resist
the temptation--though every day I cried shame upon myself and swore to
overcome it. She never blamed me; never a word--nay, not a look--of a
reproach. I lived in idleness. I never tried to save her that daily toil at
the shop. Do you know that she worked in a shop?--She, with her knowledge
and her refinement leading such a life as that! Think that I have passed
the shop a thousand times, coming home with a book in my hands! I had the
heart to pass, and to think of her there! Oh! Oh!'

Some one was knocking at the door. I went to open, and saw the landlady,
her face set in astonishment, and her arms full of books.

'It's all right,' I whispered. 'Put them down on the floor there; don't
bring them in. An accident.'

Christopherson stood behind me; his look asked what he durst not speak. I
said it was nothing, and by degrees brought him into a calmer state.
Luckily, the doctor came before I went away, and he was able to report a
slight improvement. The patient had slept a little and seemed likely to
sleep again. Christopherson asked me to come again before long--there was
no one else, he said, who cared anything about him--and I promised to call
the next day.

I did so, early in the afternoon. Christopherson must have watched for my
coming: before I could raise the knocker the door flew open, and his face
gleamed such a greeting as astonished me. He grasped my hand in both his.

'The letter has come! We are to have the house.'

'And how is Mrs. Christopherson?'

'Better, much better, Heaven be thanked! She slept almost from the time
when you left yesterday afternoon till early this morning. The letter came
by the first post, and I told her--not the whole truth,' he added, under
his breath. 'She thinks I am to be allowed to take the books with me; and
if you could have seen her smile of contentment. But they will all be sold
and carried away before she knows about it; and when she sees that I don't
care a snap of the fingers!'

He had turned into the sitting-room on the ground floor. Walking about
excitedly, Christopherson gloried in the sacrifice he had made. Already a
letter was despatched to a bookseller, who would buy the whole library as
it stood. But would he not keep a few volumes? I asked. Surely there could
be no objection to a few shelves of books; and how would he live without
them? At first he declared vehemently that not a volume should be kept--he
never wished to see a book again as long as he