my own mind," rejoined the young librarian,
drawing a tweed cap from some hidden recess beneath the counter. "But if
you only want two bottles I expect there'll be ten bob over."

The Prophet turned as pale as ashes and had some difficulty in
sustaining himself to the parlour, where he and Malkiel the Second sat
down in silence to await the young librarian's return. Frederick Smith
came back in about five minutes, with an ostentatious-looking bottle
smothered in gold leaf under each arm.

"There was four shillings apiece to pay, sir," he remarked to the
Prophet as he placed them upon the table. "I got the 'our own make'
brand with the 'creaming foam' upon the corks."

The Prophet bent his head. He was quite unable to speak, but he signed
to the young librarian to open one of the bottles and pour its contents
into the two tumblers of thick and rather dusty glass that Jellybrand's
kept for its moments of conviviality. Malkiel the Second lifted the
goblet to the window and eyed the beaded nectar with an air of almost
rakish anticipation.

"Ready, sir?" he said, turning to the Prophet, who, with a trembling
hand, followed his example.

"Quite--ready," said the Prophet, shutting his eyes.

"Then," rejoined Malkiel the Second in a formal voice, "here's luck!"

He held the tumbler to his lips, waiting for the Prophet's reply to give
the signal for a unanimous swallowing of the priceless wine.

"Luck," echoed the Prophet in a faltering voice.

As he gradually recovered his faculties, he heard Malkiel the Second
say, with an almost debauched accent,--

"That puts heart into a man. I shall give Gillows an order. Leave us,
Frederick Smith, and remember that Miss Minerva is on no account to be
let in here till this gentleman and I have finished the second bottle."

The Prophet could not resist a wild movement of protest, which was
apparently taken by the young librarian as a passionate gesture of
dismissal. For he left the room rapidly and closed the door with
decision behind him.

"And now, sir, I am at your service," said Malkiel the Second,
courteously. "Let me pour you another glass of wine."

The Prophet assented mechanically. It seemed strange to have to die
so young, and with so many plans unfulfilled, but he felt that it was
useless to struggle against destiny and he drank again. Then he heard a
voice say,--

"And now, sir, I am all attention."

He looked up. He saw the parlour, the ground glass of the doo