Willingly I walked on with him. He led me a short distance up the road
skirting Regent's Park, and paused at length before a house in an imposing
terrace.

'There,' he whispered, 'I used to live. The window to the right of the
door--that was my library. Ah!'

And he heaved a deep sigh.

'A misfortune befell you,' I said, also in a subdued voice.

'The result of my own folly. I had enough for my needs, but thought I
needed more. I let myself be drawn into business--I, who knew nothing of
such things--and there came the black day--the black day.'

We turned to retrace our steps, and walking slowly, with heads bent, came
in silence again to the church.

'I wonder whether you have bought any other of my books?' asked
Christopherson, with his gentle smile, when we had paused as if for
leave-taking.

I replied that I did not remember to have come across his name before;
then, on an impulse, asked whether he would care to have the book I carried
in my hand; if so, with pleasure I would give it him. No sooner were the
words spoken than I saw the delight they caused the hearer. He hesitated,
murmured reluctance, but soon gratefully accepted my offer, and flushed
with joy as he took the volume.