"You amazing child!" I cried, leaping to my feet. "Light!—You've brought me light! Andrews!—The very man! To-morrow I am going to Andrews!"
I seized her by the shoulders and whirled her about the room like a marionette in a savage burst of energy. Alicia gasped and, spinning away, laughed wildly with a laughter that bordered upon sobs. I dread to reflect what our neighbors would have concluded, had they observed through the windows the strange Dionysian rite of the quiet middle-aged bachelor and his youthful pretty ward.
"Now go to bed, child," I commanded brusquely. "I have some thinking to do."
"Shall I make you some coffee?" she pleaded, coming toward me, still laughing.
"No—go to bed!" Before I was aware she had left a darting birdlike kiss upon my cheek and fled like a breeze from the room.
My eyes dwelt upon the door for a space where she had vanished, and then they turned involuntarily to the serried peaceful rows of books that had been my life,—that now, in the last extremity of need, must, like the camel in the desert, yield up their blood to be my livelihood.
The following morning, that is to-day, I made my way to Andrews, armed with my catalogue, and greatly to that good fellow's astonishment offered him the sale of my library.
He stared at me in blank amazement for an instant and then, recovering himself, declared that he would like to see it.
"Come back to lunch with me," I suggested.
He could not do that, but agreed to come to dinner in the evening.