tural
and hard-hearted a daughter as to do this thing?"

"Oh, I couldn't!" cried Sylvia. "I can't let poor father remain a mule
all his life when one word--and yet what _am_ I to do? Horace, what
shall I say? Advise me.... Advise me!"

"Heaven help us both!" groaned Ventimore. "If I could only see the
right thing to do. Look here, Mr. Fakrash," he added, "this is a matter
that requires consideration. Will you relieve us of your presence for a
short time, while we talk it over?"

"With all my heart," said the Jinnee, in the most obliging manner in the
world, and vanished instantly.

"Now, darling," began Horace, after he had gone, "if that unspeakable
old scoundrel is really in earnest, there's no denying that he's got us
in an extremely tight place. But I can't bring myself to believe that he
_does_ mean it. I fancy he's only trying us. And what I want you to do
is not to consider me in the matter at all."

"How can I help it?" said poor Sylvia. "Horace, you--you don't _want_ to
be released, do you?"

"I?" said Horace, "when you are all I have in the world! That's so
likely, Sylvia! But we are bound to look facts in the face. To begin
with, even if this hadn't happened, your people wouldn't let our
engagement continue. For my prospects have changed again, dearest. I'm
even worse off than when we first met, for that confounded Jinnee has
contrived to lose my first and only client for me--the one thing worth
having he ever gave me." And he told her the story of the mushroom
palace and Mr. Wackerbath's withdrawal. "So you see, darling," he
concluded, "I haven't even a home to offer you; and if I had, it would
be miserably uncomfortable for you with that old Marplot continually
dropping in on us--especially if, as I'm afraid he has, he's taken some
unreasonable dislike to you."

"But surely you can talk him over?" said Sylvia; "you said you could do
anything you liked with him."

"I'm beginning to find," he replied, ruefully enough, "that he's not so
easily managed as I thought. And for the present, I'm afraid, if we are
to get the Professor out of this, that there's nothing for it but to
humour old Fakrash."

"Then you actually advise me to--to break it off?" she cried; "I never
thought you would do that!"

"For your own sake," said Horace; "for your father's sake. If _you_
won't, Sylvia, I _must_. And you will spare me that? Let us both agree
to part and--and trust that we shall be united some day."

"Don't