Stories of Mystery | Page 8

with the prevailing ideas of his career. First he says,
'_Farewell--farewell_'; then he bids me take his '_counsel into memory
on Christmas day_'; then after enumerating all the wretched classes he
can think of in the country, he says: '_These are your sisters and your
brothers,--love them all._' Here he says, '_O friend, strong in wealth for
so much good, take my last counsel. In the name of the Saviour, I
charge you be true and tender to mankind._' He goes on to bid me '_live
and labor for the fallen, the neglected, the suffering, and the poor_'; and
finally ends by advising me to help upset any, or all, institutions, laws,
and so forth, that bear hardly on the fag-ends of society; and tells me
that what he calls 'a service to humanity' is worth more to the doer than
a service to anything else, or than anything we can gain from the world.
Ah, well! poor George."

"But isn't all that true, father?" said Netty; "it seems so."
"H'm," he murmured through his closed lips. Then with a vague smile,
folding up the letter, meanwhile, he said, "Wild words, Netty, wild
words. I've no objection to charity, judiciously given; but poor George's
notions are not mine. Every man for himself, is a good general rule.
Every man for humanity, as George has it, and in his acceptation of the
principle, would send us all to the almshouse pretty soon. The greatest
good of the greatest number,--that's my rule of action. There are plenty
of good institutions for the distressed, and I'm willing to help support
'em, and do. But as for making a martyr of one's self, or tilting against
the necessary evils of society, or turning philanthropist at large, or any
quixotism of that sort, I don't believe in it. We didn't make the world,
and we can't mend it. Poor George. Well--he's at rest. The world wasn't
the place for him."
They grew silent. The spectre glided slowly to the wall, and stood as if
it were thinking what, with Dr. Renton's rule of action, was to become
of the greatest good of the smallest number. Nathalie sat on her father's
knee, thinking only of George Feval, and of his having been starved
and grieved to death.
"Father," said Nathalie, softly, "I felt, while you were reading the letter,
as if he were near us. Didn't you? The room was so light and still, and
the wind sighed so."
"Netty, dear, I've felt that all day, I believe," he replied. "Hark! there is
the door-bell. Off goes the spirit-world, and here comes the actual.
Confound it! Some one to see me, I'll warrant, and I'm not in the
mood."
He got into a fret at once. Netty was not the Netty of an hour ago, or
she would have coaxed him out of it. But she did not notice it now in
her abstraction. She had risen at the tinkle of the bell, and seated herself
in a chair. Presently a nose, with a great pimple on the end of it,
appeared at the edge of the door, and a weak, piping voice said,
reckless of the proper tense, "There was a woman wanted to see you,
sir."

"Who is it, James?--no matter, show her in."
He got up with the vexed scowl on his face, and walked the room. In a
minute the library door opened again, and a pale, thin, rigid, frozen-
looking little woman, scantily clad, the weather being considered,
entered, and dropped a curt, awkward bow to Dr. Renton.
"O, Mrs. Miller! Good evening, ma'am. Sit down," he said, with a cold,
constrained civility.
The little woman faintly said, "Good evening, Dr. Renton," and sat
down stiffly, with her hands crossed before her, in the chair nearest the
wall. This was the obdurate tenant, who had paid no rent for three
months, and had a notice to quit, expiring to-morrow.
"Cold evening, ma'am," remarked Dr. Renton, in his hard way.
"Yes, sir, it is," was the cowed, awkward answer.
"Won't you sit near the fire, ma'am?" said Netty, gently; "you look
cold."
"No, miss, thank you. I'm not cold," was the faint reply. She was cold,
though, as well she might be with her poor, thin shawl, and open
bonnet, in such a bitter night as it was outside. And there was a rigid,
sharp, suffering look in her pinched features that betokened she might
have been hungry, too. "Poor people don't mind the cold weather,
miss," she said, with a weak smile, her voice getting a little stronger.
"They have to bear it, and they get used to it."
She had not evidently borne it long enough to effect the point of
indifference. Netty looked at her with a tender pity. Dr. Renton