Presently the uproar of the guitars grew more stentorian upon his ear, and, leaving on his left an astonishing chamber that contained from a dozen to fifteen small round tables, with nothing whatever upon them, the Prophet emerged into an inner hall where, in quite a grove of shrubs hung with fairy lights, twenty young ladies, dressed from top to toe in scarlet, and each wearing a large golden medal, were being as Spanish as if they had not been paid for it, while twelve more whacked castanets and shook bells with a frenzy that was worth an excellent salary, the silly gentleman from Tooting the while blowing furiously upon his flute, and combining this intemperate indulgence with an occasional assault upon a cottage piano that stood immediately before him, or a wave of the baton that asserted his right to the position of chef d'orchestre. Immediately beyond this shrine of music the Prophet perceived a Moorish nook containing a British buffet, and, in quite the most Moorish corner of this nook, seated upon a divan that would have been at home in Marakesh, he caught sight of Miss Minerva in company with a thin, fatigued and wispy lady in a very long vermilion gown, and an extremely small gentleman—apparently of the Hebrew persuasion—who was smartly dressed, wore white gloves and a buttonhole, and indulged in a great deal of florid gesticulation while talking with abnormal vivacity. Miss Minerva, who was playing quietly with a lemon ice, looked even more sensible than usual, the Prophet thought, in her simple white frock. She seemed to be quite at home and perfectly happy with her silly friends, but, as soon as she saw him hovering anxiously to the left of the guitars, she beckoned to him eagerly, and he hurried forward.

"Oh, Mr. Vivian, I'm so glad you've come! Let me introduce you to my great friend Eureka"—the lady in vermilion bowed absent-mindedly, and rolled her huge brown eyes wearily at the Prophet—"and to Mr. Briskin Moses."

The little gentleman made a stage reverence and fluttered his small hands airily.

"Pretty sight, pretty sight!" he said in a quick and impudent voice. "All these little dears enjoying themselves so innocently. Mother Bridgeman's chickens, I call them. But it's impossible to count them, even after they're hatched. Cheese it!"

The final imperative was flung demurely at a mighty footman, who just then tried to impound Mr. Moses's not quite finished brandy-and-soda.

"Sir?" said the mighty footman.

"Cheese it!" cried Mr. Moses, making a gesture of tragic repugnance in the direction of the footman.

The mighty footman cheesed it with dignity, and afterwards, in the servants' hall, spoke very bitterly of Israel.

The Prophet was extremely anxious to get a word alone with Miss Minerva. Indeed, it was really important that he should warn her of Sir Tiglath's approach, but he could find no opportunity of doing so, for Mr. Moses, who was not afflicted with diffidence, rapidly continued, in a slightly affected and tripping cockney voice,—

"Mother Bridgeman's a dear one! God bless her for a pretty soul! She'd be sublime in musical comedy—the black satin society lady, you know, who makes the aristocratic relief,—

"'I'm a Dowager Duchess, and everyone knows I'm a lady right down to the tip of my toes.'

"Very valuable among the minxes; worth her weight in half-crowns! I'd give her an engagement any day, pretty bird! Ever seen her driving in a cab? She takes off her gloves and spreads her hands over the apron to get the air. A canary! Anything for me to-night, Eureka? A dove, a mongoose—anything lucky? Give us a chance, mother!"

The lady in vermilion, who had a tuft of golden hair in the midst of her otherwise raven locks, glanced mysteriously at Mr. Moses.

"See anything, mother?" he asked, with theatrical solemnity. "A tiny chunk of luck for tricky little Briskin?"

"I do see something," said Eureka, in a dim and heavy voice. "It's just close to you on that table by the brandy."

Mr. Moses started, and cast a glance of awe at the tumbler.

"My word," he cried—"my word, mother! What's the blessed little symbol like? Not a pony fresh from Jerusalem for your believing boy!"

"You must wait a moment. It is not clear," replied Eureka, slowly and dreamily, fixing her heavy eyes on the brandy-and-soda. "It's all cloudy."

"Been imbibing, mother? Has the blessed little symbol been at it again? Briskin's shock—shocked!"

"It's getting clearer. It stands in a band of fire."

"Shade of Shadrach! Apparition of Abednego! Draw it mild and bitter, mother!"

"Ah! now it steps out. It's got a hump."

"Got the hump, mother? My word! then it must be either a camel or an undischarged bankrupt! Which is it, pretty soul?"

"It's a rhinoceros. It's moving to you."

"Yokohama, mother! Tell the pretty bird to keep back! What's it mean?"

"It's a sign of plenty."

"Plenty of what, mother? The ready or the nose-bag? Give us a chance!"

"Plenty of good fortune, because its head is towards you. If it had presented its tail, it would mean black weather."

"Don't let it turn tail, for Saturday's sake, mother. Keep its head straight while I finish the brandy!"

And so saying, little Mr. Moses, with elaborate furtiveness, caught up the tumbler, poured its contents down his throat, and threw himself back on the divan with the air of a man who had just escaped from peril by the consummate personal exercise of unparalleled and sustained ingenuity.

During this scene Miss Minerva had preserved her air of pronounced Scottish good sense, while listening attentively, and she now said to Eureka,—

"D'you see anything for Mr. Vivian, dear Eureka? Even the littlest thing would be welcomed."

Eureka stared upon the Prophet, who began to feel very nervous.

"There's something round his head," she remarked, with her usual almost sacred earnestness.

The Prophet mechanically put up his hands, like a man anxious to interfere with the assiduous attentions of a swarm of bees.

"Something right round his head."

"Is it a halo?" asked Miss Minerva.

"Is it a Lincoln & Bennet, mother?" cried Mr. Moses. "One of the shiny ones—twenty-one bob, and twenty-five-and-six if you want a kid lining?"

"No; it's like some sort of bird."

"'I heard the owl beneath my eaves complaining,'" chirped Mr. Moses, taking two or three high notes in a delicate tenor voice. "'I looked forth—great Scot! How it was raining!' Is it an owl, mother? Ask it to screech to Briskin."

"It is no owl," said Eureka to the Prophet. "It is a sparrow—your bird."

"Is it upon the housetop, mother, having a spree all on its little alone?"

"No; it is hovering over the gentleman."

"What does that mean?" said the Prophet, anxiously.

But at this point Eureka suddenly seemed to lose interest in the matter. "Oh, you're all right," she said carelessly. "I'm tired. I should like a wafer."

"Mother's peckish. Mother, I see an ostrich by your left elbow. That's a sign that you're so peckish you could swallow anything. Waiter!"

"Sir!"

"This lady's so peckish she could eat anything. Bring her some tin-tacks and a wafer. Stop a sec. Another brandy for Briskin. Your calves'd do for the front row; 'pon my word, they would. Trot, boy, trot!"

"I must speak to you alone for one moment," whispered the Prophet to Miss Minerva, under cover of the quips of Mr. Moses. "Sir Tiglath's coming!"

Miss Minerva started.

"Sir Tig—" she exclaimed and put her finger to her lips just in time to stop the "lath" from coming out. "Mr. Moses, I'm going to the buffet for a moment with Mr. Vivian. Eureka, darling, do eat something substantial! All this second sight takes it out of you."

Eureka acquiesced with a heavy sigh, Mr. Moses cried, "Aunt Eureka's so hungry that one would declare she could even eat oats if she found they were there!" and Miss Minerva and the Prophet moved languidly towards the buffet, endeavouring, by the indifference of their movements, to cover the agitation in their hearts.

"Sir Tiglath coming here!" cried Miss Minerva under her breath, as soon as they were out of earshot. "But he doesn't know Mrs. Bridgeman!"

"I know—but he's coming. And not only that, Mr. and Madame Sagittarius are here already!"

Miss Minerva looked closely at the Prophet in silence for a moment. Then she said,—

"I see—I see!"

"What?" cried the Prophet, in great anxiety, "not the sparrow on my head?"

"No. But I see that you're taking to your double life in real earnest."

"I?"

"Yes. Now, Mr. Vivian, that's all very well, and you know I'm the last person to complain of anything of that sort, so long as it doesn't get me into difficulties."

"Think of the difficulties you and everyone else have got me into," ejaculated the poor Prophet, for once in his life stepping, perhaps, a hair's-breadth from the paths of good breeding.

"Well, I'm sure I've done nothing."

"Nothing!" said the Prophet, losing his head under the influence of the guitars, which were now getting under way in a fantasia on "Carmen." "Nothing! Why, you made me come here, you insisted on my introducing Mr. Sagittarius to Mrs. Bridgeman, you told Sir Tiglath Mrs. Bridgeman and I were old friends and had made investigations together, assisted by Mr. Sagittarius, you—"

"Oh, well, that's nothing. But Sir Tiglath mustn't see me here as Miss Minerva. Has he arrived yet?"

"I don't think so. He's got the cab we had yesterday and the horse."

"The one that tumbles down so cleverly when it's not too tired? Capital! Run to the cloak-room, meet Sir Tiglath there, and persuade him to go home."

But here the Prophet struck.

"I regret I can't," he said, almost firmly.

"But you must."

"I regret sincerely that I am unable."

"Why? Mr. Vivian, when a lady asks you!"

"I am grieved," said the Prophet, with a species of intoxicated obstinacy—the guitars seemed to be playing inside his brain and the flute piping in the small of his back,—"to decline, but I cannot contend physically with Sir Tiglath, a man whom I reverence, in the cloak-room of a total stranger."

"I don't ask you to contend physically."

"Nothing but personal violence would keep Sir Tiglath from coming in."

"Really! Then what's to be done?"

She pursed up her sensible lips and drew down her sensible eyebrows.

"I know!" she cried, after a moment's thought. "I'll masquerade to-night as myself."

"As yourself?"

"Yes. All these dear silly people here think that I've got an astral body."

"What's that?"

"A sort of floating business—a business that you can set floating."

"What—a company?"

"No, no. A replica of yourself. The great Towle—"

"He's here to-night."

"I knew he was coming. Well, the great Towle detached this astral body once at a seance and, for a joke—a silly joke, you know—"

"Yes, yes."

"I christened it by my real name, Lady Enid Thistle, and said Lady Enid was an ancestress of mine."

"Why did you?"

"Because it was so idiotic."

"I see."

"Well, I've only now to spread a report among these dear creatures that I'm astral to-night, and get Towle to back me up, and I can easily be Lady Enid for an hour or two. In this crowd Sir Tiglath need never find out that I'm generally known in these circles as Miss Partridge."

"Do you really think—"

"Yes, I do. But I must find Towle at once."

So saying she hastened away from the buffet, followed by the trotting Prophet. As she passed Eureka and Mr. Moses, she said,—

"Eureka, darling, do I look odd? I suddenly began to feel astral just as I was going to eat a sandwich. I can't help thinking that Lady Enid—you know, my astral ancestress, who's always with me—is peculiarly powerful to-night. D'you notice anything?"

"Watch out for it, mother!" cried Mr. Moses. "See if it's got the lump."

Eureka fixed her heavy eyes on Miss Minerva and swayed her thin body to and fro in as panther-like a manner as she could manage.

"Mother's after it," continued Mr. Moses, twitching his left ear with his thumb in a Hebraic manner and shooting his shining cuffs; "mother's on the trail. Doves for a bishop and the little mangel-wurzel for the labouring man. Clever mother! She'll take care it's suitable. Is it a haggis, mother, hovering over the lady with outspread wings?"

Eureka closed her eyes and rocked herself more violently.

"I see you," she said in a deep voice. "You are astral. You are Lady Enid emerged for an hour from our dear Minerva."

"I thought so," cried Lady Enid, with decision. "I thought so, because when someone called me Miss Minerva just now I felt angry, and didn't seem to know what they meant. Tell them, dear Eureka,—tell all my friends of your discovery."

And she hastened on with the Prophet in search of the great Towle.

"I'll get him to back Eureka up, and then it will be quite safe," she said. "Ah! there he is with Harriet Browne, the demonstrator from the Rye."

Indeed, at this moment a small crowd was visible in one of the further drawing-rooms, moving obsequiously along in reverent attendance upon the great Towle, Mrs. Bridgeman and a thickset, red-faced lady, without a waist and plainly clad in untrimmed linsey-wolsey, who was speaking authoritatively to a hysterical-looking young girl, upon whose narrow shoulder she rested a heavy, fat-fingered hand as she walked.

"Harriet's evidently going to demonstrate," added Lady Enid. "That's lucky, because then I can get a quiet word with Towle."

"Demonstrate?" said the Prophet.

"Yes. She's the great Christian Scientist and has the healing power. She demonstrated over Agatha Marshall's left ear. You know. The case got into the papers. Ah, Harriet, darling!"

"My blessing! My Minerva!" said Harriet in a thick and guttural voice.

"Lady Enid, Harriet love, to-night. Eureka says I'm astral. Oh, Mr. Towle, what an honour to meet you—what an honour for us all!"

The great Towle ducked and scraped in cabman fashion.

"Oh, will you materialise for us to-night?"

"Yes, yes," cried Mrs. Bridgeman, trembling with excitement. "He's promised to after supper. He says he feels less material then—more en rapport with the dear spirits."

"How delightful! Mr. Towle, tell me, do you agree with Eureka? I await your fiat. Am I astral?"

"Ay, miss, as like as not," said the great man, twisting his lips as if they held a straw between them. "Astral, that's it. That's it to a T."

"Then I'm Lady Enid Thistle, my ancestress, who's always with me?"

"Ay, ay! Every bit of her. Her ladyship to a T."

The company was much impressed, and whispers of "It's Lady Enid; Eureka and Mr. Towle say it's her ladyship in the astral plane!" flew like wildfire through the rooms.

At this point Harriet Browne, who was sufficiently Christian and scientific to like to have all the attention of the company centred upon her, cleared her throat loudly and exclaimed,—

"If I am to heal this poor sufferer, I must be provided with an armchair."

"An armchair for Mrs. Browne!"

"Fetch a chair for Harriet!"

"Mrs. Harriet can't demonstrate without a chair!"

"What is she going to do?" whispered the Prophet to Lady Enid, feeling thoroughly ashamed of his ignorance.

"Demonstrate."

"Yes, but what's that?"

"Put her hands over that girl and think about her."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"Does she do it out of kindness?"

"Of course. But she's paid something, not because she wants to be paid, but because it's the rule."

"Oh!"

An armchair was now wheeled forward, and Mrs. Harriet ensconced herself in it comfortably.

"I'm very tired to-night," she remarked in her thick voice. "I've had a hard afternoon."

"Poor darling!" cried Mrs. Bridgeman. "Fetch a glass of champagne for Mrs. Harriet somebody. Oh, would you, Mr. Brummich?"

Mr. Brummich, a gentleman with a remarkably foolish, ascetic face and a feebly-wandering sandy beard, was just about to hasten religiously towards the Moorish nook when the great Towle happened, by accident, to groan. Mrs. Bridgeman, started and smiled.

"Oh, and a glass of champagne for Mr. Towle, too, dear Mr. Brummich!"

"Certainly, Mrs. Bridgeman!" said dear Mr. Brummich, hurrying off with the demeanour of the head of an Embassy entrusted with some important mission to a foreign Court.

"Were you at work this afternoon, Harriet, beloved?" inquired Mrs. Bridgeman of Mrs. Browne, who was leaning back in the armchair with her eyes closed and in an attitude of severe prostration.

"Yes."

"Which was it, lovebird? Hysteric Henry?"

"No, he's cured."

Cries of joy resounded from those gathered about the chair.

"Hysteric Henry's cured!"

"Henry's better!"

"The poor man with the ball in his throat's been saved!"

"How wonderful you are, Harriet, sweet!" cried Mrs. Bridgeman. "But, then which was it?"

"The madwoman at Brussels. I've been thinking about her for two hours this afternoon, with only a cup of tea between."

"Poor darling! No wonder you're done up! Ought you to demonstrate? Ah! here's the champagne!"

"I take it merely as medicine," said Mrs. Harriet.

At this moment, Mr. Brummich, flushed with assiduity, burst into the circle with a goblet of beaded wine in either hand. There was a moment of solemn silence while Mrs. Harriet and the great Towle condescended to the Pommery. It was broken only by a loud gulp from the hysterical-looking girl who was, it seemed, nervously affected by an imitative spasm, and who suddenly began to swallow nothing with extreme persistence and violence.

"Look at that poor misguided soul!" ejaculated Mrs. Harriet, with her lips to the Pommery. "She fancies she's drinking!"

The poor, misguided soul, yielded again to her distraught imagination, amid the pitiful ejaculations of the entire company, with the exception of one mundane, young man who, suddenly assailed by the wild fancy that he wasn't drinking, crept furtively to the Moorish rook, and was no more seen.

"Give her a cushion!" continued Mrs. Harriet, authoritatively.

"Mr. Brummich!" said Mrs. Bridgeman.

Mr. Brummich ran, and returned with a cushion.

"Sit down, poor thing! Sit at my feet!" said Mrs. Harriet, giving the hysterical-looking girl a healing push.

The girl subsided in a piteous heap, and Mrs. Harriet, who had by this time taken all her medicine, leant over her and inquired,—

"Where d'you feel it?"

The girl put her hands to her head.

"Here," she said feebly. "It's like fire running over me and drums beating."

"Fire and drums!" announced Mrs. Harriet to the staring assembly. "That's what she's got, poor soul!"

Ejaculations of sympathy and horror made themselves heard.

"Drums! How shocking!" cried Mrs. Bridgeman. "Can you cure even drums, Harriet, my own?"

"Give me ten minutes, Catherine! I ask but that!"

And, so saying, Mrs. Harriet planted her fat hands upon the head of the young patient, closed her eyes and began to breathe very hard.

Silence now fell upon the people, who said not a word, but who could not prevent themselves from rustling as they pressed about this exhibition of a latter-day apostle. The Prophet and Lady Enid were close to the armchair, and the Prophet, who had never before been present at any such ceremony—it was accompanied by the twenty guitars, now tearing out the serenade, "From the bull-ring I come to thee!"—was so interested that he completely forgot Mr. and Madame Sagittarius, and lost for the moment all memory of Sir Tiglath. The silly life engrossed him. He had no eyes for anyone but Mrs. Harriet, who, as she leaned forward in the chair with closed eyes, looked like a determined middle-aged man about to offer up the thin girl on the footstool as a burnt sacrifice.

"You're better now, poor thing," said Mrs. Harriet, after five minutes has elapsed. "You're feeling much better?"

"Oh, no, I'm not!" said the girl, shaking her head under the hands of the demonstrator. "The fire's blazing and the drums are beating like anything."

Mrs. Harriet's hue deepened, and there was a faint murmur of vague reproof from the company.

"H'sh!" said the demonstrator, closing her hands upon the patient's head with some acrimony. "H'sh!"

And she began to breathe hard once more. Another five minutes elapsed, and then Mrs. Harriet exclaimed with decision,—

"There! It's gone now, all gone! I've sent it right away. The fire's out and the drums have stopped beating!"

Exclamations of wonder and joy rose up from the spectators. They were, however, a trifle premature, for the hysterical girl—who was, it seemed, a person of considerable determination, despite her feeble appearance—replied from the footstool,—

"No, it isn't. No they haven't!"

Mrs. Harriet developed a purple shade.

"Nonsense!" she said. "You're cured, love, entirely cured!"

"I'm not," said the girl, beginning to cry. "I feel much worse since you pressed my head."

There was a burst of remonstrance from the crowd, and Mrs. Harriet, speaking with the air of an angry martyr, remarked,—

"It's just like the drinking—she fancies she isn't cured when she is, just the same as she fancied she was drinking when she wasn't."

This unanswerable logic naturally carried conviction to everyone present, and the hysterical girl was warmly advised to make due acknowledgement of the benefits received by her at the healing hands of Mrs. Harriet, while the latter was covered with compliments and assiduously conducted towards the buffet, escorted by the great Towle.

"Isn't she wonderful?" said Mrs. Bridgeman, turning ecstatically to the person nearest to her, who happened to be the saturnine little clergyman. "Isn't she marvellous, Mr.—er—Mr. Segerteribus?"

"Biggle!" cried the little clergyman.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Biggle!" vociferated the little clergyman. "Biggle!"

"Certainly. Did you ever see anything like that cure? Ah! you ought to preach about dear Harriet, Mr. Segerteribus, you really—"

"Biggle!" reiterated the little clergyman, excitedly. "Biggle! Biggle!"

"What does he—" began Mrs. Bridgeman, turning helplessly towards the Prophet.

"It's his name, I fancy," whispered the Prophet.

Mrs. Bridgeman started and smiled.

"Mr. Biggle," she said.

The little clergyman moved on towards the guitars with all the air of a future colonial bishop. Mrs. Bridgeman, who seemed to be somewhat confused, and whose manner grew increasingly vague as the evening wore on, now said to those nearest to her,—

"There are fifteen tables set out—yes, set out,—in the green boudoir."

"Bedad!" remarked an Irish colonel, "then it's meself'll enjoy a good rubber."

"For table-turning," added Mrs. Bridgeman. "Materialisation in the same room after supper. Mr. Towle—yes—will enter the cabinet at about eleven. Where's Madame Charlotte?"

"Looking into the crystal for Lady Ferrier," said someone.

"Oh, and the professor?"

"He's reading Archdeacon Andrew's nose, by the cloak-room."

Mrs. Bridgeman sighed.

"It seems to be going off quite pleasantly," she said vaguely to the Prophet. "I think—perhaps—might I have a cup of tea?"

The Prophet offered his arm. Mrs. Bridgeman took it. They walked forward, and almost instantly came upon Sir Tiglath Butt, who, with a face even redder than usual, was rolling away from the hall of the guitars, holding one enormous hand to his ear and snorting indignantly at the various clairvoyants, card-readers, spiritualists and palmists whom he encountered at every step he took. The Prophet turned pale, and Lady Enid, who was just behind him, put on her most sensible expression and moved quickly forward.

"Ah, Sir Tiglath!" she said. "How delightful of you to come! Catherine, dear, let me introduce Sir Tiglath Butt to you. Sir Tiglath Butt—Mrs. Vane Bridgeman."

Mrs. Bridgeman behaved as usual.

"So glad!" she said. "So enchanted! Just a few interesting people. So good of you to come. Table-turning is—"

At this moment Lady Enid nipped her friend's arm, and Sir Tiglath exclaimed, looking from Mrs. Bridgeman to the Prophet,—

"What, madam? So you're the brain and eye, eh? Is that it?"

The guitars engaged in "The Gipsies of Granada are wild as mountain birds," and Mrs. Bridgeman looked engagingly distraught, and replied,—

"Ah, yes, indeed! The brain and I, Sir Tiglath; so good of you to say so!"

"You prompted his interest in the holy stars?" continued Sir Tiglath, speaking very loud, and still stopping one ear with his hand. "You drove him to the telescope; you told him to clear the matter up, did you?"

"What matter?" said Mrs. Bridgeman, trying not to look as stupid as she felt, but only with moderate success.

"Say the oxygen, darling," whispered Lady Enid in one of her ears.

"Say the oxygen!" hissed the Prophet into the other.

"The occiput?" said Mrs. Bridgeman, hearing imperfectly. "Oh, yes, Sir Tiglath, I told him,—I told Mr. Biggle—to make quite sure—yes, as to the occiput matter."

The saturnine little clergyman, who was again in motion near by, caught his name and stopped, as Sir Tiglath, roaring against "The Gipsies of Granada," continued,—

"And your original adviser was Mr. Sagittarius, was he?"

On hearing a word she understood, Mrs. Bridgeman brightened up, and, perceiving the little clergyman, she answered,—

"Mr. Sagittarius—ah, yes! Sir Tiglath is speaking of you, Mr. Sagittarius."

The little clergyman turned almost black in the face.

"Biggle!" he exclaimed, in a voice of thunder. "Biggle! Biggle!"

And, without further parley, he rushed to the cloak-room, seized someone else's hat and coat, and fared forth into the night. Lady Enid, who had meant to coach Mrs. Bridgeman very carefully for the meeting with Sir Tiglath, but whose plans were completely upset by the astronomer's premature advent, now endeavoured to interpose.

"By the way," she said, in a very calm voice, "where is dear Mr. Sagittarius? I haven't seen him yet."

"I'm afraid he's angry with me," said Mrs. Bridgeman, alluding to the little clergyman. "I really can't think why."

"Sir Tiglath," said Lady Enid, boldly taking the astronomer's arm. "Come with me. I want you to find Mr. Sagittarius for me. Yes, they do make rather a noise!"

This was in allusion to the guitars, for the astronomer had now placed both hands over his ears in the vain endeavour to exclude "The Gipsies." Deafness, perhaps, rendered him yielding. In any case, he permitted Lady Enid to detach him from Mrs. Bridgeman and to lead him through the rooms in search of Mr. Sagittarius.

"Perhaps he's here," said Lady Enid, entering a darkened chamber. "Oh, no!"

And she hastily moved away, perceiving a large number of devoted adherents of table-tapping busily engaged, with outspread fingers and solemn faces, at their intellectual pursuit. Avoiding the archdeacon, who was now having his nose read by the professor, she conducted the astronomer, rendered strangely meek by the guitars, into a drawing-room near the hall, in which only four people remained—Verano and Mrs. Eliza Doubleway, who were conferring in one corner, and Mr. and Madame Sagittarius, who were apparently having rather more than a few words together in another.

"Ah! there's Mr. Sagittarius!" said Lady Enid.

"Minnie!" cried Mrs. Eliza, beckoning to Lady Enid. "Minnie, ducky!"

Lady Enid pretended not to hear and tried to hasten with the astronomer towards the Sagittariuses. But Mrs. Eliza was not to be put off.

"Minnie, my pet!" she piped. "Come here, Minnie!"

Lady Enid was obliged to pause.

"What is it, dear Eliza?" she asked, at the same time making a face at the soothsayer to indicate caution.

Mrs. Eliza and Verano rose and approached Lady Enid and the astronomer.

"I was laying the cards last night at Jane Seaman's—you know, dear, the Angel Gabriel who lives on the Hackney Downs—and whatever do you think? The hace of spades came up three times in conjugation with the Knave of 'earts!"

"Terrific! Very great!" buzzed Verano, with a strong South American Irish brogue—a real broth of a brogue.

"Wonderful!" said Lady Enid, hastily, endeavouring to pass on.

"Wait a minute, darling. Well, I says to Jane—I was laying the cards for her 'usband, dear—I says to Jane, I says, without doubt Hisaac is about to pass over, I says, seeing the red boy's come up in conjugation with the hace. 'Lord! Mrs. Eliza! Lay them out again,' she says, 'for,' she says, 'if Hike is going to pass over,' she says—"

"Extraordinary, dear Mrs. Eliza! You're a genius!" cried Lady Enid in despair.

"Tremendous! Very big!" buzzed Verano, staring at Sir Tiglath. "You got a very spatulate hand there, sir! Allow me!"

And to Lady Enid's horror he seized the astronomer's hand with both his own.

"How dare you tamper with the old astronomer, sir?" roared Sir Tiglath. "Am I in a madhouse? Who are all these crazy Janes! Drop my hand, sir!"

Verano obeyed rather hastily, and Lady Enid convoyed the spluttering astronomer towards the corner which contained Mr. and Madame Sagittarius.

Now these worthies were in a mental condition of a most complicated kind. The reception at Zoological House had upset in an hour the theories and beliefs of a lifetime. Hitherto Madame had always been filled with shame at the thought that she was not the wife of an architect but of a prophet, and Mr. Sagittarius had endeavoured to assume the mein and costume of an outside broker, and had dreamed dreams of retiring eventually from a hated and despised profession. But now they found themselves in a magnificent mansion in which the second-rate members of their own tribe were worshipped and adored, smothered with attentions, plied with Pommery and looked upon as gods, while they, in their incognito, were neglected, and paid no more heed to than if they had been, in reality, mere architects and outside brokers, totally unconnected with that mysterious occult world which is the fashion of the moment.

This position of affairs had, not unnaturally, thrown then into a condition of the gravest excitement. Madame, more especially, had reached boiling point. Feeling herself, for the first time, an Imperial creature in exile, who had only to declare herself to receive instant homage and to be overwhelmed with the most flattering attentions, her lust of glory developed with alarming rapidity, and she urged her husband to cast the traditions that had hitherto guided him to the winds and to declare forthwith his identity with Malkiel the Second, the business-like and as it were official head of the whole prophetic tribe.

Mr. Sagittarius, for his part, was also fired with the longing for instant glory, but he was by nature an extremely timid—or shall we say rather, an extremely prudent—man. He remembered the repeated injunctions of his great forebear who had lived and died in the Susan Road beside the gasworks. More, he remembered Sir Tiglath Butt. He was torn between ambition and terror.

"Declare yourself, Jupiter!" cried Madame. "Declare yourself this moment!"

"My love!" replied Mr. Sagittarius. "My angel, we must reflect."

"I have reflected," retorted Madame.

"There are difficulties, my dear, many difficulties in the way."

"And what if there are? Per augustum ad augustibus. Every fool knows that."

"My dear, you are a little hard upon me."

"And what have you been upon me, I should like to know? What about those goings-on with the woman Bridgeman? What about your investigations with that hussy Minerva? You've been her owl, that's what you've been!"

She began to show grave symptoms of hysteria. Mr. Sagittarius patted her hands in great anxiety.

"My love, I have told you, I have sworn—"

"And what man doesn't swear whenever he gets the chance?" cried Madame. "Why did I ever marry? Heu miserum me."

"My angel, be calm. I assure you—"

"Very well then, declare yourself, Jupiter, this minute, or I'll declare yourself for you!"

"But, my love, think of Sir Tiglath! I dare not declare myself. He will be here at any moment, and he has sworn to kill me, if I'm not an American syndicate!"

"Rubbish!"

"But, my—"

"Rubbish! That's only what Mr. Vivian says."

"Well, but—"

"Besides, you can put on your toga virilibus and knock him down. It's no use talking to me, Jupiter."

"I know it isn't, my darling, I know. But—"

"If you don't declare yourself I shall declare yourself for you this very moment. I will not endure to be left in the corner while all these nobodies are being truckled to. Bernard Wilkins, indeed! A prophet we wouldn't so much as recognise to be a prophet, and that there Mrs. Eliza—people from the Wick going down to supper in front of us, and a man from the Butts put before you! It's right down disgusting, and I won't have it."

It was exactly at this point in the matrimonial conference that Lady Enid and Sir Tiglath Butt, shaking themselves free of Mrs. Eliza and Verano, bore down upon Mr. and Madame Sagittarius, who were so busily engaged in disputation that they did not perceive that anyone was near until Lady Enid touched Mr. Sagittarius upon the arm.

That gentleman started violently and, on perceiving Sir Tiglath Butt, who was positively sputtering with wrath at the palmistic attentions paid to him by Verano, shrank against his wife, who pushed him vigorously from her, and, getting upon her feet, announced in a loud voice,—

"Very well, Jupiter, since you won't declare yourself I shall go at once to the woman Bridgeman and declare yourself for you!"

And with this remark she scowled at Lady Enid and walked majestically away, tossing her head vehemently at Mrs. Eliza and Verano as she swept into the adjoining drawing-room.

"Dear me," said Lady Enid, with great curiosity. "Dear me, Mr. Sagittarius, is your wife going to make a declaration? This is most interesting!"

And, moved by her besetting idiosyncrasy, she added to the astronomer, "Excuse me," Sir Tiglath, "I'll be back in one moment!" and glided swiftly away in the wake of Madame, leaving Mr. Sagittarius and his deadliest foe tete-a-tete.

"Is this a madhouse, sir?" cried Sir Tiglath, on being thus abandoned. "The old astronomer demands to know at once if one is, or is not, in a vast madhouse?"

"I don't know, sir, indeed," replied Mr. Sagittarius. "I should not like to express an opinion on the point. If you will excu—"

"Sir, the old astronomer will not excuse you," roared Sir Tiglath, forcibly preventing Mr. Sagittarius, who was pale as ashes, from escaping into the farther room. "He will not be run away from by everybody in this manner."

"I beg pardon, sir, I had no intention of running away," said Mr. Sagittarius, making one last despairing effort to assume his toga virilibus.

"Then why did you do it, sir? Tell the old astronomer that!" cried Sir Tiglath, seizing him by the arm. "And tell him, moreover, what you and the old female Bridgeman have been about together?"

"Nothing, sir; I swear that Mrs. Bridgeman and myself have never—"

"Never made investigations into the possibility of there being oxygen in many of the holy stars? Do you affirm that, sir?"

"I do!" cried Mr. Sagittarius. "I am an outside broker."

"Do you affirm that you are no astronomer, sir? Do you declare that you are not a man of science?"

"I do! I do!"

"Not an astronomer of remarkable attainments, but very modest and retiring withal? Oh-h-h!"

"Modest and retiring, sir?" cried Mr. Sagittarius, suddenly illumined by a ray of hope. "That's just it! I am a modest and retiring outside broker, sir."

And he violently endeavoured to prove the truth of the words by escaping forthwith into obscurity.

"There never was a modest and retiring outside broker!" bellowed Sir Tiglath. "There never was, and there never will be. The old—"

"What's that?" interrupted Mr. Sagittarius. "Whatever's that?"

For at this moment an extraordinary hum of voices made itself audible above the fifty guitars, and a noise of many feet trampling eagerly upon Mrs. Bridgeman's parquet grew louder and louder in the brilliant rooms. Attracted by the uproar, Sir Tiglath paused for a moment, still keeping his hand upon the lapel of Mr. Ferdinand's coat, however. The noise increased. It was evident that a multitude of people was rapidly approaching. Words uttered by the moving guests, exclamations, and ejaculations of excitement now detached themselves from the general murmur.

"The Prophet from the Mouse!"

"The great Malkiel here!"

"The founder of the almanac!"

"The greatest Prophet of the age!"

"Malkiel the Second from the Mouse!"

"Where is Malkiel?"

"We must find Malkiel!"

"We must see Malkiel!"

"Is it really Malkiel?"

"Oh, is it the Malkiel? Where—where is Malkiel?"

Such cries as these broke upon the ears of the astronomer and Mr. Sagittarius.

Sir Tiglath grew purple.

"Malkiel who has insulted the holy stars here!" he roared, letting go of Mr. Sagittarius. "Where—where is he?"

"In there, sir, I verily believe!" cried Mr. Sagittarius, pointing in the direction of the crowd with a hand that shook like all the leaves in Vallombrosa.

"Let me find him!" shouted the astronomer. "Let me only discover him! I'll break every bone in his accursed body."

And with this rather bald statement he rolled out of the room in one direction, while Mr. Sagittarius, without more ado, cast aside his toga virilibus and darted out of it into another, just as Madame escorted by Mrs. Bridgeman, Lady Enid, the great Towle and the whole of the company assembled at Zoological House, appeared majestically—and proceeding as an Empress—in the aperture of the main doorway.



CHAPTER XIX

MRS. MERILLIA HEATS THE POKER

When Mr. Sagittarius, running at his fullest speed, emerged from Zoological House, wearing the hat and coat that the saturnine little clergyman had left behind him, the night was damp and gusty. As he hastened down the drive, and the sound of twenty guitars, playing "Oh would I were a Spaniard among you lemon groves!" died away in the lighted mansion behind him, he heard the roaring of the beasts in the gardens close by. In the wet darkness it sounded peculiarly terrific. He shuddered, and, holding up Mr. Ferdinand's trousers with both hands, hurried onward through the mire, whither he knew not. His only thought was that all was now discovered and that his life was in danger. A woman's vanity had wrecked his future. He must hide somewhere for the night, and get away in the morning, perhaps on board some tramp steamer bound for Buenos Ayres, or on a junk weighing anchor for Hayti or Java, or some other distant place. Vague memories of books he had read when a boy came back to him as he ran through the unkempt wilds of the Regent's Park. He saw himself a stowaway hidden in a hold, alone with rats and ships' biscuits. He saw himself working his way out before the mast, sent aloft in hurricanes on pitch-black nights, or turning the wheel the wrong way round and bringing the ship to wreck upon iron-bound coasts swarming with sharks and savages. The lions roared again, and the black panthers snarled behind their prison bars. He thought of the peaceful waters of the river Mouse, of the library of Madame, of the happy little circle of architects and their wives, of all that he must leave.

What wonder if he dropped a tear into the muddy road? What wonder if a sob rent the bosom of Mr. Ferdinand's now disordered shirt front? On and on Mr. Sagittarius—or Malkiel the Second, as he may from henceforth be called—went blindly, on and on till the Park was left behind, till crescents gave way to squares, and squares to streets. He passed an occasional policeman and slunk away from the penetrating bull's-eye. He heard now and then the far-off rattle of a cab, the shrill cry of a whistle, the howl of a butler summoning a vehicle, the coo of a cook bidding good-night to the young tradesman whom she loved before the area gate. And all these familiar London sounds struck strangely on his ear. When would he hear them again? Perhaps never. He stumbled on blinded with emotion.

Dogs, we know are guided by a strange instinct to find their homes even by unfamiliar paths. Pigeons will fly across wide spaces and drop down to the wicker cage that awaits them. And it would appear that prophets are not without a certain faculty that may be called topographical. For how else can the following fact be explained? Malkiel the Second, after apparently endless wandering, found himself totally unable to proceed further. His legs gave way beneath him. His breath failed. His brain swam. He reeled, stretched forth his hands and clutched at the nearest support. This chanced to be a railing, wet, slimy, cold. He grasped it, leaned against it, and for a few moments remained where he was in a sort of trance. Then, gradually, full consciousness returned. He glanced up and beheld the black garden of a square. Somehow it looked familiar. He seemed to know those shadowy, leafless trees, the roadway between him and them, even the pavement upon which his boots—his own boots—were set. His lack-lustre eyes travelled to the houses that bordered the square, then to the house against whose area railings he was leaning, and he started with amazement. For he was in Berkeley Square, leaning against the railing of number one thousand. He gazed up at the windows. One or two faint lights twinkled. Then perhaps the household had not yet retired for the night. An idea seized him. He must rest. He must snatch a brief interval of repose, before starting for the docks at dawn to find a ship in whose hold he could seek seclusion, till the great seas roared round her, and he could declare himself to the captain and crew without fear of being put ashore. Why not rest here in number one thousand? True, the Prophet would presently be returning possibly with Madame, but he would bribe Mr. Ferdinand not to mention his whereabouts. It was no doubt a very rash proceeding, but he was utterly exhausted, he felt that he could go no further, he found himself before an almost friendly door. What wonder then if he tottered up the steps and tapped feebly upon it? There was no answer. He tapped again more loudly. This time his summons was heard. Steps approached. There was a moment's pause. Then the door opened, and Gustavus appeared looking rather sleepy, but still decidedly intellectual. Malkiel the Second pulled himself together and faced the footman boldly.

"You know me?" he said.

Gustavus examined him closely.

"Yes, sir," he replied at length. "By the clothes. I should know Mr. Ferdinand's trouserings among a thousand."

Malkiel the Second realised that emotion probably rendered his face unrecognisable. But at least his legs spoke for him. That was something, and he continued, with an attempt at ease and boldness,—

"Right! I have returned to change them."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Ferdinand has retired to bed, sir."

"Don't wake him. I can just leave them for him."

"Very well, sir."

And Gustavus admitted Malkiel to the dimly-lit hall and shut the door softly.

"What is your name, young man?" said Malkiel, whispering.

"Gustavus, sir."

"Ah! Gustavus, would you like to earn a hundred pounds to-night?"

Gustavus started.

"I don't say as how I'd rather not, sir," he replied. "I don't go so far as to say that."

"Right! Do as I tell you and you will earn a hundred pounds."

The footman's eyes began to glow, almost like a cat's in the twilight.

"Why, I could buy the library near twelve times over," he murmured.

"The library?" said Malkiel, whose brain had suddenly become strangely clear.

"Ah, sir—Dr. Carter's," returned Gustavus, beginning to tremble.

"Dr. Carter's!" whispered Malkiel, excitedly. "I should think so. Eight guineas and a half, and you pay in instalments."

"I'll do it, sir," hissed Gustavus, utterly carried away by the prospect. "What d'you want me to do?"

"First to let me change my clothes quickly, then to hide me somewhere so as I can get a sleep till dawn. Call me directly it begins to get light and I shall be off to the docks."

"The docks, sir?"

"Ay. I start for—for Java to-morrow."

"Java, sir—what, where the sparrows and the jelly—"

"Ay, ay," returned Malkiel, secretly rehearsing his new nautical role.

"I'll do it sir. And the hundred?"

"I'll write you an order on my banker's. You can trust me. Now let me change my clothes. Quick!"

"They're in Mr. Vivian's bedroom, ain't they?"

Malkiel nodded.

"You must go very soft, sir, because of the old lady. She's abed, but she might be wakeful, specially to-night. She's been awful upset. My word, she has!"

"I'll go as soft as a mouse," whispered Malkiel. "Show me the way."

Gustavus advanced on tiptoe towards the staircase, followed by Malkiel, who held Mr. Ferdinand's clothes together lest they should rustle, and proceeded with the most infinite precaution. In this manner they gained the second floor and neared the bedroom door of Mrs. Merillia. Here Gustavus turned round, pointed to the door, and put his finger to his pouting lips, at the same time rounding his hazel eyes and shaking his powdered head in a most warning manner. Malkiel nodded, held Mr. Ferdinand's clothes tighter, and stole on, as he thought, without making a sound. What was his horror, then, just as he was passing Mrs. Merillia's door, to hear a voice cry,—

"Hennessey! Hennessey!"

Gustavus and Malkiel stopped dead, as if they had both been shot. They now perceived that the door was partially open, and that a faint light shone within the room.

"Hennessey!" cried the voice of Mrs. Merillia again. "Come in here. I must speak to you."

Gustavus darted on into the darkness of the Prophet's room, but Malkiel the Second was so alarmed that he stayed where he was, finding himself totally incapable of movement.

"Hennessey!" repeated the voice.

Then there was a faint rustling, the door was opened more widely, and Mrs. Merillia appeared in the aperture, clad in a most charming night bonnet, and robed in a dressing-gown of white watered silk.

"The ratcatcher!" she cried. "The ratcatcher!"

Malkiel turned and darted down the stairs, while Mrs. Merillia, in the extreme of terror, shut her door, locked it as many times as she could, and then hastened trembling to the bell which communicated with the faithful Mrs. Fancy, rang it, and dropped half fainting into a chair. Mrs. Fancy woke from her second dream just as Malkiel, closely followed by the now shattered Gustavus, reached the hall.

"Hide me! Hide me!" whispered Malkiel. "In here!"

And he darted into the servants' quarters, leaving Gustavus on the mat. Mrs. Merillia's other bell now pealed shrilly downstairs. Gustavus paused and pulled himself together. He was by nature a fairly intrepid youth, and moreover, he had recently made a close study of Carlyle's Heroes and Hero-worship, which greatly impressed him. He therefore resolved in this moment of peril to acquit himself in similar circumstances, and he remounted the stairs and reached Mrs. Merillia's door just as Mrs. Fancy, wrapped in a woollen shawl and wearing a pair of knitted night-socks, descended to the landing, candle in hand.

"Oh, Mr. Gustavus!" said Mrs. Fancy. "Is it the robbers again? Is it murder, Mr. Gustavus? Is it fire?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Fancy, I'll ask the mistress."

He tapped upon the door.

"You can't come in!" cried poor Mrs. Merillia, who was losing her head perhaps for the first time in her life. "You can't come in, and if you do I shall give you in charge to the police."

And she rang both her bells again.

"Ma'am!" said Gustavus, knocking once more. "Ma'am!"

"It's no use your knocking," returned Mrs. Merillia. "The door is bolted. Go away, go away!"

And again she rang her two bells.

"Madam!" piped Mrs. Fancy. "Madam! It's me!"

"I know," said Mrs. Merillia. "I know it's you! I saw you! Leave the house unless you wish to be at once put in prison."

Her bells pealed. Mrs. Fancy began to sob.

"Me to leave the house!" she wailed. "Me to go to prison!"

"Bear up, Mrs. Fancy, she doesn't know who it is!" said Gustavus. "Ma'am! Ma'am! Missis! Missis!"

"I am ringing," said Mrs. Merillia, in a muffled manner through the door. "I am summoning assistance! You will be captured if you don't go away."

And again she pealed her bells. This time, as she did so, the tingling of a third bell became audible in the silent house.

"Lord!" cried Gustavus, "if there isn't the hall door. It must be master. He left his key to-night. Here's a nice go!"

The three bells raised their piercing chorus. Mrs. Fancy sobbed, and Gustavus, after a terrible moment of hesitation, bounded down the hall. His instinct had not played him false. The person who had rung the bell was indeed the Prophet, who had basely slunk away from Zoological House, leaving Madame surrounded by her new and adoring friends.

"Thank you, Gustavus," he said, entering. "Take my coat, please. What's that?"

For Mrs. Merillia's bells struck shrilly upon his astonished ears.

"I think it's Mrs. Merillia, sir. She keeps on ringing."

"Mrs. Merillia. At this hour! Heavens! Is she ill?"

"I don't know, sir. She keeps ringing; but when I answer it she says, 'Go away!' she says. 'Go—' she says, sir."

"How very strange!"

And the Prophet bounded upstairs and arrived at his grandmother's door just in time to hear her cry out, in reply to poor Mrs. Fancy's distracted knocking,—

"If you try to break in you will be put in prison at once. I hear assistance coming. I hear the police. Go away, you wicked, wicked man!"

"Grannie!" cried the Prophet through the keyhole. "Grannie, let me in! Grannie! Grannie! Don't ring! Grannie! Grannie!"

But Mrs. Merillia was now completely out of herself, and her only response to her grandson's appeal was to place her trembling fingers upon the two bells, and to reply, through their uproar,—

"It is useless for you to say that. I know who you are. I saw you. I shall go on ringing as long as I can stand. I shall die ringing, but I shall never let you in. Go away! Go away!"

"What does she mean?" cried the Prophet, turning to Gustavus.

"I don't know indeed, sir," replied the footman, thinking of Mr. Carter's library. "I couldn't say indeed, sir."

"Oh, my poor missis!" wailed Mrs. Fancy, trembling in her night-socks. "Oh, my poor dear missis! I can't speak different nor mean other. Oh, missis, missis!"

"Hush, Fancy!" said the Prophet, in the greatest distraction. "Grannie! Grannie!"

And seizing the handle of the door he shook it violently. Mrs. Merillia was now very naturally under the impression that the ratcatcher was determined to break in and murder her without more ado. Extreme danger often seems to exercise a strangely calming influence upon the human soul. So it was now. Upon hearing her bedroom door quivering under the assault of the Prophet, Mrs. Merillia was abruptly invaded by a sort of desperate courage. She left the bells, tottered to the grate in which a good fire was blazing, seized the poker and thrust it between the bars and into the heart of the flames, at the same time crying out in a quavering but determined voice,—

"I am heating the poker! If you come in you will repent it. I am heating the poker!"

On hearing this remark, the Prophet desisted from his assault upon the door, overcome by the absolute conviction that his beloved grandmother was suffering from a pronounced form of homicidal mania. His affection prompted him to keep such a catastrophe secret as long as possible, and he therefore turned to Mrs. Fancy and Gustavus, and said hurriedly,—

"This is a matter for me alone. Mrs. Fancy, please go away at once. Gustavus, you will accompany Mrs. Fancy."

His manner was so firm, his face so iron in its determination, that Mrs. Fancy and Gustavus dared not proffer a word. They turned away and disappeared softly down the stairs, to wait the denouement of this tragedy in the hall below. Meantime the poker was growing red hot in the coals, and Mrs. Merillia announced to the supposed ratcatcher,—

"I can hear you—I hear you breathing—" (the Prophet endeavoured not to breathe). "I hear you rustling, but you can't touch me. The poker is red hot."

And she drew it smoking from the grate and approached the door, holding it in her delicate hand like a weapon.

"Grannie!" said the Prophet, making his voice as much like it generally was as he possibly could. "Dearest grannie!"

"I dare you to come in!" replied Mrs. Merillia, in an almost formidable manner. "I dare you to do it."

"I am not coming in, grannie," said the Prophet.

"Then go away!" said Mrs. Merillia. "Go away—and let me hear you going."

A sudden idea struck the Prophet. He did not say another word, but immediately walked downstairs, tramping heavily and shaking the wood balusters violently at every step he took. His ruse succeeded. Hearing the intruder depart, Mrs. Merillia's curious courage deserted her, she dropped the poker into the grate, and once more set both bells going with all her might and main. The Prophet let her ring for nearly five minutes, then he bounded once more upstairs and tapped very gently on the door.

"Grannie," he cried, "are you ringing? What is it?"

This time Mrs. Merillia recognised his voice, tottered to the door, unlocked it, and fell, trembling, into his anxious arms.

"Oh, Hennessey!" she gasped. "Oh—Hennessey!"

"Grannie, what is it? What on earth is the matter?"

"The ratcatcher! The ratcatcher!"

"The ratcatcher!" cried the Prophet.

"He has come back. He is here. He has been trying to break into my room."

"What ratcatcher?"

"The one that dined to-night—the one you called your old and—and valued—friend."

"Mr. Sagittarius?" exclaimed the Prophet.

"He is here."

"Here!"

"I have seen him. He has tried to murder me."

"I will look into this at once," said the Prophet.

He ran to the head of the stairs and called out,—

"Gustavus!"

"Sir!"

"Come up here at once."

Gustavus came, followed closely by Mrs. Fancy, who was in a state of abject confusion and alarm.

"Has Mr. Sagittarius returned here—the gentleman who dined to-night?" asked the Prophet.

Gustavus hesitated, thought of Dr. Carter's library, and replied,—

"No, sir."

"Has anybody entered the house?"

"No, sir."

"You have been up the whole evening?"

"Yes, sir."

"And nobody has been?"

"Nobody, sir."

"Grannie, you hear what Gustavus says."

"But, Hennessey, he is here; I saw him."

"Where?"

"By the door. I heard someone, and I thought it was you. I came to the door after calling you, and there he stood, all dirty and wet, with a huge hat on his head" (the saturnine little clergyman was largely blessed with brain), "and a most awful murderous expression on his face."

The Prophet began to suspect that his dear relative, upset by the tragic events of the dinner table, had gone to sleep and had the nightmare.

"Grannie, it must have been a dream."

"No, Hennessey, no."

"It must indeed. I left Mr. Sagittarius at Zoological House. I feel certain of that."

The Prophet spoke the honest truth. He fully believed that Mr. Sagittarius was at that very moment sharing in the triumph of his wife and receiving the worship of those who live the silly life.

"But I saw him, Hennessey," said Mrs. Merillia, adding rather unnecessarily, "with my own eyes."

"Grannie, darling, you must have been dreaming. At any rate, I'm here now. Nothing can hurt you. Go to bed. Fancy will stay with you, and I swear to you that no harm will happen to you so long as I am breathing."

With these noble words the Prophet kissed his grandmother tenderly, assisted Mrs. Fancy into the room, and walked downstairs quite determined that, come what might, whether he broke a thousand oaths or not, he would put an end forthwith to the tyranny of the couple from the Mouse and abandon for ever the shocking pursuit of prophecy.



CHAPTER XX

THE PROPHET RETIRES FROM BUSINESS

Exactly as the Prophet arrived at his resolution the hall door bell rang violently, and Gustavus, who had slipped down before the Prophet in order to seek the traveller to Java in the servants' quarters, hurried into the hall in rather a distracted manner.

"Stop, Gustavus!" said the Prophet.

Gustavus stopped. The bell rang again.

"Gustavus," said the Prophet, "if that is a visitor I am not at home. Mrs. Merillia is not at home either."

It was by this time between one and two in the morning.

"Not at home, sir. Yes, sir."

The Prophet concealed himself near the hat-rack, and Gustavus went softly to the door and opened it.

"Not at home, ma'am," the Prophet heard him say, formally.

"What d'you mean, young man?" replied the powerful voice of Madame. "Where is my husband?"

"Ma'am?"

"Where, I say, is my husband?"

"I couldn't say, I'm sure, ma'am. But Mrs. Merillia and Mr. Vivian are not at home."

"Then all I can say is they ought to be in at this time of night. Permit me to pass. Are you aware that Mr. Vivian has invited me to spend the night here? Noctes ambrosianes."

"But, ma'am, Mr. Viv—"

"That'll do. If I have any more of your impertinence I'll make you repent of it. You are evidently not aware who I am."

The Prophet, by the hat-rack, did not fail to hear a new note in the deep contralto of Madame, a note of triumph, a trumpet note of profound conceit. His heart sank before this determined music, and it sank even lower towards his pumps when, a moment later, he found himself confronted by the lady, wrapped closely in the rabbit-skins, and absolutely bulging with vanity and self-appreciation.

"What! Mr. Vivian!" began the lady.

"Hush!" said the Prophet, "for mercy's sake—hush!"

And, acting upon the impulse of the moment, he suddenly seized Madame by the hand, and hurried her through the swinging door into the servants' hall.

"Here's a go," murmured Gustavus in the greatest trepidation. "If they don't find the thin party I'm a josser."

Meanwhile the Prophet and Madame were standing face to face before the what-not of Gustavus.

"My grandmother is awake—that is asleep," said the Prophet. "We must not wake her on any account."

"Oh," returned Madame, with a toss of her head, "your grandmother seems to be a very fidgety old lady, I'm sure—although you do tell a parcel of lies about her."

"Lies!" said the Prophet, with some dignity.

"Yes—lies. She don't wear long clothes—"

"I beg your pardon!"

"She do not. She don't wear her hair down. She don't put her lips to the bottle. She don't. Where is Mr. Sagi—where is Malkiel the Second?"

"I have no idea. And now, Madame, I regret that I must conduct you to your carriage. The hour is late, my grandmother is seriously indisposed, and I myself need rest."

"Well, then, you can't have it," retorted the lady with authoritative spitefulness. "You can't have it, not till three o'clock."

"I beg your pardon!" said the Prophet, with trembling lips.

"What for?"

"I really regret that I must retire. Allow me—"

"I'll not allow you. Where is my husband? He's not at the Zoological Gardens."

"He has probably returned home."

"To the Mouse! Then he's a coward and an oath-breaker, and if Sir Tiglath was to catch him I shouldn't be sorry. Kindly lead me at once to the telescope. I will take his place. No one shall say that Madame Malkiel ever flinched at duty's call. Praesto et persistibus. Conduct me at once to the telescope."

"The telescope!" cried the Prophet. "What for?"

"Lawks!" cried Madame, with pronounced temper. "Did we not journey from the Mouse a-purpose to go practically into the mystery of the dressed Crab?"

"I really—I really cannot consent without a chaperon," began the Prophet.

"The wife of Malkiel the Second needs no chaperone," retorted Madame. "This night has altered my condition—I stand from henceforth far beyond the reach of etiquette. The world knows me now and will not dare to carp. Carpe dies."

During the foregoing colloquy her voice had become louder and louder, and the Prophet, dreading unspeakably lest his grandmother should be disturbed and affrighted once more, gave up the struggle, and, without more ado, conducted Madame into the butler's pantry in which the telescope still remained.

Meanwhile what had become of Malkiel the Second?

When Mrs. Merillia suddenly appeared before him in her night-bonnet and accused him of being a ratcatcher he had very naturally fled, his first impulse being to leave the house at once and continue his journey to the docks. But even a prophet is but mortal. Malkiel had passed through an eventful day followed by a still more eventful evening. His mind was completely exhausted. Even so, however, he might have continued upon his journey towards Java had not his legs prosaically shown signs of giving way under him just as he once more gained the hall. This decided him. He must have some short repose at whatever cost. He therefore pushed feebly at the nearest door, and found himself promptly in the apartment of the upper servants. Staggering to the what-not of Gustavus, he sank down upon it and fell into a melancholy reverie, from which he was roused by the constant tingling cry of Mrs. Merillia's second bell, which rang close to where he was reposing. He tried to start up, but failed, and it was only when the hall door bell, attacked by the Prophet, added its voice to its companion's that his terror lent him sufficient strength to flee very slowly into the inner fastnesses of this unknown region. There was a light in the servant's hall, but darkness lay beyond and Malkiel knew not whither he was penetrating. He barked his shins, but could not tell against what hard substance. He bruised his elbow, but could not know what piece of furniture had assailed it. On coming in contact with a dresser he saw a few sparks, but they speedily died out, and he was obliged to feel his way onward, till presently he came across a large leather chair in which Mrs. Merillia's cook was wont to sit while directing her subordinates at the basting machine. Into this he sank palpitating, and for a moment remained undisturbed. Then, to his horror, he heard in the adjoining room the strident voice of his loved and honoured wife apparently carrying on a decidedly vivacious argument with some person unknown. He bounded up. Possibly she was accompanied by Sir Tiglath, who must now be aware of his identity. In any case, her wrath at his scarcely chivalrous desertion of her in the house of a stranger would, he knew, be terrible. He dared not face it. He dared not allow his project of flight at dawn to be interfered with, as it certainly would be if he came across Madame. He therefore proceeded to flee once more. Nor did he pause until he had gained Mr. Ferdinand's pantry, where stood the telescope. Now, in this pantry there was a large cupboard in which were kept the very numerous and magnificent pieces of plate, etc., possessed by Mrs. Merillia; tall silver candelabra, standard lamps of polished bronze, richly-chased cups, gigantic vases for containing flowers, oriental incense holders upon stands of ebony, Spanish charcoal dishes of burnished brass, and other treasures far too numerous to mention. This cupboard was always carefully locked at night, but on this occasion Mr. Ferdinand, totally disorganised by the frightful scenes which had taken place at his dinner table during the evening, had retired to bed in a condition of collapse, leaving it open. Malkiel the Second, feeling frantically about in the dark, came upon the door of this cupboard, pulled it, found that it yielded to his hand, and, hearing the rapidly approaching voices of Madame and the Prophet, stumbled into the cupboard and sank down on a large gold loving-cup, with one foot in a silver soup tureen, and the other in a priceless sugar basin, just as the light of the candle borne by the Prophet glimmered in the darkness of the adjacent corridor.

"This way, Madame," said the Prophet. "But I really think such a proceeding is calculated to cause a grave scandal in the square."

Malkiel the Second drew the cupboard door to, and grasped a silver candelabrum in each hand to sustain himself upon the rather sharp rim of the loving-cup.

"What is the square to me or I to the square?" returned Madame with ungrammatical majesty. "Madame Malkiel is not governed by any ordinary laws. Lexes non scripta is her motto. To these alone she clings."

Her husband clung to the candelabra and burst into a violent perspiration. Through the keyhole of the cupboard a ray of light now shone, and he heard the frou-frou of his partner's skirt, the flump of the rabbit-skins as she cast them from her ample shoulders upon the floor. The Prophet's voice became audible again.

"What do you wish me to do?" he said, with a sort of embittered courtesy.

"Throw open the window, place yourself before the telescope, and proceed at once to your investigations," replied the lady.

"I am not in a condition to investigate," said the Prophet. "I am not indeed. If you will only let me get you a cab, to-morrow night—"

"It is useless to talk, Mr. Vivian," said Madame, very sharply. "The cab has not yet been made that will convey me to the Mouse to-night."

"But your husband—"

"My husband is a coward, unworthy of such a wife as he possesses. At the crisis of our fortunes—What's that?"

At this painful moment Malkiel the Second was so overcome by emotion, that he trembled, and allowed his left foot to rattle slightly on the sugar basin.

"What was it?" repeated Madame.

"Rats, I have no doubt," answered the Prophet, who had heard nothing. "I believe that the basements of these old houses are simply—well—simply permeated with rats."

For a moment Madame blanched, but she was a woman of spirit, and moreover she was almost intoxicated with ambition. Recognised at last as a lady of position and importance in one of the mansions of the idiotic great, she was more anxious than ever to remove forthwith into the central districts, there to exercise that sway which she had so long desired. Finding that there exists a world in which prophets—far from being considered as dirty and deceitful persons—are worshipped and adored, entertained with Pommery and treated almost as gods, she yearned to dwell in the midst of it. The peaceful seclusion of the Mouse was become hateful to her. The architects and their wives began to seem to her uplifted fancy little better than the circle that frequented Hagglin's Buildings, or appeared at the paltry entertainments given by the inhabitants of Drakeman's Villas. She was resolved to soar, and even rats should not turn her from her passionate purpose. Accordingly she replied,—

"Rats or no rats, I intend to see this matter out. Dixisti! The night wanes. Kindly go at once to the telescope."

The Prophet obeyed, first opening the window into the area. The rain had now cleared off, but the sky was still rather cloudy, and only a few stars peeped here and there.

"Really," said the Prophet, after applying his weary eye to the machine, "really I don't think it's any good, there are so very—"

"Have the goodness to place the old lady in the claws of the Crab, according to the directions of the coward who has deserted me."

Malkiel shook with shame upon the loving-cup.

"But I really can't find the Crab," said the Prophet, who was so tired that he could scarcely stand. "I can see the Great Bear."

"That is no use. The Bear has nothing to do with the old lady. You must find the Crab. Look again."

The Prophet did so. But his eye blinked with fatigue and the heavens swam before it.

"There is no Crab to-night," he said. "I assure you on my honour there is none."

Exactly as he finished making this statement a low whistle rang through the silence of the night. The Prophet started, Madame jumped, and Malkiel bounded on the loving-cup.

The whistle was repeated.

"It's the thing!" whispered the Prophet.

"What thing?" inquired Madame, who had become rather pale.

"The dark thing that told me the Crab was dressed. It has come again."

"My word!" ejaculated Madame, looking uneasily around. "Where is it?"

Just then Malkiel the Second's feet once more began to tremble among the plate of Mrs. Merillia.

"You hear it!" said the Prophet, much impressed.

"Did it rattle like that the other night?" gasped Madame, seizing the Prophet by the arm.

The Prophet told a lie with his head.

"Address it, I beg," said Madame, in a great state of excitement. "Meanwhile I will retire a few paces."

So saying, she backed into the passage, bearing the candle with her for company, and leaving the Prophet in total darkness. The low whistle sounded again, and a husky voice said,—

"Are you there?"

"Yes," replied the Prophet, summoning all his courage. "I am."

"What 'a' you put out the light for?" said the voice, which seemed to come from far away.

"I haven't put it out," returned the Prophet. "It's gone away."

At this juncture Malkiel, impelled by curiosity, ceased from trembling, and, leaning forward upon the loving-cup, glued his ear to the key-hole of the cupboard.

"Why was you so late to-night?" proceeded the voice. "She's been in a rare taking, I can tell you."

"Who?"

"Who? You know well enough."

"Do you mean my grandmother?"

"Your grandmother!" ejaculated the voice with apparent sarcasm. "Ah! of course, what do you think?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said the poor Prophet, whose reason was beginning to totter upon its throne.

"Well," proceeded the voice, "she thought you'd give it up."

"What—my grandmother did?"

"Ah, your grandmother. Get away with you! Ha! ha! ha!"

And the mysterious visitant broke forth into a peal of rather mundane laughter. After indulging in this unseemly mirth for about a minute and a half, the personage resumed,—

"The Crab did for her."

Upon hearing the mystic word Madame crept stealthily a pace or two nearer to the door, while the Prophet exclaimed,—

"The dressed Crab?"

"Ah, what do you think? Not a wink of sleep and thought every minute'd be 'er next."

"Good Heavens!"

"She says she'd never go near a crab again, not if it's ever so."

"You are sure?" said the Prophet, eagerly. "You are positive she said that?"

"I'd stake my Davy, and I wouldn't do that on everything. There ain't a man living as'll ever get her to go within fifty miles of a crab this side of Judgment."

At this point in the colloquy the curiosity of Madame overcame her, and she protruded her head suddenly beyond the edge of the doorway.

"Ulloh!" exclaimed the voice. "Why, what's 'a' you got there?"

Madame hastily withdrew, and the voice continued,—

"Blessed if it ain't a female!"

"I beg your pardon!" said the Prophet, trembling with propriety. "I—I—there is no female here!"

"Yes there is!" cried the voice, with a chuckle. "There's a female creeping and crawling about behind that there door."

The Prophet's sense of chivalry was now fully aroused.

"You are mistaken," he said firmly. "There are no females creeping and—and crawling about in this—this respectable house."

"Respectable!" ejaculated the voice, "respectable! I say there is a female. You're a nice one, you are! 'Pon my word, I've a good mind to run you in for Mormonism, I have. Wherever's she got to?"

On the last words a sudden blaze of light shot into the pantry, and at the same moment there was the sound of wheels rapidly approaching in the square.

"Hulloh!" said the voice, "someone a-comin'."

The light died out as rapidly as it had flashed in, the wheels drew close and stopped, and a bell pealed forth in the silent house.

"Merciful Heavens!" cried the Prophet, pressing his hands to his throbbing brow. "Merciful Heavens! who can that be?"

There was no answer, and the bell pealed again.

"Grannie will be disturbed!" exclaimed the Prophet, addressing himself, passionately to the darkness. "Grannie will be killed by all this uproar."

The bell pealed again.

"This must cease," cried the Prophet. "This must and shall cease. I will bring it all to an end once and for ever!"

And, with sudden desperate decision, he shut the window, burst out of the pantry and came upon Madame, who was standing in a somewhat furtive manner by the door that opened into the cellars of the mansion.

"Mr. Vivian," she began, in a rather subdued voice, "that isn't a comet, that's a copper!"

The bell rang again.

"D'you think—d'you think that can be my husband?" continued Madame, still seeming subdued. "I should like him—Do you think it's him?"

"What?"

"The bell."

"I will very soon see," replied the Prophet, in a most determined manner.

"But Mr. Viv—"

"Don't hold me, if you please. Kindly let me pass!"

And, breaking from the lady's anxious grasp, the Prophet rushed into the hall just as Gustavus appeared, descending the front stairs from the landing before Mrs. Merillia's door, where he had been in close conference with Mrs. Fancy.

"Stand back, Gustavus," said the Prophet.

"Sir!"

"Stand back!"

"But, sir, there is someone—"

"I know there is. I am about to answer the door myself."

"If you please, sir, Mrs. Merillia is greatly alarmed by the constant ringing, and Mrs. Fancy thinks—"

"Gustavus," said the Prophet in an awful voice, "you may retire, but first let me tell you one thing."

"Certainly, sir," said the footman, beginning to tremble.

"The circumstances that have rendered a hitherto peaceful household more disordered than an abode of madmen are about to be brought to an end for ever. There is a point at which a gentleman must either cease to be a gentleman or cease to be a man. I have reached that point, Gustavus, and I am about to cease to be a gentleman."

And, with this terrible statement, the Prophet advanced with a sort of appalling deliberation and threw the front door wide open.

Upon the doorstep stood Lady Enid wrapped in a pink opera cloak and Sir Tiglath Butt shrouded in the Inverness. The Prophet faced them with a marble demeanour.

"I thought you'd be here, Mr. Vivian," began Lady Enid in a bright manner.

"I am here," said the Prophet, speaking in a voice that might well have issued from a statue.

"Where is he?" roared Sir Tiglath. "Where is he? Oh-h-h-h!"

"Sir Tiglath means Malkiel," explained Lady Enid. "He is most anxious to meet him."

"Why?" said the Prophet, still in the same inhuman voice.

"Well, we shall see when they do meet," said Lady Enid, throwing a look of keen curiosity at the astronomer. "I rather think—" here she lowered her voice and whispered in the Prophet's ear—"I rather think Sir Tiglath wishes to try if he can murder Malkiel. Do you believe he could bring it off?"

"I'm sure I don't know," answered the Prophet, with stony indifference. "Good-night to you!"

"But we want to come in," cried Lady Enid.

"Young man," roared Sir Tiglath, "the old astronomer will not leave this house till he has searched it from attic to cellar."

"I am sorry," replied the Prophet, "but I cannot permit my grandmother's servants or wine to be disturbed at such an hour. If you wish to murder Malkiel the Second, I shall not prevent you, but he is not here."

"Then where is he?" cried Lady Enid.

"I don't know. And now—"

The Prophet stepped back into the hall, and was about to close the door unceremoniously—having, as he intended, ceased to be a gentleman—when Lady Enid caught sight of the round and fixed eyes of Gustavus glaring out into the night from behind his master. The appalling feminine instinct, which makes woman the mistress of creation, suddenly woke within her, and she cried out in a piercing voice,—

"Malkiel's in the house, and Gustavus knows it!"

She spoke these words with such conviction that the Prophet spun round, top-wise, and stared at the unfortunate flunkey, who instantly fell upon his knee-breeches and stammered out,—

"Oh, sir, forgive me! It's Dr. Carter done it, sir, it is indeed. It's Dr. Carter done it!"

"Dr. Carter!" ejaculated the Prophet.

"The library, sir. He offered me the library eight times over, sir!"

"Who offered you the library?"

"The gent, sir, in Mr. Ferdinand's trouserings, what was at dinner, sir. He only wanted to change 'em, sir, and he says to me, he says, 'Let me,' he says, 'but remove these trouserings,' he says, 'before I make off to Java,' he says—"

"To where?" roared Sir Tiglath.

"To Java, sir, where the jelly and the sparrows is manufactured, sir, that is born, sir. 'And,' he says, 'here is a hundred pounds,' he says."

"Then he is in the house?" said the Prophet, sternly.

"Well, sir, he was, sir. And, as I ain't seen him go, sir, I expect as he's somewhere about changing of 'em, sir. Oh, sir, if you'll only look it over sir, It's all the thirst, sir, it's all the thirst—"

"What? You have been drinking?" cried the Prophet, in an outraged manner.

"No, sir, the thirst for knowledge, sir, as has brought me to this. Oh, sir, if only you'll—"

"Hush!" said the Prophet fiercely. "Sir Tiglath," he added, turning towards the puffing astronomer, "you can enter. My grandmother must have been right."

"Your grandmother?" said Lady Enid, with eager inquisitiveness.

"She informed me that the ruffian was in the house and had attempted to make away with her—"

"Dear me! this is most interesting!" interposed Lady Enid.

"But I supposed she had had the nightmare. It seems that I was wrong. If you will step in, you can search the house at once. And if you discover this nameless creature changing his—that is Mr. Ferdinand's trouserings—trousers, that is,—in any part of the building, as far as I am concerned you can murder him forthwith."

The Prophet spoke quite calmly, in a soft and level voice. Yet there was something so frightful in his tone and manner that even Sir Tiglath seemed slightly awe-stricken. At any rate, he accepted the Prophet's invitation in silence, and stepped almost furtively into the hall, on whose floor Gustavus was still posed in the conventional attitude of the Christian martyr. Lady Enid eagerly followed, and the Prophet was just about to close the door, when a dark, hovering figure that was pausing at a short distance off upon the pavement attracted his attention. He stopped short, and, perceiving that it was a policeman, beckoned to it. The figure approached.

"What's up now?" it said familiarly, emphasising the question with a sharp contraction of the left eyelid. "You're having a nice game to-night, and no mistake."

"Game!" replied the Prophet, sternly. "This is no game. Stand there, by the area gate, and if anyone should run out, knock him down with your truncheon. Do you hear me?"

With these impressive words he entered the house and shut the door, leaving the policeman to whistle inquiringly to the stars that were watching over this house, once peaceful, but now the abode of violence and tragedy.

In the hall he found Gustavus still on his knees between Lady Enid and Sir Tiglath.

"Lady Enid," he said, even in this hour mindful of the proprieties, "you have heard what this villain is doing here, and must be sensible that you can take no part in this search."

"Oh, but I particularly want—" began Lady Enid, hastily.

"Pardon me," said the Prophet, with more firmness than Napoleon ever showed to his marshals. "You must retire. Please come this way. Mrs. Fancy will look after you."

"Oh, but really, Mr. Vivian, I—"

"Kindly follow me."

Lady Enid hesitated for a moment, but the Prophet's manner was too much for her, and when he stepped, like a clockwork automaton with a steel interior, towards the staircase, she crept mildly in his wake.

"Can't I really—?" she whispered in his ear.

"Certainly not. If you were a married woman, possibly—"

"Well, but I am engaged," she murmured.

The Prophet stopped short.

"Engaged!" he said. "To whom?"

"Sir Tiglath."

"Engaged to Sir Tiglath!"

"Yes. He proposed to me to-night at Zoological House."

"Why?"

She might well have resented the question, but perhaps she divined the distraught and almost maniacal condition of mind that the Prophet masked beneath his impassive demeanour. At any rate she answered frankly,—

"Because he didn't find out I'm Miss Minerva, and in the midst of Mrs. Bridgeman's silly world I stood right out as the only sensible creature living. Isn't it fun?"

"Fun!"

"Yes. I always meant him to propose to me."

"Why?"

"Because I always thought it would be supremely idiotic of me to accept him."

The Prophet felt that if he listened to another remark of such a nature his brain would snap and he would instantly be taken with a tearing fit of hysterics. He therefore turned round and slowly ascended to the first floor.

"Kindly step into the drawing-room," he said, having first, by a rapid glance, assured himself that Malkiel was not changing Mr. Ferdinand's trousers there. "I will send Mrs. Fancy to chaperon you."

Lady Enid stepped in obediently, and the Prophet, who could distinctly hear Mrs. Fancy sobbing on the landing above, proceeded thither, took her hand and guided her down to the drawing-room.

"Oh, my poor, poor missis!" gulped the devoted creature. "Oh, my—"

"Precisely," rejoined the Prophet, with passionless equanimity. "Please go in there and remain to guard this young lady."

He assisted Mrs. Fancy to fall in a heap upon the nearest sociable, and then, still moving with a species of frozen deliberation, betook himself once more to the hall. The astronomer and Gustavus were standing there in silence.

"Sir Tiglath," said the Prophet, in a very formal manner, "you can now begin to search for this ruffian."

Sir Tiglath cleared his throat, and continued to stand still.

"I hope you will find him," continued the Prophet.

Sir Tiglath cleared his throat again and added,—

"Why?"

"Why? Because I think it quite time that he was murdered," answered the Prophet, unemotionally. "Well! why don't you search?"

The astronomer, whose face began to look less red than usual, rolled his glassy eyes round upon the shadowy hall, the dim staircase and the gloomy-looking closed doors that confronted them.

"Where is the old astronomer to search?" he asked, in a low voice. "Oh-h-h-h!"

The final exclamation sounded remarkably tremulous.

"Anywhere—except in my grandmother's bedroom. That of course is sacred. Well, why don't you begin?"

Sir Tiglath eyed the Prophet furtively.

"I'm—I'm going to," he murmured hoarsely. "The old astronomer does not know the meaning of the word—fear."

Exactly as he uttered these inspiring words the hall clock growled, like a very large dog, and struck two. Sir Tiglath started and caught hold of Gustavus, who started in his turn and shrank away. The Prophet alone stood up to the clock, which finished its remark with a click, and resumed its habitual occupation of ticking.

"Pray begin, Sir Tiglath," said the Prophet.

"The old astronomer—must have a—a—a—candle."

"Here is one," said the Prophet, handing the desired article.

"A lighted candle."

"Why lighted? Oh, so that you can see to murder him! Gustavus, light the candle."

Gustavus, who was trembling a good deal more than an autumn leaf, complied after about fifteen unavailing attempts.

"There, Sir Tiglath," said the Prophet. "Now you can begin." And he seated himself upon a settee, leaned back and crossed his legs.

"You will not accompany the old astronomer? Oh-h-h"

"No. I will rest here. When you have found the ruffian and murdered him, I shall be glad to hear your news."

And, so saying, the Prophet settled himself comfortably with a cushion behind his back, and calmly closed his eyes. The candlestick clattered in Sir Tiglath's gouty hand. The Prophet heard it, heard heavy feet shuffling very slowly and cautiously over the floor of the hall, finally heard the door leading to the servants' quarters swing on its hinges. Still he did not open his eyes. He felt that if he were to do so just then he would probably begin to shriek, rave, foam at the mouth, and in all known ways comport himself as do the inhabitants of Bedlam. A delicate silence fell in the hall. How long it lasted the Prophet never knew. It might have been five minutes or five years as far as he was concerned. It was broken at length by the following symphony of sounds—an elderly man's voice roaring, a woman's voice uttering a considerable number of very powerful screams on a rather low but still resounding note, a loud thump, a crash of glass, a prodigious clattering, as of utensils made in some noisy material falling from a height and rolling vigorously in innumerable directions, two or three bangs of doors, and the peculiar patter of rather large and flat feet, unaccustomed to any rapid exercise, moving over boards, oilcloth and carpet. Then the swing door sang, and the Prophet, opening his eyes, perceived Madame Malkiel moving forward with considerable vivacity, and screaming as she moved, her bonnet depending down her back and the rabbit-skins flowing from her ample shoulders. Immediately behind her ran her spouse, holding in one hand a silver pepper castor, and in the other a small and very beautifully finished bronze teapot of the William of Orange period. The worthy couple fleeted by, and the Prophet turned his expressionless eyes towards the swing door expecting immediately to perceive Sir Tiglath Butt in valiant pursuit. As no such figure presented itself, and as the Malkiels were now beginning to mount the stairs with continually increasing velocity, the Prophet slowly uncrossed his legs, and was thinking of getting upon his feet when there came a loud knock upon the hall door.