“Yes, sir.”
“I am about to write a telegram. Gustavus will take it to the office.”
“Yes, sir.”
The Prophet went into the library and wrote these words on a telegraph form:—
“Jupiter Sagittarius, Sagittarius Lodge, Crampton St. Peter, N. Your life is in danger; keep where you are; another telegram may destroy you. Grave news.
“VIVIAN.”
The Prophet gave this telegram to Gustavus and then prepared to go upstairs to his grandmother. As he mounted towards the drawing-room he murmured to himself over and over again,—
“Sir Tiglath—Malkiel! Malkiel—Sir Tiglath!”
He found Mrs. Merillia very prostrate. It seemed that the telegraph boys had very soon worn through the cotton-wool with which the knocker had been shrouded, and that the incessant noise of their efforts to attract attention at the door had quite unnerved the gallant old lady. Nevertheless, her own condition was the last thing she thought of.
“I don’t mind for myself, Hennessey,” she said. “But it is very sad after all these years of respect and even, I think, a certain popularity, to be considered a nuisance by one’s square. We are hopelessly embroiled with the Duchess of Camberwell, and the Lord Chancellor has sent over five times to explain the different laws and regulations that we are breaking. I don’t see how you can go to his Reception to-night, really.”