"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 manner. "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 Hanover Street. 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 this 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 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!