Part 6 (1/2)
”I sat up for Mrs. Renton and the young lady, sir. They're just come, and gone up stairs.”
”All right, James. Take your lamp and come in here. I've got something to say to you.” The man followed him into the library at once, with some wonder on his sleepy face.
”First, put some coal on that fire, and light the chandelier. I shall not go up stairs to-night.” The man obeyed. ”Now, James, sit down in that chair.” He did so, beginning to look frightened at Dr. Renton's grave manner.
”James,”--a long pause,--”I want you to tell me the truth. Where did you go to-night? Come, I have found you out. Speak.”
The man turned as white as a sheet, and looked wretched with the whites of his bulging eyes, and the great pimple on his nose awfully distinct in the livid hue of his features. He was a rather slavish fellow, and thought he was going to lose his situation. Please not to blame him, for he, too, was one of the poor.
”O Dr. Renton, excuse me, sir; I didn't mean doing any harm.”
”James, my daughter gave you an undirected letter this evening; you carried it to one of my houses in Hanover Street. Is that true?”
”Ye-yes, sir. I couldn't help it. I only did what she told me, sir.”
”James, if my daughter told you to set fire to this house, what would you do?”
”I wouldn't do it, sir,” he stammered, after some hesitation.
”You wouldn't? James, if my daughter ever tells you to set fire to this house, do it, sir! Do it. At once. Do whatever she tells you. Promptly. And I'll back you.”
The man stared wildly at him, as he received this astonis.h.i.+ng command.
Dr. Renton was perfectly grave, and had spoken slowly and seriously.
The man was at his wits' end.
”You'll do it, James,--will you?”
”Ye-yes, sir, certainly.”
”That's right. James, you're a good fellow. James, you've got a wife and children, hav'n't you?”
”Yes, sir, I have; living in the country, sir. In Chelsea, over the ferry. For cheapness, sir.”
”For cheapness, eh? Hard times, James? How is it?”
”Pretty hard, sir. Close, but toler'ble comfortable. Rub and go, sir.”
”Rub and go. Ve-r-y well. Rub and go. James, I'm going to raise your wages--to-morrow. Generally, because you're a good servant.
Princ.i.p.ally, because you carried that letter to-night, when my daughter asked you. I sha'n't forget it. To-morrow, mind. And if I can do anything for you, James, at any time, just tell me.
That's all. Now, you'd better go to bed. And a happy Christmas to you!”
”Much obliged to you, sir. Same to you and many of 'em. Good night, sir.” And with Dr. Renton's ”good-night” he stole up to bed, thoroughly happy, and determined to obey Miss Renton's future instructions to the letter. The shower of golden light which had been raining for the last two hours had fallen even on him. It would fall all day to-morrow in many places, and the day after, and for long years to come. Would that it could broaden and increase to a general deluge, and submerge the world!
Now the whole house was still, and its master was weary. He sat there, quietly musing, feeling the sweet and tranquil presence near him. Now the fire was screened, the lights were out, save one dim glimmer, and he had lain down on the couch with the letter in his hand, and slept the dreamless sleep of a child.
He slept until the gray dawn of Christmas day stole into the room, and showed him the figure of his friend, a shape of glorious light, standing by his side, and gazing at him with large and tender eyes!
He had no fear. All was deep, serene, and happy with the happiness of heaven. Looking up into that beautiful, wan face,--so tranquil,--so radiant; watching, with a childlike awe, the star-fire in those shadowy eyes; smiling faintly, with a great, unutterable love thrilling slowly through his frame, in answer to the smile of light that shone upon the phantom countenance; so he pa.s.sed a s.p.a.ce of time which seemed a calm eternity, till, at last, the communion of spirit with spirit--of mortal love with love immortal--was perfected, and the s.h.i.+ning hands were laid on his forehead, as with a touch of air. Then the phantom smiled, and, as its s.h.i.+ning hands were withdrawn, the thought of his daughter mingled in the vision. She was bending over him! The dawn, the room, were the same. But the ghost of Feval had gone out from earth, away to its own land!