The thought flashed through my mind that, before I placed the money on
the desk, I would take occasion to glance over into the space back of
it.
"Sit down, Mr. Lester," said Mrs. Magnus, and herself drew up a chair
to one side of the fireplace, where a wood fire crackled cheerily,
throwing out a warmth just strong enough to be grateful on this damp
evening. "The money is in that bag?"
"Yes," I said. "I have it in hundred-dollar bills--five packets of one
hundred each. I thought perhaps you--your husband would prefer it in
that form."
She nodded, and sat for a moment staring absently into the fire.
"This was Mr. Magnus' workroom, I suppose?" I said at last.
"Yes; when he was first really succeeding in business, he used always
to bring some work home with him in the evening. But he outgrew
that"--a shade of bitterness crept into her voice--"and during the
last ten years of his life he used the room hardly at all. But he is
using it again now," she added, in another tone. "Every night."
I stared across at her, wondering if she could be in earnest.
Certainly her countenance gave every impression of earnestness.
"He will be here to-night," she went on. "It is a little early yet. He
usually comes at eight-thirty."
"You mean he is here in the spirit," I said, trying to speak lightly.
"In the spirit, of course."
I breathed a sigh of relief. I fancied that I began to understand.
"Many people believe that their dead watch over them," I said.
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