Under the mesmeric influence of Malkiel he began to feel as if architects were some strange race of sacred beings set apart, denizens of some holy isle or blessed nook of mediaeval legend. Would he ever meet them? Would he ever encounter one ranging unfettered where flowed the waters of the River Mouse?
“They do not know who we are, sir,” continued Malkiel, furtively. “To them and to the whole world—excepting Jellybrand’s and you—we are the Sagittariuses of Sagittarius Lodge, people at ease, sir, living upon our competence beside the Mouse. They do not see the telescope, sir, in the locked studio at the top of the lodge. They do not know why sometimes, on Madame’s ‘Wednesdays,’ I am pale—with sitting up on behalf of the Almanac. For Capricornus’s sake and for Corona’s all this is hid from the world. Madame and I are the victims of a double life. Yes, sir, for the children’s sake we have never dared to let it be known what I really am.”
Suddenly he began to grow excited.
“And now,” he cried, “after all these years of secrecy, after all these years of avoiding the central districts—in which Madame longs to live—after all these years of seclusion beyond the beat even of the buses, do you come here to me, and search yourself and say upon your oath that a prophet can live and be a prophet in the Berkeley Square, that he can read the stars with Gunter’s just opposite, ay, and bring out an almanac if he likes within a shilling fare of the Circus? If this is so”—he struck the deal table violently with his clenched fist—“of what use are the sacrifices of myself and Madame? Of what use is it to live under a modest name such as Sagittarius, when I might be Malkiel the Second to the whole world? Of what use to flee from W. and dwell perpetually in N.? Why, if what you say is true, we might leave the Mouse to-morrow and Madame could pop in and out of the Stores just like any lady of pleasure.”
At the thought of this so long foregone enchantment Malkiel’s emotion completely overcame him, his voice died away, overborne by a violent fit of choking, and he sat back in his cane chair trembling in every limb. The Prophet was deeply moved by his emotion, and longed most sincerely to assuage it. But his deep and growing conviction of his own power rendered him useless as a comforter. He could not lie. He could not deny that he was a prophet. He could only say, in his firmest voice,—
“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.”