Fakrash.
With the greatest ease that can be! [He stalks towards the window, extends his right arm, and mutters some cryptic sentence, then turns complacently to Horace.] I have obliterated from the minds of thy betrothed and her parents all memory of myself and the brass bottle, and of every incident connected therewith.
Horace.
By Jove! That's rather a neat way out—[with sudden doubt]—if you've really done all that!
Fakrash.
May I be thy ransom if it be not accomplished!
Horace.
Well,—I must take your word for it. But there's Mr. and Mrs. Wackerbath,—can you make them forget everything connected with you—except that I'm to build them a house?
Fakrash.
[Going to the window and repeating the incantation, then returning to the centre of the room.] All else hath utterly passed from their recollection.