for them.  And so (glowered the fire), I am determined to think of that outrage, and not to light them, but to go out myself, directly!  And the fire got into such a spasm of glowing indignation over the injury, that it lit a whole tier of black coals with a series of little explosions, before it could cool down, and sent a crimson gleam over the moody figure of its owner in the easy-chair, and over the solemn furniture, and into the shadowy corner filled by the ghost.

The spectre did not move when Dr. Renton arose and lit the chandelier.  It stood there, still and gray, in the flood of mellow light.  The curtains were drawn, and the twilight without had deepened into darkness.  The fire was now burning in despite of itself, fanned by the wintry gusts, which found their way down the chimney.  Dr. Renton stood with his back to it, his hands behind him, his bold white forehead shaded by a careless lock of black hair, and knit sternly; and the same frown in his handsome, open, searching dark eyes.  Tall and strong, with an erect port, and broad, firm shoulders, high, resolute features, a commanding figure garbed in aristocratic black, and not yet verging into the proportions of obesity,—­take him for all in all, a very fine and favorable specimen of the solid men of Boston.  And seen in contrast (oh! could he but have known it!) with the attenuated figure of the poor, dim ghost!

Hark! a very light foot on the stairs,—­a rich rustle of silks.  Everything still again,—­Dr. Renton looking fixedly, with great sternness, at the half-open door, whence a faint, delicious perfume floats into the library.  Somebody there, for certain.  Somebody peeping in with very bright, arch eyes.  Dr. Renton knew it, and prepared to maintain his ill-humor against the invader.  His face became triply armed with severity for the encounter.  That’s Netty, I know, he thought.  His daughter.  So it was.  In she bounded.  Bright little Netty!  Gay little Netty!  A dear and sweet little creature, to be sure, with a delicate and pleasant beauty of face and figure, it needed no costly silks to grace or heighten.  There she stood.  Not a word from her merry lips, but a smile which stole over all the solitary grimness of the library, and made everything better, and brighter, and fairer, in a minute.  It floated down into the cavernous humor of Dr. Renton, and the gloom began to lighten directly,—­though he would not own it, nor relax a single feature.  But the wan ghost in the corner lifted its head to look at her, and slowly brightened as to something worthy a spirit’s love, and a dim phantom’s smiles.  Now then, Dr. Renton! the lines are drawn, and the foe is coming.  Be martial, sir, as when you stand in the ranks of the Cadets on training-days!  Steady, and stand the charge!  So he did.  He kept an inflexible front as she glided toward him, softly, slowly, with her bright eyes smiling into his, and doing dreadful execution.  Then she put her white arms around