even
by unfamiliar paths. Pigeons will fly across wide spaces and drop down
to the wicker cage that awaits them. And it would appear that prophets
are not without a certain faculty that may be called topographical. For
how else can the following fact be explained? Malkiel the Second, after
apparently endless wandering, found himself totally unable to proceed
further. His legs gave way beneath him. His breath failed. His brain
swam. He reeled, stretched forth his hands and clutched at the nearest
support. This chanced to be a railing, wet, slimy, cold. He grasped it,
leaned against it, and for a few moments remained where he was in a sort
of trance. Then, gradually, full consciousness returned. He glanced up
and beheld the black garden of a square. Somehow it looked familiar. He
seemed to know those shadowy, leafless trees, the roadway between him
and them, even the pavement upon which his boots--his own boots--were
set. His lack-lustre eyes travelled to the houses that bordered the
square, then to the house against whose area railings he was leaning,
and he started with amazement. For he was in Berkeley Square, leaning
against the railing of number one thousand. He gazed up at the windows.
One or two faint lights twinkled. Then perhaps the household had not yet
retired for the night. An idea seized him. He must rest. He must snatch
a brief interval of repose, before starting for the docks at dawn to
find a ship in whose hold he could seek seclusion, till the great seas
roared round her, and he could declare himself to the captain and
crew without fear of being put ashore. Why not rest here in number one
thousand? True, the Prophet would presently be returning possibly with
Madame, but he would bribe Mr. Ferdinand not to mention his whereabouts.
It was no doubt a very rash proceeding, but he was utterly exhausted,
he felt that he could go no further, he found himself before an almost
friendly door. What wonder then if he tottered up the steps and tapped
feebly upon it? There was no answer. He tapped again more loudly. This
time his summons was heard. Steps approached. There was a moment's
pause. Then the door opened, and Gustavus appeared looking rather
sleepy, but still decidedly intellectual. Malkiel the Second pulled
himself together and faced the footman boldly.

"You know me?" he said.

Gustavus examined him closely.

"Yes, sir," he replied at length. "By the clothes. I should know Mr.
Ferdinand's trouserings am