"As I am already indebted to you, sir," said the Professor, "for about twenty-four hours of the most poignant and humiliating mental and bodily anguish a human being can endure, inflicted for no valid reason that I can discover, except the wanton indulgence of your unholy powers, I can only say that any gratitude of which I am conscious is of a very qualified description. As for you, Ventimore," he added, turning to Horace, "I don't know--I can only guess at--the part you have played in this wretched business; but in any case you will understand, once for all, that all relations between us must cease." "Papa," said Sylvia, tremulously, "Horace and I have already agreed that--that we must separate." "At my bidding," explained Fakrash, suavely; "for such an alliance would be totally unworthy of his merits and condition." This frankness was rather too much for the Professor, whose temper had not been improved by his recent trials. "Nobody asked for your opinion, sir!" he snapped. "A person who has only recently been released from a term of long and, from all I have been able to ascertain, well-deserved imprisonment, is scarcely entitled to pose as an authority on social rank. Have the decency not to interfere again with my domestic affairs." "Excellent is the saying," remarked the imperturbable Jinnee, "'Let the rat that is between the paws of the leopard observe rigidly all the rules of politeness and refrain from words of provocation.' For to return thee to the form of a mule once more would be no difficult undertaking." "I think I failed to make myself clear," the Professor hastened to observe--"failed to make myself clear. I--I merely meant to congratulate you on your fortunate escape from the consequences of what I--I don't doubt was an error of justice. I--I am sure that, in the future, you will employ your--your very remarkable abilities to better purpose, and I would suggest that the greatest service you can do this unfortunate young man here is to abstain from any further attempts to promote his interests." "Hear, hear!" Horace could not help throwing in, though in so discreet an undertone that it was inaudible. "Far be this from me," replied Fakrash. "For he has become unto me even as a favourite son, whom I design to place upon the golden pinnacle of felicity. Therefore, I have chosen for him a wife, who is unto this damsel of thine as the full moon to the glow-worm, and as the bird of Paradise to an unfledged sparrow. And the nuptials shall be celebrated before many hours." "Horace!" cried Sylvia, justly incensed, "why--_why_ didn't you tell me this before?" "Because," said the unhappy Horace, "this is the very first I've heard of it. He's always springing some fresh surprise on me," he added, in a whisper--"but they never come to anything much. And he can't marry me against my will, you know." "No," said Sylvia, biting her lip. "I never supposed he could do that, Horace."