“Malkiel the Second, be brave. You must see this thing through.” On hearing these original and noble words Malkiel lifted up his marred countenance. “I know it, sir, I know it,” he answered. “One moment. The thought of Madame--the Stores--I--of all that might perhaps have been--” He choked again. The Prophet looked away. A strong man’s emotion is always very scared and very terrible. Three minutes swept by, then the Prophet heard a calm and hollow voice say,-- “And now, sir, to business.” The Prophet looked up, and perceived that Malkiel’s overcoat was tightly buttoned and that his mouth was tightly set in an expression of indomitable, though tragic, resolution. “What business?” asked the Prophet. “Mine,” replied Malkiel. “Mine, sir, and yours. You have chosen to enter my life. You cannot deny that. You cannot deny that I sought to avoid--I might even say to dodge you.” With the remembrance of the recent circus performance in the library still strong upon him the Prophet could not. He bowed his head. “Very well, sir. You have chosen to enter my life. That act has given me the right to enter yours. Am I correct?” “I suppose--I mean--yes, you are,” answered the Prophet, overwhelmed by the pitiless logic of his companion, and wondering what was coming next. “I have been forced--I think I may say that--to reveal myself to you, sir. Nothing can ever alter that. Nothing can ever take from you the knowledge--denied by Madame to the very architects--of who I really am. You have told me, sir, that I must see this thing through. I tell you now, at this table, in this parlour, that I intend to see it through--and through.” As Malkiel said the last words he gazed at the Prophet with eyes that seemed suddenly to have taken on the peculiar properties of the gimlet. The Prophet began to feel extremely uneasy. But he said nothing. He felt that there was more to come. And he was right. “It is my duty,” continued Malkiel, in a louder voice, “my sacred duty to Madame--to say nothing of Corona and Capricornus--to probe you to the core”--here the Prophet could not resist a startled movement of protest--“and to search you to the quick.” “Oh, really!” cried the Prophet. “This duty I shall carry out unflinchingly,” pursued Malkiel, “at whatever cost to myself. This will not be our last interview. Do not think it.” “I assure you,” inserted the Prophet, endeavouring vainly to seem at ease, “I do not wish to think it.” “It matters little whether you wish to do so or not,” continued Malkiel, with an increasingly Juggernaut air. “The son of Malkiel the First is not a man to be trifled with or dodged. Moreover, much more than the future of myself and family depends upon what you really are. From this day forth you will be bound up with the _Almanac_.” “Merciful Heavens!” ejaculated the Prophet, unable, intrepid as he was, to avoid recoiling when he found himself thus suddenly confronted with the fate of an appendix.