* * * * *
I wanted to do the world good, and the world has killed me, Charles._'"
* * * * *
"It frightens me," said Nathalie, as he paused.
"We will read no more," he replied sombrely. "It belongs to the
psychology of madness. To me, who knew him, there are gleams of sense
in it, and passages where the delirium of the language is only a
transparent veil on the meaning. All the remainder is devoted to what
he thought important advice to me. But it's all wild and vague.
Poor--poor George!"
The phantom still hid its face in its hands, as the doctor slowly turned
over the pages of the letter. Nathalie, bending over the leaves, laid
her finger on the last, and asked, "What are those closing sentences,
father? Read them."
"Oh! that is what he called his 'last counsel' to me. It's as wild as
the rest,--tinctured 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.
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