“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.