“Ah,” said the policeman, stepping into the hall and laying the astronomer out across a chair, “what’s up?” “They are both up,” answered the Prophet, pointing with a lethargic finger towards the staircase, from which, at this moment, arose a perfect hubbub of voices. “Come on!” cried the policeman. “Why?” asked the Prophet. “Why! you’re a nice un, you are! Why! And nab ‘em, of course!” “You think it would be wise to--what was the word--nab them?” inquired the Prophet. “You really think so?” “Well, what am I here for then?” said the policeman, with angry irony. “Oh, if you prefer,” rejoined the Prophet, civilly. “Nab them by all means. I shall not prevent you.” The policeman, who was an active and industrious fellow deserving of praise, waited for no further permission, but immediately darted up the stairs, and in less than a minute returned with Mrs. Merillia--attired in a black silk gown, a bonnet, and an Indian shawl presented to her on her marriage by a very great personage--in close custody. “Here’s one of ‘em!” he shouted. “Here, you lay hold of her while I fetch the rest!” And with these words he thrust the Prophet’s grandmother into one of his hands, the broken truncheon into the other, and turning smartly round, again bounded up the stairs. In a famous poem of the late Lord Tennyson there is related a dramatic incident of a lady whose disinclination to cry, when such emotion would have been only natural, was overcome by the presentation to her of her child. A somewhat similar effect was produced upon our Prophet by the constable’s presentation to him of his honoured grandmother. The sight of her reverent head, surmounted by the bonnet which she had assumed in readiness to flee from the house which she could no longer regard as a home--the touch of her delicate hand--the flutter of her so hallowed Indian shawl--these things broke down the strange calm of her devoted grandson. Like summer tempest came his emotion, and, when the policeman presently returned with Malkiel the Second and Madame nabbed by his right and left hands, and followed by Lady Enid and the weeping Mrs. Fancy, he was confronted by a most pathetic tableau. The Prophet and Mrs. Merillia were weeping in each other’s arm’s while Sir Tiglath and Gustavus--just returned to consciousness--were engaged in examining the proceeding with puppy dog’s eyes.