ioso was not to blame for this last, certainly not. One
ought to be ashamed to be a hero, or a genius, or even a robber, if
on this account one is to be held responsible for all the crimes that
may be committed years afterwards in the effort to get possession of
one's history.

I myself object to any accusation of complicity in those evil deeds
that are committed after my death in quenching the thirst for knowledge
of my fate. Indeed, I shall never be deterred from a famous career
merely by the thought that some one may sell the New Testament to
get hold of the "Life and Deeds of Multatuli."

"You rascal, what are you loitering around here for? If you want
anything, come in; if you don't, make yourself scarce."

And now Walter had to go in, or else abandon his cherished
Glorioso. But the man who bent over the counter and twisted himself
like a crane to open the door and snarl these words at our young hero
did not have a face that advised anything like turning back. He was
angry. At first Walter had not had the courage to go in; now he did
not dare to turn back. He felt himself drawn in. It was as if the
book-shop swallowed him.

"Glorioso, if you please, M'neer, and here----" He drew that infernal
machine from his pocket. "And here is money----"

For he had learned from his schoolmates, who had infected him with
this craving for romance, that at the circulating library strangers
must deposit a forfeit.

The shopman seemed to regard himself as "sufficiently protected"
by the sum produced. He took down a small volume, which was greasy
and well worn, and bore both within and without the traces of much
unclean enjoyment.

I am certain that the "Sermons of Pastor Splitvesel," which stood
undisturbed on the top shelf and looked down contemptuously on
the literature of the day, would have been ashamed to bring their
spotless binding into contact with so much uncleanliness. But it is
not difficult to remain clean in the upper row. I find, therefore,
that the "sermons" were unjust; and the same is true of many sermons.

After Walter had given his name to the man in a trembling voice, he
stuck the reward of his misdeed under his coat and hurried out the
door, like a cat making away with the prey for which it has waited
for hours.

Walter ran and ran, and did not know where to go. He couldn't go home;
he was watched too closely there,--which was not very difficult,
as the space was rather limited.

He selected quiet