“He’s coming to let us in,” said Capricornus.  “You’re sure you’ve brought the crab and all the rashes?”

“Quite sure.”

“Because, if you haven’t, I don’t know whatever mater familias’ll—­”

At this moment the portal of the lodge was furtively opened about half an inch, and a very small segment of ashen-coloured human face, containing a large and apprehensive eye, was shown in the aperture.

“Are you alone?” said the hollow voice of Mr. Sagittarius.

“Quite, quite alone,” said the Prophet, reassuringly.

“It’s all right, pater familias!” cried Capricornus.  “He’s brought all the rashes and the first tooth and everything.  I made him.”

“I don’t think he wanted to,” added the little Corona, suddenly developing malice.

“I’ve taken this long journey, Mr. Sagittarius,” said the Prophet, with a remnant of self-respect, “at your special request.  Am I to be permitted to come in?”

“If you’re sure you’re quite alone,” returned the sage, showing a slightly enlarged segment of face.

“I am quite sure—­positive!”

At this the door was opened just sufficiently to admit the passage of one thin person at a time, and, in single file, the Prophet, Corona and Capricornus passed into the lodge.

CHAPTER XV

THE PROPHET CREATES A DIVERSION AT HIS OWN EXPENSE

On stepping into a small vestibule, paved with black and white lozenges, and fitted up with an iron umbrella stand, a Moorish lamp and a large yellow china pug dog, the Prophet found himself at once faced by Mr. Sagittarius, whose pallid countenance, nervous eye and suspicious demeanour plainly proclaimed him to be, as he had stated, very rightly and properly going about in fear of his life.

“Go to the schoolroom, my darlings,” he whispered to his children.  “Why, what have you there?”

“Choclets,” said Capricornus.

“From the pretty lady, mulius pulchrum,” added the little Corona.

“Who is a mulibus pulchrum, my love?” asked Mr. Sagittarius, before Capricornus had time to correct his sister’s Latin.

“It was Miss Minerva,” said the Prophet.  “We happened to meet her.”

“Indeed, sir.  Run away, my pretties, and don’t eat more than one each, or mater familias will not approve.”

Then, as the little ones disappeared into the shadows of the region above, he added to the Prophet,—­

“You’ve nearly been the death of Madame, sir.”

“I’m sure I’m very sorry,” said the Prophet.

“Sorrow is no salve, sir, no salve at all.  Were it not for her books I fear we might have lost her.”

“Good gracious!”