“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.  Principally, 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 passed a space 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 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  Then the phantom smiled, and, as its shining hands were withdrawn, the thought of his daughter mingled in the vision.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 it,—­what 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 awe-struck 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.