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.
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