and we owe the wharfman something now. The two boys picked up a few chips; but the poor children find it hard to get them, sir. Times are very hard with us, sir; indeed, they are. We'd have got along better, if my husband's money had come, and your rent would have been paid."

"Never mind the rent!-don't speak of that!" he broke in, with his face all aglow. "Mrs. Miller, I haven't done right by you-I know it. Be frank with me. Are you in want of-have you-need of-food?”

No need of answer to that faintly stammered question. The thin, rigid face was covered from his sight by the worn, wan hands, and all the pride and shame of poverty, and all the frigid truth of cold, hunger, anxiety, and sickened sorrow, they had concealed, had given way at last in a rush of tears. He could not speak. With a smitten heart, he knew it all, now. Ah! Dr. Renton, you know these people's tricks? you know their lying blazon of poverty, to gather sympathy?

Mrs. Miller"-she had ceased weeping, and, as he spoke, she looked at him, with the tear-stains still on her agitated face, half ashamed that he had seen her- Mrs. Miller, I am sorry. This shall all be remedied. Don't tell me it shan't! Don't! I say it shall! Mrs. Miller, I'm-I'm ashamed of myself. I am, indeed."

"I am very grateful, sir, I'm sure," said she; "but we don't like to take charity, though we need help; but we can get along now, sir-for, I suppose I must keep it, as you say you didn't send it, and use it, for the children's sake and thank God for his good mercy-since I don't know, and never shall, where it came from, now."

"Mrs. Miller," he said quickly, "you spoke in this way before; and I don't know what you refer to. What do you mean by-it?

"O, I forgot, sir; it puzzles me so. You see, sir, I was sitting here after I got home from your house, thinking what I should do, when Mrs. Flanagan came up stairs with a letter for me, that she said a strange man left at the door for Mrs. Miller; and Mrs. Flanagan couldn't describe him well, or understandably; and it had no direction at all, only the man inquired who was the landlord, and if Mrs. Miller had a sick child, and then said the letter was

for me; and there was no writing inside the letter, but there was fifty dollars. That's all, sir. It gave me a great shock, sir; and I couldn't think who sent it, only when you came tonight, I thought it was you; but you said it wasn't, and I never shall know who it was, now. It seems as if the hand of God was in it, sir, for it came when everything was darkest, and I was in despair."

"Why, Mrs. Miller," he slowly answered, "this is very mysterious. The man inquired if I was the owner of the house-oh, no-he only inquired who was--but then he knew I was the

-O bother! I'm getting nowhere. Let's see. Why it must be some one you know, or that knows your circum

stances."

"But there's no one knows them but yourself, and I told you," she replied; "no one else but the people in the house. It must have been some rich person, for the letter was a gilt-edge sheet, and there was perfume in it, sir.”

"Strange," he murmured.

"Well,

I give it up. All is, I advise you to keep it, and I'm very glad some one did his duty by you in your hour of need, though I'm sorry it was not myself. Here's Mrs. Flanagan."

There was a good deal done, and a great burden lifted off an humble heart -nay, two! before Dr. Renton thought of going home. There was a patient gained, likely to do Dr. Renton more good than any patient he had lost. There was a kettle singing on the stove, and blowing off a happier steam than any engine ever blew on that rail-road whose unmarketable stock had singed Dr. Renton's fingers. There was a yellow gleam flickering from the blazing fire on the sober binding of a good old Book upon a shelf with others, a rarer medical work than ever slipped at auction from Dr. Renton's hands, since it kept the sacred lore of Him who healed the sick, and fed the hungry, and comforted the poor, and who was also the Physician of souls.

And there were other offices performed, of lesser range than these, before he rose to go. There were cooling mixtures blended for the sick child; medicines arranged; directions given; and all the items of her tendance orderly foreseen, and put in pigeon holes of When and How, for service.

At last he rose to go.

"And now,

Mrs. Miller," he said, "I'll come here at ten in the morning, and see to our patient. She'll be nicely by that time. And-(listen to those brutes in the street!-twelve o'clock, too-ah! there's the bell),—as I was saying, my offense to you being occasioned by your debt to me, I feel my receipt for your debt should commence my reparation to you; and I'll bring it to-morrow. Mrs. Miller-you don't quite come at me-what I mean is-you owe me, under a notice to quit, three months' rent. Consider that paid, in full. I never will take a cent of it from you-not a copper. And I take back the notice. Stay in my house as long as you like; the longer the better. But, up to this date, your rent's paid. There. I hope you'll have as happy a Christmas as circumstances will allow, and I mean you shall.'

"

A flush of astonishment—of indefinabe emotion, overspread her face.

"Dr. Renton, stop, sir!" He was moving to the door. Please, sir, do hear me! You are very good--but I oan't allow you to-Dr. Renton, we are able to pay you the rent, and we will and we must-here-now. O, sir, my gratefulness will never fail to you-but, here-here-be fair with me, sir, and do take it!"

She had hurried to a chest of drawers, and came back with the letter which she had rustled apart with eager, trembling hands, and now, unfolding the single bank-note it had contained, she thrust it into his fingers as they closed.

"Here, Mrs. Miller"-she had drawn back with her arms locked on her bosom, and he stepped forward-" no, no. This shan't be. Come, come, you must take it back. Good heavens!" he spoke low, but his eyes blazed in the rod glow which broke out on his face, and the crisp note in his extended hand shook violently at her-"Sooner than tako this money from you, I would perish in the street! What! Do you think I will rob you of the gift sent you by some one who had a human heart for the distresses I was aggravating? sooner than-here take it! Ö, my God! what's this!"

The red glow on his face went out, with this exclamation, in a pallor like marble, and he jerked back the note to his starting eyes; Kilby Bank-Boston-Fifty Dollars. For a minute he gazed at the motionless bill in his hand.

Then, with his hueless lips compressed, he seized the blank letter from his astonished tenant, and looked at it, turning it over and over. Grained letterpaper-gilt edged-with a favorite perfume in it. Where's Mrs. Flanagan? Outside the door, sitting on the top of the stairs, with her apron over her head, crying. Mrs. Flanagan! Here! In she tumbled, her big feet kicking her skirts before her, and her eyes and face as red as a beet.

"Mrs. Flanagan, what kind of a looking man gave you this letter at the door to-night?"

"A-w, Docther Rinton, dawn't ax me! Bother, an' all, an' sure an' I cudn't see him wud his fur-r hat, an' he a-ll boondled oop wud his co-at oop on his e-ars, an' his big han'kershuf smotherin' thuh mouth uv him, an' sorra a bit uv him tuh be looked at, sehvin' thuh poomple on thuh ind uv his naws!"

"The what on the end of his nose?" "Thuh poomple, sur."

"What does she mean, Mrs. Miller?" said the puzzled questioner, turning to his tenant.

"I don't know, sir, indeed," was the reply; "she said that to me, and I couldn't understand her."

"It's thuh poomple, docther. Dawn't ye knoo? Thuh big, flehmin poomple oop there." She indicated the locality, by flattening the rude tip of her own nose with her broad forefinger.

"O-h, the pimple! I have it." So he had. Netty, Netty!

He said nothing, but sat down in a chair, with his bold, white brow knitted, and the warm tears in his dark eyes.

"You know who sent it, sir, don't you?" asked his wondering tenant, catching the meaning of all this.

"Mrs. Miller, I do. But I cannot tell you. Take it now, and use it.

It is doubly yours. There. Thank

you."

warm tears in his dark eyes had flowed on his face, which was pale; and his firm lip quivered.

"I hope He will, Mrs. Miller-I hope He will. It should have been said oftener."

"He was on the outer threshold. Mrs. Flanagan had, somehow, got there before him, with a lamp, and he followed her down through the, dancing shadows, with blurred eyes. On the lower landing, he stopped to hear the jar of some noisy wrangle, thick with oaths, from the bar-room. He listened for a moment, and then turned to the staring stupor of Mrs. Flanagan's rugged visage.

"Sure, their at ut, docther, wud a wull," she said, smiling.

Yes. Mrs. Flanagan, you'll stay up with Mrs. Miller to-night, won't you?" "Dade an' I wull, sur."

"That's right. Do. And make her try and sleep, for she must be tired. Keep up a fire-not too warm, you understand. There'll be wood and coal coming to-morrow, and she'll pay you back."

66

A-w, docther, dawn't, noo!"

Well, well. And-look here; have you got anything to eat in the house? Yes; well; take it up stairs. Wake up those two boys, and give them something to eat. Don't let Mrs. Miller stop you. Make her eat something. Tell her I said she must. And, first

of all, get your bonnet, and go to that apothecary's-Flint's-for a bottle of port wine, for Mrs. Miller. Hold on. There's the order." (He had a leaf out of his pocket-book in a minute, and wrote it down.) "Go with this, the first thing. Ring Flint's bell, and he'll wake up. And here's something for your own Christmas dinner, to-morrow." Out of the roll of bills, he drew one of the tens-Kilby Bank-Boston -and gave it to Mrs. Flanagan.

"A-w, dawn't noo, docther."

"Bother! Its for yourself, mind. Take it. There. And now unlock the door. That's it. Good night, Mrs. Flanagan."

"An' meh thuh Hawly Vurgin hape blessin's on ye, Docther Rinton, wud a-ll thuh compliments uv thuh sehzin, for yur thuh"

He lost the end of Mrs. Flanagan's parting benedictions, in the moonlit street. He did not pause till he was at the door of the oyster-room.

He

paused then, to make way for a tipsy company of four, who reeled out-the gas-light from the bar-room on the edges of their sodden, distorted faces -giving three shouts and a yell, as they slammed the door behind them.

He pushed after a party that was just entering. They went at once for drink to the upper end of the room, where a rowdy crew, with cigars in their mouths, and liquor in their hands, stood before the bar, in a knotty wrangle concerning some one who was killed. Where is the keeper? O, there he is, mixing hot brandy punch for two. Here, you, sir, go up quietly, and tell Mr. Rollins Dr. Renton wants to see him. The waiter came back presently to say Mr. Rollins would be right along. Twentyfive minutes past twelve. Oyster trade nearly over. Gaudy curtained booths on the left all empty, but two. Oyster openers and waiters-three of them in all-nearly done for the night, and two of them sparring and scuffling behind a pile of oysters on the trough, with the colored print of the great prize fight between Tom Hyer and Yankee Sullivan, in a veneered frame above them on the wall. Blower up from the fire opposite the bar, and stewpans and griddles empty and idle on the bench beside it, among the unwashed bowls and dishes. Oyster trade nearly over. Bar still busy.

Here comes Rollins in his shirtsleeves, with an apron on. Thick-set, muscular man-frizzled head, low forehead, sharp, black eyes, flabby face, with a false, greasy smile on it now, oiling over a curious, stealthy expression of mingled surprise and inquiry, as he sees his landlord here at this unusual hour.

"Come in here, Mr. Rollins; I want to speak to you."

66

Yes, sir. Jim," (to the waiter) "go and tend bar." They sat down in one of the booths, and lowered the curtain. Dr. Renton, at one side of the table within, looking at Rollins, sitting leaning on his folded arms, at the other side.

"Mr. Rollins, I am told the man who was stabbed here last night is dead. Is that so?"

"Can't help it, sir. Who's a-goin' to touch me? Called in a watchman. Whole mess of 'em had cut. Who knows 'em? Nobody knows 'em. Man that was struck, never see the fellers as struck him in all his life till then. Didn't know wich one of 'em did it. Didn't know nothing. Don't now, an' never will, 'nless he meets 'em in hell. That's all. Feller's dead, an' who's a-goin' to touch me? Can't do it. Ca-n-t do it."

"Mr. Rollins," said Dr. Renton, thoroughly disgusted with this man's brutal indifference, "your lease expires in three days."

Well, it does. Hope to make a renewal with you, Dr. Renton. Trade's good here. Shouldn't mind more rent on, if you insist-hope you won't—if it's anything in reason. Promise sollum, I shan't have no more fighting' in here. Couldn't help this. Accidents will happen, yo' know."

"Mr. Rollins, the case is this, if you didn't sell liquor here, you'd have no murder done in your place-murder, sir. That man was murdered. It's your fault, and it's mine, too. I ought not to have let you the place for your business. It is a cursed traffic, and you and I ought to have found it out long ago. I have. I hope you will. Now, I advise you, as a friend, to give up selling rum for the future: you see what it comes to-don't you? At any rate, I will not be responsible for the outrages that are perpetrated in my building, any more-I will not have liquor sold here. I refuse to renew your lease. In three days you must move."

"Dr. Renton, you hurt my feelin's. Now, how would you-"

"Mr. Rollins, I have spoken to you as a friend, and you have no cause for pain. You must quit these premises when your lease expires. I'm sorry I can't make you go before that. Make no appeals to me, if you please. I am fixed. Now, sir, good night."

The curtain was pulled up and Rollins rolled over to his beloved bar, soothing his lacerated feelings by swearing like a pirate, while Dr. Renton strode to the door, and went into the street, homeward.

He walked fast through the magical moonlight, with a strange feeling of sternness, and tenderness, and weariness, in his mind. In this mood, the

sensation of spiritual and physical fatigue gaining on him, but a quiet moonlight in all his reveries, he reached his house. He was just putting his latchkey in the door, when it was opened by James, who stared at him for a second, and then dropped his eyes, and put his hand before his nose. Dr. Renton compressed his lips on an involuntary smile.

"Ah! James, you're up late. It's near one."

"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 man

ner.

"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 Hanoverstreet. 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 the astonishing 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 family-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. Principally, because you carried that letter to-night, when my daughter asked you. I shan'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 this 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 laid 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 tranquilso radiant; watching with a child-like 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 passed a space of time which seemed a calm eternity, till, at last, the communion of spirit with spirit -of ancient love with love immortalwas perfected, and the shining hands were laid on his forehead, as with a touch of air. Then the phantom smiled, and, as its shining 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!

"Father, dear father! Your eyes were open, and they did not look at me. There is a light on your face, and your features are changed! What is itwhat have you seen?"

"Hush, darling: here-kneel by me, for a little while, and be still. I have seen the dead."

She knelt by him, burying her awestruck face in his bosom, and clung to him with all the fervor of her soul. He clasped her to his breast, and for minutes all was still.

"My dear my good, dear child!"

The voice was tremulous and low. She lifted her fair, bright countenance, now convulsed with a secret trouble, and dimmed with streaming tears, to his, and gazed on him. His eyes were shining; but his pallid cheeks, like hers, were wet with tears. How still the room was! How like a thought of solemn tenderness, the pale gray dawn! The world was far away, and his soul still wandered in the peaceful awe of his dream. The world was coming back to him-but oh! how changed!in the trouble of his daughter's face.

"Darling, what is it? Why are you here? Why are you weeping? Dear child, the friend of my better days-of the boyhood when I had noble aims, and life was beautiful before me-he has been here! I have seen him. He has been with me-oh! for a good I cannot tell!"