"You ought to hate it," replied his friend. "It's been the root of all your troubles. Richling, God Almighty is unimpassioned. If he wasn't he'd be weak. You remember Young's line: 'A God all mercy is a God unjust.' The time has come when beneficence, to be real, must operate scientifically, not emotionally. Emotion is good; but it must follow, not guide. Here! I'll give you a single instance. Emotion never sells where it can give: that is an old-fashioned, effete benevolence. The new, the cold-blooded, is incomparably better: it never--to individual or to community--gives where it can sell. Your instincts have applied the rule to yourself; apply it to your fellow-man." "Ah!" said Richling, promptly, "that's another thing. It's not my business to apply it to them." "It _is_ your business to apply it to them. You have no right to do less." "And what will men say of me? At least--not that, but"-- The Doctor pointed upward. "They will say, 'I know thee, that thou art an hard man.'" His voice trembled. "But, Richling," he resumed with fresh firmness, "if you want to lead a long and useful life,--you say you do,--you must take my advice; you must deny yourself for a while; you must shelve these fine notions for a time. I tell you once more, you must endeavor to reestablish your health as it was before--before they locked you up, you know. When that is done you can commence right there if you choose; I wish you would. Give the public--sell would be better, but it will hardly buy--a prison system less atrocious, less destructive of justice, and less promotive of crime and vice, than the one it has. By-the-by, I suppose you know that Raphael Ristofalo went to prison last night again?" Richling sprang to his feet. "For what? He hasn't"-- "Yes, sir; he has discovered the man who robbed him, and has killed him." Richling started away, but halted as the Doctor spoke again, rising from his seat and shaking out his legs. "He's not suffering any hardship. He's shrewd, you know,--has made arrangements with the keeper by which he secures very comfortable quarters. The star-chamber, I think they call the room he is in. He'll suffer very little restraint. Good-day!" He turned, as Richling left, to get his own hat and gloves. "Yes," he thought, as he passed slowly downstairs to his carriage, "I have erred." He was not only teaching, he was learning. To fight evil was not enough. People who wanted help for orphans did not come to him--they sent. They drew back from him as a child shrinks from a soldier. Even Alice, his buried Alice, had wept with delight when he gave her a smile, and trembled with fear at his frown. To fight evil is not enough. Everybody seemed to feel as though that were a war against himself. Oh for some one always to understand--never to fear--the frowning good intention of the lonely man! CHAPTER XXXIX. "PETTENT PRATE."