So he answered his mother that he was rather tired of him, and thought they had had enough of him. The work seemed likely to be spun out ad infinitum, and this was a good opportunity for getting rid of him. He was sorry, for it had been good for the books, but he could send them to him in London, and have them done there! The man, he understood, had been making himself disagreeable too, and he did not want to quarrel with him! It was much best to let him go. He had at first liked him, and had perhaps shown it more than was good for the fellow, so that he had come to presume upon it. Happily he had retained the right of putting an end to the engagement when he pleased!

This was far better than lady Ann had expected. Arthur went at once to Richard, and told him they found it inconvenient to have the library used as a workshop any longer, and must make a change.

Richard was glad to hear it, thinking they meant to give him another room, and said he could work just as well anywhere else—he just needed a dry room with a fireplace. Arthur told him he had arranged for what would be more agreeable to both parties—namely, that he should do the work at home. It would cost more, but he was prepared for that. He might go as soon as he pleased, and they would arrange by letter how the books should be sent—so many at a time.

Richard suspected something more behind his dismissal than the affair with Miss Vixen, but he was too proud to ask for an explanation. Mr. Lestrange was completely within his rights, but he felt aggrieved notwithstanding and was sorry to have to leave the library. He would probably never again have the chance of restoring such a fine library—working among such books had been a rare delight! He could always make a living. But it had been to him a genuine pleasure to cause any worthy volume to look as it ought to look. To make a whole straggling library of books wasted and worn, put on the complexion, uniform, and discipline of a well-conditioned company of the host of heaven, was at least an honourable task! For what are books, I venture to say, but an army-corps of the lord of hosts, at whose command are troops of all natures, after the various regions of his indwelling! Even the letter is something, for the dry bones of books are every hour coming alive to the reader in whose spirit is blowing the better spirit. Richard himself was one of such, though he did not yet know there was a better spirit.