‘Are they indeed?’ he exclaimed, with some consternation. ‘I was not in the least aware of that. I thought so long as I let no one meddle with them, they were safe enough.’ ‘The law of the moth and rust holds with books as well as other unused things,’ I answered. ‘Then, pray, my dear sir, undertake the thing at once,’ he said, in a tone to which the uneasiness of self-reproach gave a touch of imperiousness. ‘But really,’ he added, ‘it seems trespassing on your goodness much too far. Your time is valuable. Would it be a long job?’ ‘It would doubtless take some months; but the pleasure of seeing order dawn from confusion would itself repay me. And I _might_ come upon certain books of which I am greatly in want. You will have to allow me a carpenter though, for the shelves are not half sufficient to hold the books; and I have no doubt those there are stand in need of repair.’ ‘I have a carpenter amongst my people. Old houses want constant attention. I shall put him under your orders with pleasure. Come and dine with me to-morrow, and we’ll talk it all over.’ ‘You are very kind,’ I said. ‘Is Mr Brotherton at home?’ ‘I am sorry to say he is not.’ ‘I heard the other day that he had sold his commission.’ ‘Yes--six months ago. His regiment was ordered to India, and--and--his mother----But he does not give us much of his company,’ added the old man. ‘I am sorry he is not at home, for he would have been glad to meet you.’ Instead of responding, I merely made haste to accept Sir Giles’s invitation. I confess I did not altogether relish having anything to do with the future property of Geoffrey Brotherton; but the attraction of the books was great, and in any case I should be under no obligation to him; neither was the nature of the service I was about to render him such as would awaken any sense of obligation in a mind like his.