Exactly at half-past one o’clock, two hours and a half later, the enthralled Prophet heard a low whistle which seemed to reach him from the square. He withdrew his fascinated right eye from the telescope and endeavoured to use it in an ordinary manner, but he could at first see nothing. The low whistle was repeated. It certainly did come from the square, and the Prophet approached the open window and once more tried to compel the eye that had looked so long upon the stars to gaze with understanding upon the earth. This time he perceived a black thing, like a blot, about six feet high, beyond the area railings. From this blot came a third whistle. The Prophet, who was still dazed by the fascination of star-gazing, mechanically whistled in reply, whereupon the blot whispered at him huskily,-- “At it again, are you?” “Yes,” whispered the Prophet, also huskily, for the night air was cold. “But how should you know?” Indeed he wondered; and it seemed to him as if the blot were some strange night thing that must have companioned him, invisibly, when he kept his nocturnal watches in the drawing-room, and that now partially revealed itself to him in the, perhaps, more acutely occult region of the basement. “How should I know!” rejoined the blot with obvious, though very hoarse, irony. “Whatever d’you take me for?” The Prophet began to wonder, but before he had gone on wondering for more than about half a minute, the blot continued,-- “She’s gone to bed.” “I know she has,” said the Prophet, presuming that the blot, which seemed instinct with all knowledge, was referring to his grandmother. “But she knows you’re at it again,” continued the blot. The Prophet started violently and leaned upon the window-sill. “No! How can that be?” he ejaculated. “Ho! Them girls knows everything, especially the old uns,” said the blot, with an audible chuckle. “Good gracious!” gasped the Prophet, overwhelmed at this mysterious visitant’s familiar description of his revered grandmother. “Have you seen her to-night?” inquired the blot, controlling its merriment. “Yes,” said the Prophet. “With the Crab.” “What!” cried the blot, in obvious astonishment. “Them instruments must be wonderful sight-carriers.” “They are,” exclaimed the Prophet, with almost mystic enthusiasm. “Wonderful. I have seen her with the Crab distinctly.” “Ah! well, I told her she ought to keep away from it,” continued the blot. “Did you?” said the Prophet, with increasing surprise. “But how could she?” “Ah! that’s just it! She couldn’t.” “No, of course not.” “She was drawn right to it.” “She was. It wasn’t her fault. It was the Crab’s.” “A pity it was dressed.” “What?” “I say it’s a pity ‘twas dressed.” “What was dressed?” “What! why, the Crab!” “The Crab--dressed!” “Ay. They’re a deal safer not dressed.” “Are they?” “She knows it too.” “Does she?”