be a conjurer. Who knows but what he may get knocked on the head as he
is looking on with his wicked one eye; and then there will be an end of
him, too, which would be a great satisfaction!"

"Pshaw, my dear Dick; there is no one else I can ask but you. The Parson
would argue; I've had enough of his arguings; and the old man is the last
whom my own arguings could deceive. Fiat justitia."

"Don't, sir, don't; you are breaking my heart--'tis a shame, sir," sobbed
the poor faithful rebel.

"Well, Dick, then I must see it done myself; and you shall go on first to
Sorrento, and hire some villa to suit us. I don't see why Lionel should
not be married next week; then the house will be clear. And--yes--it was
cowardly in me to shrink. Mine be the task. Shame on me to yield it to
another. Go back to thy flute, Dick.

'Neque tibias
Euterpe cohibet, nec Polyhymnia
Lesboum refugit tendere barbiton!'"

At that last remorseless shaft from the Horatian quiver, "Venenatis
gravida sagittis," Fairthorn could stand ground no longer; there was a
shamble--a plunge--and once more the man was vanished.




CHAPTER VIII.