Again, nobody denied it. “Well, now, suppose we left things just as they are, for a long time. The force of the _whalebone_ would get exhausted, you know, and it would stay bent, even when you unhooked it. Now, _why_ shouldn’t the same thing happen with the _weight_? The _whalebone_ gets so used to being bent, that it ca’n’t _straighten_ itself any more. Why shouldn’t the _weight_ get so used to being held up, that it ca’n’t _fall_ any more? That’s what _I_ want to know!” “That’s what _we_ want to know!” echoed the crowd. “How long must we wait?” grumbled the Emperor. The Professor looked at his watch. “Well, I _think_ a thousand years will do to _begin_ with,” he said. “Then we will cautiously unhook the weight: and, if it _still_ shows (as perhaps it will) a _slight_ tendency to fall, we will hook it on to the chain again, and leave it for _another_ thousand years.” Here the Empress experienced one of those flashes of Common Sense which were the surprise of all around her. “Meanwhile there’ll be time for another Experiment,” she said. “There will _indeed_!” cried the delighted Professor. “Let us return to the platform, and proceed to the _Fourth_ Experiment!” “For this concluding Experiment, I will take a certain Alkali, or Acid—I forget which. Now you’ll see what will happen when I mix it with Some——” here he took up a bottle, and looked at it doubtfully, “—when I mix it with—with Something——” Here the Emperor interrupted. “What’s the _name_ of the stuff?” he asked. “I don’t remember the _name_,” said the Professor: “and the label has come off.” He emptied it quickly into the other bottle, and, with a tremendous bang, both bottles flew to pieces, upsetting all the machines, and filling the Pavilion with thick black smoke. I sprang to my feet in terror, and—and found myself standing before my solitary hearth, where the poker, dropping at last from the hand of the sleeper, had knocked over the tongs and the shovel, and had upset the kettle, filling the air with clouds of steam. With a weary sigh, I betook myself to bed. [Illustration: AN EXPLOSION] CHAPTER XXII. THE BANQUET. “_Heaviness may endure for a night: but joy cometh in the morning._” The next day found me quite another being. Even the memories of my lost friend and companion were sunny as the genial weather that smiled around me. I did not venture to trouble Lady Muriel, or her father, with another call so soon: but took a walk into the country, and only turned homewards when the low sunbeams warned me that day would soon be over. On my way home, I passed the cottage where the old man lived, whose face always recalled to me the day when I first met Lady Muriel; and I glanced in as I passed, half-curious to see if he were still living there. Yes: the old man was still alive. He was sitting out in the porch, looking just as he did when I first saw him at Fayfield Junction—it seemed only a few days ago!