington Common in Kent. She has endowed a hospital for sick fortune-tellers. She gave five hundred pounds to the home for indigent thought-readers, and nearly as much to the 'Palmists' Seaside Retreat' at Millaby Bay near Dover. I don't know how many Christian Science Temples she hasn't erected, or subscribed liberally to. She turns every table in her house. She won't leave even one alone. Her early breakfasts for star-gazers are famous, and it's impossible to dine with her without sitting next to a horoscope-caster, or being taken in—to dinner, of course—by a crystal diviner or a nose-prophet."

"A nose-prophet! What's that?"

"A person who tells your fortune by the shape of your nose."

"Oh, I see."

"Well, you understand now that there's no sillier person in London than dear Mrs. Bridgeman?"

"Oh, quite."

"She's done a great deal for me, more than I can ever repay."

"Indeed."

"Yes, in introducing me to the real inner circles of idiotcy. Well, in return, I've sworn—"

"You too!"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. I beg your pardon. Please go on."

She looked at him curiously, and continued.

"I've sworn—that is, pledged my honour, you know—"

"I know! I know!"

"To introduce her to at least one thoroughly sensible person—a man, she prefers."

"And you've chosen—?"

"Sir Tiglath, because he's the only one I know. Once, I confess, I thought of you."

"Of me!"

"Yes, but of course I didn't really know you then."

She looked at him with genuine regard. The Prophet scarcely knew whether to feel delighted or distressed.

"Now, you see, Mr. Vivian, if Sir Tiglath found out for certain that I was Miss Minerva, he might discover my double life, and if he did that, he is so sensible that I am sure he would never speak to me again, and I could not fulfil my vow to dear Mrs. Bridgeman."

"I quite see."

"Nor my other vow to myself."

"Which one?"

"Oh, never mind."

"I won't."

"He only said that about partridges in January, I find, because he happened to see one of my letters in Jellybrand's window. He doesn't associate that letter with me. So it ought to be all right, and I've arranged my campaign."

"But what can I—?"

She smiled at him with some Scottish craft.

"Don't bother. You've got to be my aide-de-camp, that's all. Ah, here we are!"

For at this moment the horse, with a great effort succeeded in falling down, for the last time, before the astronomer's door.



CHAPTER XII

THE ELABORATE MIND OF MISS MINERVA

On being shown, by an elderly housekeeper with a Berlin wool fringe, into an old-fashioned oval book-room, Lady Enid and the Prophet discovered the astronomer sitting there tete-a-tete with a muffin, which lay on a china plate surrounded by manuscripts, letters, pamphlets, books and blotting-paper. He was engaged in tracing lines upon an immense sheet of foolscap with the aid of a ruler and a pair of compasses, and when he perceived his visitors, he merely rolled his glassy eyes at them, shook his large head as if in rebuke, and then returned to his occupation without uttering a word.

Lady Enid was in nowise abashed. She looked more sensible even than usual, and at once commenced her campaign by the remark,—

"I know you wonder why I wanted to see you this afternoon, Sir Tiglath. Well, I'll tell you at once. Mr. Vivian has persuaded me to act as his ambassador."

At this very unexpected statement the Prophet started, and was about to utter what might, perhaps, have taken the form of a carefully-worded denial, when Lady Enid made a violent face at him, and proceeded, in a calm manner.

"He wishes you to do something for him, and he has confessed to me that he does not quite like to ask you himself."

On hearing these words the Prophet's brain, already sorely tried by the tragic duel which had taken place between himself and the couple who lived beside the Mouse, temporarily collapsed. He attempted no protest. His mind indeed was not in a condition to invent one. He simply sat down on a small pile of astronomical instruments which, with some scientific works, an encyclopaedia and a pair of carpet slippers, occupied the nearest chair, and waited in a dazed manner for what would happen next.

Sir Tiglath continued measuring and drawing lines with a very thin pen, and Lady Enid proceeded further to develop her campaign.

"Mr. Vivian tells me," she said, "that he has a very old and dear friend who is most anxious to make your acquaintance—not, of course, for any idle social purpose, but in order to consult you on some obscure point connected with astronomy that only you can render clear. Isn't this so, Mr. Vivian?"

The Prophet shifted uneasily on the astronomical instruments, and, grasping the carpet slippers with one hand to steady himself, in answer to an authoritative sign from Lady Enid, feebly nodded his head.

"But," Lady Enid continued, apparently warming to her lies, "Mr. Vivian and his friend, knowing how much your time is taken up by astronomical research and how intensely valuable it is to the world at large, have not hitherto dared to intrude upon it, although they have wished to do so for a very long time, and have even made one attempt—at the Colley Cibber Club."

The Prophet gasped. Sir Tiglath took a bit out of the muffin and returned to his tracing and measuring.

"On that occasion you may remember," Lady Enid went on with increasing vivacity and assurance, "you declined to speak. This naturally damped Mr. Vivian—who is very sensitive, though you might not think it"—here she cast a glance at the instruments on which the Prophet sat—"and his friend. So much so, in fact, that unless I had undertaken to act for them I daresay they would have let the matter drop. Wouldn't you, Mr. Vivian?" she added swiftly to the Prophet.

"Certainly," he answered, like a creature in a dream. "Certainly."

"More especially as the friend, Mrs. Vane Bridgeman"—the Prophet at this point made an inarticulate, but very audible, noise that might have meant anything, and that did in fact mean "Merciful Heavens! what will become of me?"—"Mrs. Vane Bridgeman is also of a very retiring disposition and would hate to put such a man as you are to the slightest inconvenience."

Sir Tiglath took another bite at the muffin, which seemed to be getting the worst of the tete-a-tete, rummaged among the mess of things that loaded his table till he found a gigantic book, opened it, and began to compare some measurements in it with those he had made on the foolscap paper. His brick-red face glistened in the light of the lamp that stood beside him. His moist red lips shone, and he seemed totally unaware that there was anyone in the chamber endeavouring to gain his attention.

"In these circumstances, Sir Tiglath," Lady Enid went on, with pleasant ease, and a sort of homespun self-possession that trumpeted, like a military band, her sensibleness, "Mr. Vivian consulted me as to what to do; whether to give the whole thing up, or to make an appeal to you at the risk of disturbing you and taking up a little of your precious time. When he had explained the affair to me, however, I at once felt certain that you would wish to know of it. Didn't I, Mr. Vivian? Didn't I say, only this afternoon, that we must at once take a four-wheeler to Sir Tiglath's?"

"Yes, you did," said the Prophet, in a muffled voice.

"For I knew that no investigation, no serious, reverent investigation into heavenly, that is starry, conditions could be indifferent to you, Sir Tiglath."

The astronomer, who had been in the act of lifting the last morsel of the muffin to his mouth, put it down again, and Lady Enid, thus vehemently encouraged, went on more rapidly.

"You know of Mr. Vivian's interest, almost more than interest, in the planets. This interest is shared, was indeed prompted by Mrs. Bridgeman, a woman of serious attainments and a cultivated mind. Isn't she, Mr. Vivian?"

The Prophet heard a voice reply, "Oh, yes, she is." He often wondered afterwards whether it was his own.

"It seems that she, during certain researches, hit upon an idea with regard to—well, shall I say with regard to certain stars?—which she communicated to Mr. Vivian in the hope that he would carry it further, and in fact clear it up. Didn't she, Mr. Vivian?"

"Oh, yes, she did," said a voice, to which the Prophet again listened with strained attention.

"It was in connection with this idea that Mr. Vivian developed his enthusiasm for the telescope—which led him, perhaps, a little too far, Sir Tiglath, but I'm sure Mrs. Merillia and you have quite forgotten that!"

Here Lady Enid paused, and the astronomer achieved the final conquest of the muffin.

"He and Mrs. Bridgeman have been, in fact, working together, she being the brain, as it were, and Mr. Vivian the eye. You've been the eye, Mr. Vivian?"

"I've been the eye."

"But, despite all their ardour and assiduity, they have come to a sort of deadlock. In these circumstances they come to you, making me—as your, may I say intimate, friend?—their mouthpiece."

Here Lady Enid paused rather definitely, and cast a glance of apparently violent invitation at the Prophet, as if suggesting that he must now amplify and fill in her story. As he did not do so, a heavy silence fell in the room. Sir Tiglath had returned to his measuring, and Lady Enid, for the first time, began to look slightly embarrassed. Sending her eyes vaguely about the apartment, as people do on such occasions, she chanced to see a newspaper lying on the floor near to her. She bent down towards it, then raising herself up she said,—

"Mrs. Bridgeman some time ago came to the conclusion that there was probably oxygen in certain stars, and not only in the fixed stars."

At this remark the astronomer's countenance completely changed. He swung round in his revolving chair, wagged his huge head from side to side, and finally roared at the Prophet,—

"Is she telling the truth?"

"I beg your pardon," said the Prophet, bounding on the instruments.

"Get off those precious tools, young man, far more valuable than your finite carcase! Get off them this moment and answer me—is this young female speaking the truth?"

The Prophet got off the instruments and, in answer to a firm, Scottish gesture from Lady Enid, nodded his head twice.

"What!" continued Sir Tiglath, puffing out his cheeks, "a woman be a pioneer among the Heavenly Bodies!"

The Prophet nodded again, as mechanically as a penny toy.

"The old astronomer is exercised," bawled Sir Tiglath, with every symptom of acute perturbation. "He is greatly exercised by the narrative of the young female!"

So saying, he heaved himself up out of his chair and began to roll rapidly up and down the room, alternately distending his cheeks and permitting them to collapse.

"I should tell you also, Sir Tiglath," interposed Lady Enid, as if struck by a sudden idea, "that Mrs. Bridgeman's original adviser and assistant in her astronomical researches was a certain Mr. Sagittarius, who is also an intimate friend of Mr. Vivian's."

The Prophet sat down again upon the instruments with a thud.

"Get off those precious tools, young man!" roared the astronomer furiously. "Would you impose your vile body upon the henchmen of the stars?"

The Prophet got up again and leaned against the wall.

"I feel unwell," he said in a low voice. "Exceedingly unwell. I regret that I must really be going."

Lady Enid did not seem to regret this abrupt indisposition. Perhaps she thought that she had already accomplished her purpose. At any rate she got up too, and prepared to take leave. The astronomer was still in great excitement.

"Who is this Mr. Sagittarius?" he bellowed.

"A man of science. Isn't he, Mr. Vivian?"

"Yes."

"An astronomer of remarkable attainments, Mr. Vivian?"

"Yes."

"One knows not his abnormal name," cried the astronomer.

"He is very modest, very retiring. Mrs. Bridgeman's is really the only house in London at which you can meet him. Isn't that so, Mr. Vivian?"

"Yes."

"You say he has made investigation into the possibility of there being oxygen in many of the holy stars?"

"Mr. Vivian!"

"Yes."

"The old astronomer must encounter him!" exclaimed Sir Tiglath, puffing furiously as he rolled about the room.

"Mr. Vivian will arrange it," Lady Enid said, with sparkling eyes, "at Mrs. Bridgeman's. That's a bargain. Come, Mr. Vivian!"

And almost before the Prophet knew what she was doing, she had maneuvered him out into Kensington Square, and was pioneering him swiftly towards the High street.

"We'll take a hansom home," she said gaily, "and the man can drive as fast as ever he likes."

In half a minute the Prophet found himself in a hansom, bowling along towards Mayfair. The first words he said, when he was able to speak, were,—

"Why—Mr. Sagittarius—oh, why?"

Lady Enid smiled happily.

"It just struck me while I was talking to Sir Tiglath that I would introduce Mr. Sagittarius into the affair."

"Oh, why?"

"Why—because it seemed such an utterly silly thing to do," she answered. "Didn't it?"

The Prophet was silent.

"Didn't it?" she repeated. "A thing worthy of Miss Minerva."

It seemed to the Prophet just then as if Miss Minerva were going to wreck his life and prepare him accurately for a future in Bedlam.

"And besides you wouldn't tell me who Mr. Sagittarius was," she added.

The Prophet began to realise that it is very dangerous indeed to deny the curiosity of a woman.

"What a mercy it is," Lady Enid continued lightly, "that Malkiel is a syndicate, instead of a man. If he wasn't, and Sir Tiglath ever got to know him, he would try to murder him, and how foolish that would be! It would be rather amusing, though, to see Sir Tiglath do a thoroughly foolish thing, wouldn't it!"

The Prophet's blood ran cold in the cab, as he began, for the first time, to see clearly into the elaborate mind of Miss Minerva, into the curiously deliberate complications of a definite and determined folly. He perceived the danger that threatened the prophet who dwelt beside the Mouse, but he had recovered himself by this time sufficiently to meet craft with craft. And he therefore answered carelessly,—

"Yes, it is lucky that Malkiel's a syndicate."

When they reached Hill street Lady Enid said,—

"I'm so much obliged to you, Mr. Vivian, for all you've done for Miss Minerva."

"Not at all."

"The next step is to introduce you to Mrs. Bridgeman, and you can introduce her to Mr. Sagittarius. Then I'll introduce Sir Tiglath to her and she will introduce Mr. Sagittarius to him. It all works out so beautifully! Thank you a thousand times. You'll hear from me. Probably I'll give you your directions how to act to-morrow. Good-night."

The Prophet drove on to Berkeley Square, feeling that, between Mr. and Madame Sagittarius and Miss Minerva, he was being rapidly directed to his doom.



CHAPTER XIII

THE PROPHET IS INTERVIEWED BY TWO KIDS

Mr. Ferdinand met the Prophet in the hall.

"I have done as you directed, sir," he said respectfully.

"As I directed, Mr. Ferdinand? I was not aware that I ever directed anybody," replied the Prophet, suspecting irony.

"I understood you to say, sir, that if any more telegrams was to arrive, I was to burn them, sir."

"Telegrams! Good Heavens! You don't mean to say that—"

"There has been some seventeen or eighteen, sir. I have burnt them, sir, to ashes, according to your orders."

"Quite right, Mr. Ferdinand," said the Prophet, putting his hand up to his hair, to feel if it were turning grey. "Quite right. How is—how, I say, is Mrs. Merillia?"

"Well, Master Hennessey, she's not dead yet."

And Mr. Ferdinand, with a contorted countenance moved towards the servants' hall.

The Prophet stood quite still with his hat and coat on for several minutes. An amazing self-possession had come to him, the unnatural self-possession of despair. He felt quite calm, as the statue of a dead alderman feels on the embankment of its native city. Nothing seemed to matter at all. He might have been Marcus Aurelius—till a loud double knock came to the front door. Then he might have been any dangerous lunatic, ripe for a strait waistcoat. Mr. Ferdinand approached. The Prophet faced him.

"Kindly retire, Mr. Ferdinand," he said in a very quiet voice. "I will answer that knock."

Mr. Ferdinand retired rather rapidly. The knock was repeated. The Prophet opened the door. A telegraph boy, about two and a half feet high, stood outside upon the step.

"Telegram, sir," he said in a thin voice.

"Give it to me, my lad," replied the Prophet.

The small boy handed the telegram and turned to depart.

"Wait a moment, my lad," said the Prophet, very gently.

The small boy waited.

"Do you wish to be strangled, my lad?" asked the Prophet.

The small boy tried to recoil, but his terror rooted him firmly to the spot.

"Do all the other boys at the office wish to be strangled?" continued the Prophet. "Come, my lad, why don't you answer me?"

"No, sir," whispered the small boy, passing his little tongue over his pale lips.

"Very well, my lad, the next boy who brings a telegram to this house will be strangled, do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir," sighed the small boy, like a terror-stricken Zephyr.

"That's right. Good-night, my lad."

The Prophet closed the street door very softly, and the small boy dropped fainting on the pavement and was carried to the nearest hospital on a stretcher by two dutiful policemen.

Meanwhile the Prophet opened the telegram and read as follows:—

"Insufferable insolence. How dare you; shall pay dearly; with you to-morrow first 'bus.

"JUPITER AND MADAME SAGITTARIUS."

"Mr. Ferdinand!" called the Prophet.

"Yes, sir."

"I am about to write a telegram. Gustavus will take it to the office."

"Yes, sir."

The Prophet went into the library and wrote these words on a telegraph form:—

"Jupiter Sagittarius, Sagittarius Lodge, Crampton St. Peter, N. Your life is in danger; keep where you are; another telegram may destroy you. Grave news.

"VIVIAN."

The Prophet gave this telegram to Gustavus and then prepared to go upstairs to his grandmother. As he mounted towards the drawing-room he murmured to himself over and over again,—

"Sir Tiglath—Malkiel! Malkiel—Sir Tiglath!"

He found Mrs. Merillia very prostrate. It seemed that the telegraph boys had very soon worn through the cotton-wool with which the knocker had been shrouded, and that the incessant noise of their efforts to attract attention at the door had quite unnerved the gallant old lady. Nevertheless, her own condition was the last thing she thought of.

"I don't mind for myself, Hennessey," she said. "But it is very sad after all these years of respect and even, I think, a certain popularity, to be considered a nuisance by one's square. We are hopelessly embroiled with the Duchess of Camberwell, and the Lord Chancellor has sent over five times to explain the different laws and regulations that we are breaking. I don't see how you can go to his Reception to-night, really."

"I am not going, grannie," said the Prophet, overwhelmed with contrition. "I cannot go in any case."

"Why not?"

"I—I have some work to do at home."

He avoided the glance of her bright eyes, and continued.

"Grannie, I am deeply grieved at all you have gone through to-day. Believe me it has not been my fault—at least not entirely. I may have been injudicious, but I never—never—"

He paused, quite overcome with emotion.

"I don't know what will happen if the telegrams go on till midnight," said Mrs. Merillia. "The Duke of Camberwell is a very violent man, since he had that sunstroke at the last Jubilee, and I shouldn't wonder if he—"

"Grannie, there will not be any more telegrams."

"But you said that before, Hennessey."

"And I say it again. There will not be any more. I have just informed the messenger that the next boy who knocks will certainly be—well, destroyed."

Mrs. Merillia breathed a sigh of relief.

"I am so thankful, Hennessey. Are you dining out to-night?"

"No, grannie. I don't feel very well. I have a headache. I shall go and lie down for a little."

"Yes, do. Everybody is lying down; Fancy, the upper housemaid, the cook. Even Gustavus, they tell me, is trying to snatch a little uneasy repose on his what-not. It has been a terrible day."

Mrs. Merillia lay back and closed her eyes, and the Prophet, overwhelmed with remorse, retired to his room, lay down and stared desperately at nothing for half an hour. He then ate, with a very poor appetite, a morsel of dinner and prepared to take, if possible, a short nap before starting on the labours of the night. As he got up from the dining table to go upstairs he said to Mr. Ferdinand,—

"By the way, Mr. Ferdinand, if I should come into the pantry again to-night, don't be alarmed. I may chance to require a bradawl as I did last night. Kindly leave one out, in case I should. But you need not sit up."

As the Prophet said the last words he looked Mr. Ferdinand full in the face. The butler's eyes fell.

"Thank you, Master Hennessey, I shall be glad to get to bed—entirely to bed—in good time. We are all a bit upset in the kit—that is the hall to-day."

"Just so. Retire to rest at once if you like."

"Thank you, sir."

"Gustavus," said Mr. Ferdinand, a moment later in the servants' hall, "you are a man of the world, I believe."

Gustavus roused himself on his what-not.

"I am, Mr. Ferdinand," he replied, in a pale and exhausted manner.

"Then tell me, Gustavus, have you ever lived in service with a gentleman who was partial to a bradawl—of a night, you understand?"

"No, never, Mr. Ferdinand. The nearest to it ever I got was the Bishop of Clapham."

"Explain yourself, Gustavus, I beg."

"He used to ask for a nip sometimes before retiring, Mr. Ferdinand."

"A nip, Gustavus?"

"Warm water, with a slice of toast in it. But he was only what they call a suburban bishop, Mr. Ferdinand."

"Ah! a nip is hardly on all fours with a bradawl, Gustavus."

"P'r'aps not, Mr. Ferdinand, but it's the nearest ever I got to it."

Mr. Ferdinand said no more, but when he retired to rest that night he double-locked his door, and dreamt of bradawls till he woke, unrefreshed, the next morning to find the area full of telegrams.

Meanwhile the Prophet was conscientiously fulfilling his promise and keeping the oath he had pledged his honour over, although he had to work under a grave disadvantage in the total loss of his planisphere, or star-map.

He entered the butler's pantry precisely on the stroke of eleven, and found it, to his great relief, untenanted. The dwarf was no longer at the telescope, and the silence in the region dedicated to Mrs. Merillia's menials was profound. The night, too, was clear and starry, propitious for prophetic labours, and as the Prophet gazed out upon the deserted square through the open window a strange peace descended upon his fevered soul. Nature, with all her shining mysteries, her distant reticences and revelations, calmed the turmoil within him. He looked upon the area railings and upon the sky, and smiled.

Then he looked for the star-map. He perceived in a very prominent position upon a silver salver, the bradawl laid out, according to order, by the obedient Mr. Ferdinand. He perceived also the open pot of "Butler's Own Special Pomade," but the planisphere had been removed from it. Where could it have been bestowed? The Prophet instituted a careful search. He explored cupboards, drawers—such at least as were unlocked—in vain. He glanced into a silver teapot reposing on a shelf, between the pages of an almanac hanging on the wall, among some back numbers of the Butler's Gazette, which were lying in a corner. But the planisphere was nowhere to be found, and at last in despair he resolved to do without it, and to trust to his fairly accurate knowledge of the heavens. He, therefore, took up his station by the window and proceeded to extract from the pocket of his smoking-jacket the account-book in which he had dotted down the directions of "Madame and self." They were very vague, for his dots had been agitated. Still, by the help of the George the Third candlestick, in which was a lighted taper, the Prophet was able to make out enough to refresh his memory. He was to begin by placing his beloved grandmother in the claws of the crab. Leaning upon the sill of the window he found the crab and—breathing a short prayer for forgiveness—committed his dear relation to its offices. He then retreated and, assuming very much the position of Mr. Ferdinand, applied his right eye to the telescope, at the same time holding his left eye firmly shut with the forefinger of his left hand. At once the majesty of the starry heavens burst upon him in all its glory.

Exactly at half-past one o'clock, two hours and a half later, the enthralled Prophet heard a low whistle which seemed to reach him from the square. He withdrew his fascinated right eye from the telescope and endeavoured to use it in an ordinary manner, but he could at first see nothing. The low whistle was repeated. It certainly did come from the square, and the Prophet approached the open window and once more tried to compel the eye that had looked so long upon the stars to gaze with understanding upon the earth. This time he perceived a black thing, like a blot, about six feet high, beyond the area railings. From this blot came a third whistle. The Prophet, who was still dazed by the fascination of star-gazing, mechanically whistled in reply, whereupon the blot whispered at him huskily,—

"At it again, are you?"

"Yes," whispered the Prophet, also huskily, for the night air was cold. "But how should you know?"

Indeed he wondered; and it seemed to him as if the blot were some strange night thing that must have companioned him, invisibly, when he kept his nocturnal watches in the drawing-room, and that now partially revealed itself to him in the, perhaps, more acutely occult region of the basement.

"How should I know!" rejoined the blot with obvious, though very hoarse, irony. "Whatever d'you take me for?"

The Prophet began to wonder, but before he had gone on wondering for more than about half a minute, the blot continued,—

"She's gone to bed."

"I know she has," said the Prophet, presuming that the blot, which seemed instinct with all knowledge, was referring to his grandmother.

"But she knows you're at it again," continued the blot.

The Prophet started violently and leaned upon the window-sill.

"No! How can that be?" he ejaculated.

"Ho! Them girls knows everything, especially the old uns," said the blot, with an audible chuckle.

"Good gracious!" gasped the Prophet, overwhelmed at this mysterious visitant's familiar description of his revered grandmother.

"Have you seen her to-night?" inquired the blot, controlling its merriment.

"Yes," said the Prophet. "With the Crab."

"What!" cried the blot, in obvious astonishment. "Them instruments must be wonderful sight-carriers."

"They are," exclaimed the Prophet, with almost mystic enthusiasm. "Wonderful. I have seen her with the Crab distinctly."

"Ah! well, I told her she ought to keep away from it," continued the blot.

"Did you?" said the Prophet, with increasing surprise. "But how could she?"

"Ah! that's just it! She couldn't."

"No, of course not."

"She was drawn right to it."

"She was. It wasn't her fault. It was the Crab's."

"A pity it was dressed."

"What?"

"I say it's a pity 'twas dressed."

"What was dressed?"

"What! why, the Crab!"

"The Crab—dressed!"

"Ay. They're a deal safer not dressed."

"Are they?"

"She knows it too."

"Does she?"

"But there—them women likes a spice of danger. She's in a nice state now, you bet. Not much sleep for her, I'll lay. Well, I tried to keep her from it, so you needn't blame me."

"I won't," said the Prophet, feeling completely dazed.

"Well, go'-night. I'm off round the square."

"Good-night," said the Prophet.

Suddenly a blinding flash of light dazzled his eyes. He covered them with his hands. When he could see again the blot was gone.

Although he was retired to rest that night when the clock struck three, the Prophet did not sleep. His nervous system was in a condition of acute excitement. His brain felt like a burning ball, and the palms of his hands were hot with fever. For the spirit of prophecy was upon him once more, and he was bound fast in the golden magic of the stars. Like the morphia maniac who, after valiant fasting, returning to his drug, feels its influence the stronger for his abstinence from it, the Prophet was conscious that the heavens held more power, more meaning for him because, for a while, he had intended to neglect them. He was ravaged by their mystery, their majesty and revelation.

When he came down in the morning pale, dishevelled, but informed by a curious dignity, he was met at once by Mr. Ferdinand.

"I have cleared the area, sir," said the functionary.

"The area, Mr. Ferdinand. What of?"

"Telegrams, sir. The boys must have thrown 'em down without knocking."

"Very probably," replied the Prophet. "Their comrade was right. They did not wish to be strangled."

"No, sir. And I have placed them in a basket on the breakfast table, sir, while awaiting your orders."

"Quite right, Mr. Ferdinand. By the way, here is the bradawl. Leave it out again to-night in case I have need of it."

So saying, the Prophet handed the bradawl, which he had craftily conveyed from the pantry on the previous night, to the astonished butler and walked swiftly into the breakfast-room. The basket of telegrams was set outside beside a fried sole and the "equipage" which Madame had so much admired, and, while he sipped his tea, the Prophet opened the wires one by one. They were fraught with terror and dismay. Evidently his mysterious warning had thrown the worthies who dwelt beside the Mouse into a condition of the very gravest amazement and alarm, and they had, despite the Prophet's final injunction, spent the remaining telegraphic hours of the day in despatching wires of frantic inquiry to the square. Madame, in particular, was evidently much upset, and expressed her angry agitation in a dead language that seemed positively to live again in fear and novelty of grammatical construction. Sir Tiglath had been a brilliant card to play in the prophetic game, although he had not achieved the Prophet's purpose of stopping the telegraphic flood.

While the Prophet was simultaneously finishing the fried sole and the perusal of the final wire Mr. Ferdinand entered, in a condition of obvious astonishment that might well have cost him his place.

"If you please, sir," he said, in an up-and-down voice, "if you please there are two—two—two—"

"Two what? Be more explicit, Mr. Ferdinand."

"Two—well, sir, kids at the door waiting for you to see them, sir."

"Two kids! What—from the goat show that's going on at the Westminster Aquarium!" cried the Prophet in great surprise.

"Maybe, sir. I can't say, indeed, sir. Am I to show them in, sir?"

"Show them in! Are you gone mad, Mr. Ferdinand? They must be driven out at once. If Mrs. Merillia were to see them, she might be greatly alarmed. I'll—I'll—follow me, Mr. Ferdinand, closely."

So saying the Prophet stepped valiantly into the hall. There, by the umbrella stand, stood two small children, boy and girl, very neatly dressed in a sailor suit and a grey merino. The little boy held in his hand a large round straw hat, on the blue riband of which was inscribed in letters of gold, "H.M.S. Hercules." The little girl wore a pleasant pigtail tied with a riband of the same hue.

The meaning of Mr. Ferdinand's vulgar and misleading slang suddenly dawned on the Prophet. He cast a look of very grave rebuke on Mr. Ferdinand, then, walking up to the little boy and girl he said in his most ingratiating manner,—

"Well, my little ones, what can I do for you?"

"Not so little, if you please, Mr. Vivian," replied the boy in a piping, but very self-possessed voice. "Can we see you in private for a moment?"

"If you please, Mr. Vivian," added the little girl. "Si sit prudentium."

"Dentia, Corona," corrected the little boy.

The Prophet turned white to the very lips.

"Certainly, certainly," he said in a violently furtive manner. "Come this way, my children. Mr. Ferdinand, if Mrs. Merillia should inquire for me, you will say that I'm busy writing—no, no, just busy—very busy."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not to be disturbed. This way, my little ones."

"Not so little, Mr. Vivian," piped again the small boy, trotting obediently, with his sister, into the Prophet's library, the door of which was immediately closed behind them.

"Well, I'm—" said Mr. Ferdinand. "Kids in the library! I am—Gustavus!"

He rushed frenetically towards the servants' hall to confer upon the situation with his intellectual subordinate.

Meanwhile the Prophet was closeted with the two kids.

"Pray sit down," he said, very nervously, and smiling forcibly. "Pray sit down, my dears."

The kids obeyed with aplomb, keeping their large and strained eyes fixed upon the Prophet.

"Is it Coronus and Capricorna?" continued the Prophet, with an effort after blithe familiarity. "Is it?"

"No," piped the little boy. "It isn't Coronus and Capricorna."

A marvellous sensation of relief invaded the Prophet.

"Thank Heaven!" he ejaculated in a sigh. "I thought it must be."

"It's Corona and Capricornus," continued the little boy. "And we've brought you a letter from pater familias."

"And mater familiaris," added the little girl.

"Milias, Corona," corrected the little boy. "Here it is, Mr. Vivian," he added, drawing a large missive from the breast of his blue-and-white sailor's blouse. "Pater and mater familias couldn't bring it themselves, because he said it wasn't safe for him to come, and she's lying down ill at what you sent to her. It wasn't kind of you, was it?"

So saying, he handed the missive to the Prophet, who took it anxiously.

"Would you like some cake, my lit—I mean, my dears, while I read this?"

"No, thank you. Cake is bad for us in the morning," replied the little boy. "You shouldn't eat it so early."

The Prophet was about to reply that he never did when it struck him that argument would probably be useless. He, therefore, hastened to open the letter, which proved to be from Mr. Sagittarius, and which ran as follows:—

"SIR,—Your terrible and mysterious wire, coming after your equally terrible and mysterious silence, has caused devastation in a hitherto peaceful and happy family. To what peril do you allude? What creature can there be so base as to wish to take my life merely on account of my sending you telegrams? Madame has been driven to despair by your announcement, and I, myself, although no ordinary man, am, very rightly and properly, going about in fear of my life since receipt of your last telegram. Under these circs, and being unable to wait upon you ourselves for a full explanation, we are sending our very life-blood to you—per rail and 'bus—with strict orders to bring you at once to the banks of the Mouse, there to confer with Madame and self and arrange such measures of precaution as are suited to the requirements of the situation as indicated by you.

"JUPITER SAGITTARIUS.

"P.S.—You are to bring with you, according to solemn oath, all prophecy concerning grandmother, Crab, etc., gathered up to date, together with full details of same's removal from the bottle, cutting of her first tooth, short-coating, going into skirts, putting of hair up, day of marriage and widowhood, illnesses—especially rashes—and so forth. Ab origino.

"MADAME SAGITTARIUS."

On reading this communication the Prophet felt that all further struggle was useless. Fate—cruel and remorseless Fate—had him in her grasp. He could only bow his head and submit to her horrible decrees. He could only go upstairs and at once prepare for the journey to the Mouse.

He laid the letter down and got up, fixing his eyes upon the kids, who sat solemnly awaiting his further procedure.

"You—I suppose you know, my little ones, what this—what you have to do?" he said.

"Not so little, if you please, Mr. Vivian," returned the boy. "Yes, we've got to take you with us to see pater familias."

"And mater familiar—familias," added the little girl.

"I see—you know," said the Prophet, in a despairing voice. "Very well. Wait here quietly—very quietly, while I go and get ready."

"And please don't forget the Crab and grandmother, rashes, et ceterus," said the little girl.

"Tera Corona," piped her brother.

"I won't," said the Prophet. "I will not."

And he tottered out of the room, carrying the Sagittarius letter in his hand.

In the hall he paused for a moment, holding on to the balusters and re-reading his directions. Then he crawled slowly up the stairs and sought his grandmother's room.



CHAPTER XIV

THE PROPHET JOURNEYS TO THE MOUSE

Mrs. Merillia was just beginning to recover from the prostration of the preceding day when the Prophet came into the room where she was seated with Mrs. Fancy Quinglet. She looked up at him almost brightly, but started when she saw how agitated he seemed.

"Grannie," said the Prophet, abruptly, "you would tell me anything, wouldn't you?"

"Why, of course, my dear boy. But what about?"

"About—about yourself?"

Mrs. Merillia looked very much astonished.

"There is nothing to hide, Hennessey," she said with gentle dignity. "You know that."

"I do, I do," cried the Prophet, passionately. "Yours has been the best, the sweetest life the world has ever known!"

"Well, I don't wish to imply—"

"But I do, grannie, I do. Can Fancy leave us for a moment?"

"Certainly. Fancy, you can go to your tatting."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Mr Hennessey has something to explain to me."

"Oh, ma'am, the houses that have been broke up by explainings!"

And with this, as the Prophet thought, appallingly appropriate exclamation, Mrs. Fancy hurried feverishly from the room.

"Now what is the question you wish to ask me, Hennessey?" said Mrs. Merillia, with a soft dignity.

"There are—one moment—there are eight questions, grannie," responded the Prophet, shrinking visibly before the dread necessity by which he found himself confronted.

"Eight! So many?"

"Yes, oh, indeed, yes."

"Well, my dear, and what are they?"

"The first is—is—grannie, when were you removed from—from the bottle?"

A very delicate flush crept into Mrs. Merillia's charming cheeks.

"The bottle, Hennessey! Never, never!" she said, with a sort of pathetic indignation. "How could you suppose—I—the bottle—"

Her pretty old voice died away.

"Answered, darling grannie, answered!" ejaculated the Prophet. "Please—please don't! And now—your first tooth?"

"My first what!" cried Mrs. Merillia in almost terrified amazement.

"Tooth—when did you cut it?"

"I have no idea. Surely, Hennessey—"

"Answered, dearest grannie!" cried the Prophet, with gathering agitation. "Did you ever wear a short coat?"

"I—I'm not a man!"

"You didn't! Always a skirt?"

"Of course! Why—"

"And you're sixty-eight on the twentieth. So for sixty-eight years you've always worn a skirt. That's four."

"Four what? Are you—?"

"When did you put your hair up, grannie, darling?"

"My hair—never. You know I've always had a maid to do these things for me. Fancy—"

"Of course. You've never put your hair up. I might have known. You were married very young, weren't you?"

"Ah, yes. On my seventeenth birthday, and was left a widow in exactly two years' time. Your poor dear granf—"

"Thank you, grannie, thank you! Seven!"

"Seven what, Hennessey? One would th—"

"And now, dear grannie, tell me one thing, only one little thing more. About—that is, talking of rashes—"

"Rashers!"

"No, grannie, rashes—illnesses, you know, that take an epidemic form."

"Well, what about them? Surely there isn't an epidemic in the square?"

"How many have you had, grannie?"

"Where? Had what?"

"Here, anywhere in the square, grannie."

"Had what in the square?"

"Rashes."

"I! Have a rash in the square!"

"Exactly. Have you ever—an epidemic, you know?"

"I have an epidemic in Berkeley Square? You must be crazy, Hennessey!"

"Probably, very likely, grannie. But have you? Tell me quickly! Have you?"

"Certainly not! As if any gentlewoman—"

"Answered, grannie, answered! Eight!"

"Eight what?"

"Questions. Thank you, dearest grannie. I knew you'd tell me, I knew you would!"

And the Prophet rushed from the room, leaving Mrs. Merillia in a condition that cannot be described and that not all the subsequent ministrations of Mrs. Fancy Quinglet were able to alleviate.

Having reached the hall, the Prophet hastily put on his coat and hat and called Mr. Ferdinand to him.

"Mr. Ferdinand," he said, assuming a fixed and stony dignity to conceal his agitation and dismay, "I am leaving the house at once with the—the lady and gentleman who are in the library."

At this description of the kids Mr. Ferdinand was very nearly seized with convulsions. However, as he said nothing and merely wrung his large hands, the Prophet, after a slight pause, continued,—

"I may be away some time, so if Mrs. Merillia should make any inquiry, you will say that I have left to pay a visit to some friends."

"Yes, sir. Shall I tell Gustavus to pack your things?"

"Certainly not."

The Prophet was turning towards the library when Mr. Ferdinand added,—

"When shall we expect you back, sir? Am I to forward your letters?"

"No, no. I shall return in a few hours."

"Oh, I beg pardon, sir. And if any telegrams—"

"There will not be any. I am now going to answer the telegrams in person."

"Yes, sir."

"Come along, my children," cried the Prophet, putting his head into the library.

"Not your children, if you please, Mr. Vivian," replied the little boy. "Corona, come on."

"How do we go, my dears?" asked the Prophet, with an attempt at gaiety, and endeavouring to ignore the prostrated demeanour of Mr. Ferdinand, who was in waiting to open the hall door.

"By the purple 'bus as far as the Pork Butcher's Rest," piped the little boy—(at this point Mr. Ferdinand could not refrain from a slight exclamation)—"then we take the train to the Mouse, Mouse, Mouse."

"Mus, Mus, Mus," chanted the little girl.

As Mr. Ferdinand was unable to open the door, paralysis having apparently supervened, the Prophet did so, and the cheerful little party emerged upon the step to find Lady Enid Thistle in the very act of pressing the electric bell. When she beheld the vivacious trio, all agog for their morning's expedition, come thus suddenly upon her, she cried out musically,—

"Why, where are you off to?"

The Prophet was much embarrassed by the encounter.

"I am taking these lit"—he caught the staring eye of Capricornus—"these friends of mine for a little walk," he said.

"I'll come with you," said Lady Enid, with an almost Highland decision. "I've got something to say to you, and we can talk as we go."

She glanced very inquisitively indeed at the two children, who had begun to frisk at sight of the square all bathed in winter sunshine. The Prophet was very much upset.

"Don't you think—" he began.

"It will be delightful to have some exercise," she interrupted firmly. "Which way are you going?"

"Which way! Oh, to—towards—"

The Prophet stopped. He did not know from what point the purple 'bus started to gain the Pork Butcher's Rest. Capricornus hastened to inform him.

"We take the purple 'bus at the corner of Air Street," he piped.

"The purple 'bus!" cried Lady Enid. "The purple bus!"

She glanced searchingly at the Prophet.

"Ah!" she murmured, "so you are taking a purple 'bus to your double life!"

He could not deny it. They were now all walking forward in the sun and as the little Corona and Capricornus became speedily intent upon the wonders of this central district, Lady Enid and the Prophet were able to have a quiet word or two together.

"I came to tell you," she said, "that Mrs. Vane Bridgeman will expect you to-night at—"

"I am engaged at eleven," cried the Prophet, in despair at the imposition of this fresh burden upon his weary shoulders.

"I know. To the Lord Chancellor, but—"

"No. I have an engagement which I dare not break, at home."

"Really!"

She gazed at him with her large, handsome grey eyes, and added,—

"I do believe you're silly enough to live your double life at home sometimes. How splendid!"

"No, no! I assure you—"

"Of course you do! You dear foolish thing! You're ever so much sillier than I am. You're my master."

"No, indeed, no, no!"

"But you can go to Mrs. Bridgeman's for an hour easily. She expects you and I've promised that you will go."

"It's very kind of you, but really—"

"So that's settled. You'll meet me there, but don't forget I'm Miss Minerva Partridge. The address is Zoological House, Regent's Park, that big house in a garden just outside the Zoo."

"The big house in the Zoological Gardens," said the Prophet, feebly. "Thank you very much."

"No, no, outside the Zoo. And then we can arrange to-night about your introducing her to Mr. Sagittarius."

"Hush! Hush!" whispered the Prophet.

But he was too late. The long ears of the little pitchers had caught the well-known word.

"Why, that's pater familias," piped the little Capricornus.

"And mater familiaris," added the little Corona.

"You don't mean to say," cried Lady Enid to the Prophet, "that these are the children of Mr. Sagittarius?"

The Prophet bent his head.

"How very interesting!" said Lady Enid. "Everything is working out most beautifully. I must get them some chocolates."

And she immediately stepped into a confectioner's and came out with a beautiful box of bon-bons, tied with amethyst ribbon, which she gave to the delighted children.

"I know your dear father," she said. "At least I know who he is."

And she looked firmly at the Prophet, who dropped his eyes. They were now at the corner of Air Street, and the purple 'bus could be seen looming brilliantly in the distance.

"Good-bye, Lady Enid," said the Prophet.

"Oh, I'll see you off," she replied, evidently resolved to satisfy some further, unexpressed curiosity.

"There it is!" cried Capricornus. "It's coming! There it is!"

"Isn't it pretty?" shrieked the little Corona, who was evidently growing much excited by the chocolates and the centralness of the whole thing. "Let's go on the top! Let's go on the top!"

She began to jump on the pavement, and her brother was just about to follow her example when some sudden idea struck him into gravity. He turned to the Prophet and exclaimed solemnly,—

"Oh, if you please, Mr. Vivian, have you got the crab with you?"

"The crab!" cried Lady Enid, with much vivacity.

"Yes, yes, my boy, it's all right!" said the Prophet, hastily.

"Not your boy, if you please, Mr. Vivian," returned the little inquisitor. "And have you got the fist tooth?"

"Yes, yes!"

"And the rashes, and the honoured grandmother, and—"

"I've got everything," cried the Prophet, "every single thing!"

"Because mater familias said I was to make you bring them if I stayed for them all day."

"Yes, yes, they're all here—every one."

Lady Enid was gazing at the Prophet's slim form with almost passionate curiosity. It was evidently a problem to her how he had managed to conceal so many various commodities about his person without altering his shape. However, she had no time to study the matter, for at this moment the purple 'bus jerked along the kerb, and the voice of the conductor was heard crying,—

"Pork Butcher's Rest! All the way one penny! Pork—penny—all the way—Butcher's—Rest—one—Pork—all—Pork—penny—Pork—Butcher's— Pork—Rest—Pork—penny!"

With a hasty farewell the Prophet, accompanied, and indeed closely clutched, by the little Corona and Capricornus, scrambled fanatically, and not without two or three heavy falls, to the summit of the 'bus, while Lady Enid read the legend printed on it with a smile, ere she turned to walk home, putting two and two together, and thinking, with keen feminine satisfaction, how useless in the long run are all the negatives of man.

In later years, though many memories intervene, the Prophet will never forget his journey to the banks of the Mouse. Always it seemed very strange to him and dream-like, that everlasting journey upon the purple 'bus, complicated by the chatter of the younger scions of the Malkiel dynasty, and by the shrill cries of the conductor summoning the passers-by to hasten to that place of repose consecrated to the worthy and hard-working individuals who drew their modest incomes from the pig. The character of the streets changed as the central districts were left behind, and a curious scent, the scent of Suburbia, seemed to float between the tall chimneys in the morose atmosphere. The purple chariot, which rolled on and on like the chariot of Fate, drew gradually away from the large thoroughfares into mean streets, whose air of dull gentility was for ever autumnal, and the Prophet, on passing some gigantic gasworks, mechanically wondered whether it might not, perhaps, be that monument to whose shadow Malkiel the First had lived and died. Once, looking up at the black sky, he remarked to the little Capricornus that it was evidently going to rain.

"No, Mr. Vivian," replied the boy. "It won't rain hard this week. January's a fine month, but there'll be heavy floods in March, especially along the banks of the Thames."

"And in February there'll be such a lot of scarlet fever in the southern portions of England," added the little Corona. "Oh, Corney, just look at that kitty on the airey railings!"

"Area, Corona," corrected her brother. "Oh, my! ain't it funny?"

The Prophet remembered that he was travelling with the scions of a prophetic house.

It seemed many years before the 'bus stopped before a brick building full of quart pots, situated upon a gentle eminence sloping to a coal-yard, and the voice of the conductor proclaimed that the place of repose was reached. The Prophet and his diminutive guides descended from the roof and were shortly in a train puffing between the hunched backs of abominable little houses, sooty as street cats and alive with crying babies. Then bits of waste land appeared, bald wildernesses in which fragments of broken crockery hibernated with old tin cans and kettles yellow as dying leaves. A furtive brown rivulet wandered here and there like a thing endeavouring to conceal itself and unable to find a hiding-place.

"That's the Mouse, Mr. Vivian," remarked Capricornus, proudly. "We shall soon be there."

"Ridiculum mus," rejoined his sister, who evidently took after her learned mother.

"Culus, Corona; and you're not to say that. Pater familias says that the Mouse is a noble stream. We get out here, Mr. Vivian."

Here proved to be a wayside station on the very bank of the noble stream, and on the edge of a piece of waste ground so large that it might almost have been called country.

The Prophet and the two kids set off across this earth, which was named by the inhabitants "the Common." In the distance rose a fringe of detached brick and stone villas towards which Capricornus now pointed a forefinger that trembled with pride.

"That's where we live," he said, in a voice that was grown squeaky from conceit.

"Dulce domus," piped his sister, clutching the skirt of the Prophet's coat, and, thus supported, performing several very elaborate dancing steps upon the clayey soil over which he was feebly staggering. "Dulce dulce, dulce domus. Look at that rat, Corney!"

A large, raking rodent, indeed, at that instant emerged from the wreckage of what had once been a copper cauldron near by, and walked slowly away towards a slope of dust garnished with broken bottles and abandoned cabbage stalks. The Prophet shuddered and longed to flee, but the two kids, as if divining his thought, now clasped his hands and led him firmly forward to a yellow villa, fringed with white Bath stone and garnished plentifully with griffins. From its flat front shot ostentatiously forth a porch adorned with Roman columns which commanded a near view of the Mouse, and before the porch was a small garden in which several healthy-looking nettles had made their home.