Then came Christmas Eve.  The weather had changed; to-night there was frost in the air, and the light of stars made a shimmer upon the black vault.  Gilbert always gave this season to companionship with his mother.  About seven o’clock they were talking quietly together of memories light and grave, of Gilbert’s boyhood, of his sister who was dead, of his father who was dead.  Then came a pause, whilst both were silently busy with the irrecoverable past.

Mrs. Grail broke the silence to say: 

‘You’re a lonely man, Gilbert.’

‘Why no, not lonely, mother.  I might be, but for you.’

’Yes, you’re lonely, my dear.  It’s poor company that I can give you.  I should like to see you with a happier look on your face before I die.’

Gilbert had no reply ready.

‘You think too poorly of yourself,’ his mother resumed, ’and you always have done.  But there’s people have a better judgment of you.  Haven’t you thought that somebody looks always very pleased when you read or talk, and sits very quiet when you’ve nothing to say, and always says good-night to you so prettily?’

’Mother, mother, don’t speak like that!  I’ve thought nothing of the kind.  Put that out of your head; never speak of it again.’

His voice was not untender, but very grave.  The lines of his face hardened.  Mrs. Grail glanced at him timidly, and became mute.

A loud double knock told that the postman had delivered a letter at the house.  Whilst the two still sat in silence Mrs. Jarmey tapped at their door and said: 

‘A letter for you, Mr. Grail.’

‘From Mr. Egremont,’ said Gilbert, as he resumed his seat and opened the envelope.  ‘More about the library I expect.’

He read to himself.

’My dear Grail,—­I have decided to take the school building on a lease of seven years, after again carefully examining it and finding it still to my mind.  It will be free at the end of March.  By that time I hope to have sketched out something of a rudimentary catalogue, and before summer the library should be open.

’I asked you to come and look over this place with me because I had a project in my mind with reference to the library which concerns yourself.  I lay it before you in a letter, that you may think it over quietly and reply at your leisure.  I wish to offer you the position of librarian:  I am sure I could not find anyone better suited for the post, and certainly there is no man whom I should like so well to see occupying it.  I propose that the salary be a hundred pounds a year, with free tenancy of the dwelling-house at present so dolorously occupied—­I am sure it can be made a comfortable abode—­and of course, gas and fuel.  I should make arrangements for the necessary cleaning, &c., with some person of the neighbourhood; your own duties would be solely those of librarian and reading-room superintendent.