Now the Prophet, as has been before observed, possessed a very sensitive nature. He was also very devoted to his grandmother, and had an extraordinary reverence for the world-famed attainments of Sir Tiglath Butt. Therefore, when he heard Mrs. Merillia’s pleading, and the astronomer’s weighty denunciation, he was deeply moved. Nevertheless, so strongly had recent events appealed to his curiosity, so ardently did he desire to search into the reality of his own peculiar powers, that it is very doubtful whether he might not have withstood both the behests of affection and of admiration had it not been that they took to themselves an ally, whose force is one of the moving spirits of the world. This ally was fear. Just as the Prophet was beginning to feel obstinate and to steel himself to resistance, he remembered the fierce and horrible threats of Malkiel the Second. If he should cease to concern himself with the stars, if he should cease to prophesy, not alone should he restore peace to his beloved grandmother, and pay the tribute of respect to Sir Tiglath, but he should do more. He should preserve his quick from being searched and his core from being probed. His marrow, too, would be rescued from the piercing it had been so devoutly promised. The dread, by which he was now companioned—of Malkiel, of that portentous and unseen lady who dwelt beside the secret waters of the Mouse, of those imagined offshoots of the prophetic tree, Corona and Capricornus—this would drop away. He would be free once more, light-hearted, a happy and mildly intellectual man of the town, emerged from the thrall of bogies, and from beneath the yoke which he already felt laid upon his shoulders by those august creatures who were the centre of the architectural circle.
All these things suddenly presented themselves to the Prophet’s mind with extraordinary vividness and force. His resolve was taken in a moment, and, turning to his eager grandmother and to the still slightly inflated astronomer, he exclaimed without further hesitation,—
“Very well. I’ll give it up. I promise you.”
Mrs. Merillia clapped her mittens together almost like a girl.
“Thank you, Sir Tiglath,” she cried. “I knew you would persuade the dear boy.”
The astronomer beamed like the rising sun.
“Let the morning stars—freed from insult—sing together!” he roared.
The Prophet glanced towards Lady Enid. She was looking almost narrow and not at all pleased. She, and all her family, had a habit of suddenly appearing thinner than usual when they were put out. This habit had descended to them from a remote Highland ancestor, who had perished of starvation and been very vexed about it. The Prophet felt sure that she did not applaud his resolution, but he could not discuss the matter with her in public, and she now got up—looking almost like a skeleton—and said that she must go. Sir Tiglath immediately rolled up out of his chair and roared that he would accompany her.
“The old astronomer will protect the injudicious young female,” he exclaimed, “lest she wander forth into accursed places.”
“I’m only going to Hill Street,” said Lady Enid, rather snappishly. “Come to see me to-morrow at three,” she whispered to the Prophet as she took his hand. “We must have a talk. Don’t tell anybody!”