"When thou hast seen thy bride's perfections thou wilt need no compulsion," said Fakrash. "And if thou shouldst refuse, know this: that thou wilt be exposing those who are dear to thee in this household to calamities of the most unfortunate description."
The awful vagueness of this threat completely crushed Horace; he could not think, he did not even dare to imagine, what consequences he might bring upon his beloved Sylvia and her helpless parents by persisting in his refusal.
"Give me time," he said heavily; "I want to talk this over with you."
"Pardon me, Ventimore," said the Professor, with acidulous politeness; "but, interesting as the discussion of your matrimonial arrangements is to you and your—a—protector, I should greatly prefer that you choose some more fitting place for arriving at a decision which is in the circumstances a foregone conclusion. I am rather tired and upset, and I should be obliged if you and this gentleman could bring this most trying interview to a close as soon as you conveniently can."
"You hear, Mr. Fakrash?" said Horace, between his teeth, "it is quite time we left. If you go at once, I will follow you very shortly."
"Thou wilt find me awaiting thee," answered the Jinnee, and, to Mrs. Futvoye's and Sylvia's alarm, disappeared through one of the bookcases.
"Well," said Horace, gloomily, "you see how I'm situated? That obstinate old devil has cornered me. I'm done for!"
"Don't say that," said the Professor; "you appear to be on the eve of a most brilliant alliance, in which I am sure you have our best wishes—the best wishes of us all," he added pointedly.
"Sylvia," said Horace, still lingering, "before I go, tell me that, whatever I may have to do, you will understand that—that it will be for your sake!"
"Please don't talk like that," she said. "We may never see one another again. Don't let my last recollection of you be of—of a hypocrite, Horace!"