THE HAUNTED MAN AND THE GHOST'S BARGAIN

CHAPTER I--The Gift Bestowed

Everybody said so. 

Far be it from me to assert that what everybody says must be true. Everybody is, often, as likely to be wrong as right. In thegeneral experience, everybody has been wrong so often, and it hastaken, in most instances, such a weary while to find out how wrong, that the authority is proved to be fallible. Everybody maysometimes be right; "but THAT'S no rule, " as the ghost of GilesScroggins says in the ballad. 

The dread word, GHOST, recalls me. 

Everybody said he looked like a haunted man. The extent of mypresent claim for everybody is, that they were so far right. Hedid. 

Who could have seen his hollow cheek; his sunken brilliant eye; hisblack-attired figure, indefinably grim, although well-knit andwell-proportioned; his grizzled hair hanging, like tangled sea-weed, about his face, --as if he had been, through his whole life, alonely mark for the chafing and beating of the great deep ofhumanity, --but might have said he looked like a haunted man?

Who could have observed his manner, taciturn, thoughtful, gloomy, shadowed by habitual reserve, retiring always and jocund never, with a distraught air of reverting to a bygone place and time, orof listening to some old echoes in his mind, but might have said itwas the manner of a haunted man?

Who could have heard his voice, slow-speaking, deep, and grave, with a natural fulness and melody in it which he seemed to sethimself against and stop, but might have said it was the voice of ahaunted man?

Who that had seen him in his inner chamber, part library and partlaboratory, --for he was, as the world knew, far and wide, a learnedman in chemistry, and a teacher on whose lips and hands a crowd ofaspiring ears and eyes hung daily, --who that had seen him there, upon a winter night, alone, surrounded by his drugs and instrumentsand books; the shadow of his shaded lamp a monstrous beetle on thewall, motionless among a crowd of spectral shapes raised there bythe flickering of the fire upon the quaint objects around him; someof these phantoms (the reflection of glass vessels that heldliquids), trembling at heart like things that knew his power touncombine them, and to give back their component parts to fire andvapour;--who that had seen him then, his work done, and hepondering in his chair before the rusted grate and red flame, moving his thin mouth as if in speech, but silent as the dead, would not have said that the man seemed haunted and the chambertoo?

Who might not, by a very easy flight of fancy, have believed thateverything about him took this haunted tone, and that he lived onhaunted ground?

His dwelling was so solitary and vault-like, --an old, retired partof an ancient endowment for students, once a brave edifice, plantedin an open place, but now the obsolete whim of forgottenarchitects; smoke-age-and-weather-darkened, squeezed on every sideby the overgrowing of the great city, and choked, like an old well, with stones and bricks; its small quadrangles, lying down in verypits formed by the streets and buildings, which, in course of time, had been constructed above its heavy chimney stalks; its old trees, insulted by the neighbouring smoke, which deigned to droop so lowwhen it was very feeble and the weather very moody; its grass-plots, struggling with the mildewed earth to be grass, or to winany show of compromise; its silent pavements, unaccustomed to thetread of feet, and even to the observation of eyes, except when astray face looked down from the upper world, wondering what nook itwas; its sun-dial in a little bricked-up corner, where no sun hadstraggled for a hundred years, but where, in compensation for thesun's neglect, the snow would lie for weeks when it lay nowhereelse, and the black east wind would spin like a huge humming-top, when in all other places it was silent and still. 

His dwelling, at its heart and core--within doors--at his fireside--was so lowering and old, so crazy, yet so strong, with its worn-eaten beams of wood in the ceiling, and its sturdy floor shelvingdownward to the great oak chimney-piece; so environed and hemmed inby the pressure of the town yet so remote in fashion, age, andcustom; so quiet, yet so thundering with echoes when a distantvoice was raised or a door was shut, --echoes, not confined to themany low passages and empty rooms, but rumbling and grumbling tillthey were stifled in the heavy air of the forgotten Crypt where theNorman arches were half-buried in the earth. 

You should have seen him in his dwelling about twilight, in thedead winter time. 

When the wind was blowing, shrill and shrewd, with the going downof the blurred sun. When it was just so dark, as that the forms ofthings were indistinct and big--but not wholly lost. When sittersby the fire began to see wild faces and figures, mountains andabysses, ambuscades and armies, in the coals. When people in thestreets bent down their heads and ran before the weather. Whenthose who were obliged to meet it, were stopped at angry corners, stung by wandering snow-flakes alighting on the lashes of theireyes, --which fell too sparingly, and were blown away too quickly, to leave a trace upon the frozen ground. When windows of privatehouses closed up tight and warm. When lighted gas began to burstforth in the busy and the quiet streets, fast blackening otherwise. When stray pedestrians, shivering along the latter, looked down atthe glowing fires in kitchens, and sharpened their sharp appetitesby sniffing up the fragrance of whole miles of dinners. 

When travellers by land were bitter cold, and looked wearily ongloomy landscapes, rustling and shuddering in the blast. Whenmariners at sea, outlying upon icy yards, were tossed and swungabove the howling ocean dreadfully. When lighthouses, on rocks andheadlands, showed solitary and watchful; and benighted sea-birdsbreasted on against their ponderous lanterns, and fell dead. Whenlittle readers of story-books, by the firelight, trembled to thinkof Cassim Baba cut into quarters, hanging in the Robbers' Cave, orhad some small misgivings that the fierce little old woman, withthe crutch, who used to start out of the box in the merchantAbudah's bedroom, might, one of these nights, be found upon thestairs, in the long, cold, dusky journey up to bed. 

When, in rustic places, the last glimmering of daylight died awayfrom the ends of avenues; and the trees, arching overhead, weresullen and black. When, in parks and woods, the high wet fern andsodden moss, and beds of fallen leaves, and trunks of trees, werelost to view, in masses of impenetrable shade. When mists arosefrom dyke, and fen, and river. When lights in old halls and incottage windows, were a cheerful sight. When the mill stopped, thewheelwright and the blacksmith shut their workshops, the turnpike-gate closed, the plough and harrow were left lonely in the fields, the labourer and team went home, and the striking of the churchclock had a deeper sound than at noon, and the churchyard wicketwould be swung no more that night. 

When twilight everywhere released the shadows, prisoned up all day, that now closed in and gathered like mustering swarms of ghosts. When they stood lowering, in corners of rooms, and frowned out frombehind half-opened doors. When they had full possession ofunoccupied apartments. When they danced upon the floors, andwalls, and ceilings of inhabited chambers, while the fire was low, and withdrew like ebbing waters when it sprang into a blaze. Whenthey fantastically mocked the shapes of household objects, makingthe nurse an ogress, the rocking-horse a monster, the wonderingchild, half-scared and half-amused, a stranger to itself, --the verytongs upon the hearth, a straddling giant with his arms a-kimbo, evidently smelling the blood of Englishmen, and wanting to grindpeople's bones to make his bread. 

When these shadows brought into the minds of older people, otherthoughts, and showed them different images. When they stole fromtheir retreats, in the likenesses of forms and faces from the past, from the grave, from the deep, deep gulf, where the things thatmight have been, and never were, are always wandering. 

When he sat, as already mentioned, gazing at the fire. When, as itrose and fell, the shadows went and came. When he took no heed ofthem, with his bodily eyes; but, let them come or let them go, looked fixedly at the fire. You should have seen him, then. 

When the sounds that had arisen with the shadows, and come out oftheir lurking-places at the twilight summons, seemed to make adeeper stillness all about him. When the wind was rumbling in thechimney, and sometimes crooning, sometimes howling, in the house. When the old trees outside were so shaken and beaten, that onequerulous old rook, unable to sleep, protested now and then, in afeeble, dozy, high-up "Caw!" When, at intervals, the windowtrembled, the rusty vane upon the turret-top complained, the clockbeneath it recorded that another quarter of an hour was gone, orthe fire collapsed and fell in with a rattle. 

- When a knock came at his door, in short, as he was sitting so, and roused him. 

"Who's that?" said he. "Come in!"

Surely there had been no figure leaning on the back of his chair;no face looking over it. It is certain that no gliding footsteptouched the floor, as he lifted up his head, with a start, andspoke. And yet there was no mirror in the room on whose surfacehis own form could have cast its shadow for a moment; and, Something had passed darkly and gone!

"I'm humbly fearful, sir, " said a fresh-coloured busy man, holdingthe door open with his foot for the admission of himself and awooden tray he carried, and letting it go again by very gentle andcareful degrees, when he and the tray had got in, lest it shouldclose noisily, "that it's a good bit past the time to-night. ButMrs. William has been taken off her legs so often" -

"By the wind? Ay! I have heard it rising. "

"--By the wind, sir--that it's a mercy she got home at all. Ohdear, yes. Yes. It was by the wind, Mr. Redlaw. By the wind. "

He had, by this time, put down the tray for dinner, and wasemployed in lighting the lamp, and spreading a cloth on the table. From this employment he desisted in a hurry, to stir and feed thefire, and then resumed it; the lamp he had lighted, and the blazethat rose under his hand, so quickly changing the appearance of theroom, that it seemed as if the mere coming in of his fresh red faceand active manner had made the pleasant alteration. 

"Mrs. William is of course subject at any time, sir, to be takenoff her balance by the elements. She is not formed superior toTHAT. "

"No, " returned Mr. Redlaw good-naturedly, though abruptly. 

"No, sir. Mrs. William may be taken off her balance by Earth; asfor example, last Sunday week, when sloppy and greasy, and shegoing out to tea with her newest sister-in-law, and having a pridein herself, and wishing to appear perfectly spotless thoughpedestrian. Mrs. William may be taken off her balance by Air; asbeing once over-persuaded by a friend to try a swing at PeckhamFair, which acted on her constitution instantly like a steam-boat. Mrs. William may be taken off her balance by Fire; as on a falsealarm of engines at her mother's, when she went two miles in hernightcap. Mrs. William may be taken off her balance by Water; asat Battersea, when rowed into the piers by her young nephew, Charley Swidger junior, aged twelve, which had no idea of boatswhatever. But these are elements. Mrs. William must be taken outof elements for the strength of HER character to come into play. "

As he stopped for a reply, the reply was "Yes, " in the same tone asbefore. 

"Yes, sir. Oh dear, yes!" said Mr. Swidger, still proceeding withhis preparations, and checking them off as he made them. "That'swhere it is, sir. That's what I always say myself, sir. Such amany of us Swidgers!--Pepper. Why there's my father, sir, superannuated keeper and custodian of this Institution, eighty-seven year old. He's a Swidger!--Spoon. "

"True, William, " was the patient and abstracted answer, when hestopped again. 

"Yes, sir, " said Mr. Swidger. "That's what I always say, sir. Youmay call him the trunk of the tree!--Bread. Then you come to hissuccessor, my unworthy self--Salt--and Mrs. William, Swidgersboth. --Knife and fork. Then you come to all my brothers and theirfamilies, Swidgers, man and woman, boy and girl. Why, what withcousins, uncles, aunts, and relationships of this, that, andt'other degree, and whatnot degree, and marriages, and lyings-in, the Swidgers--Tumbler--might take hold of hands, and make a ringround England!"

Receiving no reply at all here, from the thoughtful man whom headdressed, Mr. William approached, him nearer, and made a feint ofaccidentally knocking the table with a decanter, to rouse him. Themoment he succeeded, he went on, as if in great alacrity ofacquiescence. 

"Yes, sir! That's just what I say myself, sir. Mrs. William andme have often said so. 'There's Swidgers enough, ' we say, 'withoutOUR voluntary contributions, '--Butter. In fact, sir, my father isa family in himself--Castors--to take care of; and it happens allfor the best that we have no child of our own, though it's madeMrs. William rather quiet-like, too. Quite ready for the fowl andmashed potatoes, sir? Mrs. William said she'd dish in ten minuteswhen I left the Lodge. "

"I am quite ready, " said the other, waking as from a dream, andwalking slowly to and fro. 

"Mrs. William has been at it again, sir!" said the keeper, as hestood warming a plate at the fire, and pleasantly shading his facewith it. Mr. Redlaw stopped in his walking, and an expression ofinterest appeared in him. 

"What I always say myself, sir. She WILL do it! There's amotherly feeling in Mrs. William's breast that must and will havewent. "

"What has she done?"

"Why, sir, not satisfied with being a sort of mother to all theyoung gentlemen that come up from a variety of parts, to attendyour courses of lectures at this ancient foundation--its surprisinghow stone-chaney catches the heat this frosty weather, to be sure!"Here he turned the plate, and cooled his fingers. 

"Well?" said Mr. Redlaw. 

"That's just what I say myself, sir, " returned Mr. William, speaking over his shoulder, as if in ready and delighted assent. "That's exactly where it is, sir! There ain't one of our studentsbut appears to regard Mrs. William in that light. Every day, rightthrough the course, they puts their heads into the Lodge, one afteranother, and have all got something to tell her, or something toask her. 'Swidge' is the appellation by which they speak of Mrs. William in general, among themselves, I'm told; but that's what Isay, sir. Better be called ever so far out of your name, if it'sdone in real liking, than have it made ever so much of, and notcared about! What's a name for? To know a person by. If Mrs. William is known by something better than her name--I allude toMrs. William's qualities and disposition--never mind her name, though it IS Swidger, by rights. Let 'em call her Swidge, Widge, Bridge--Lord! London Bridge, Blackfriars, Chelsea, Putney, Waterloo, or Hammersmith Suspension--if they like. "

The close of this triumphant oration brought him and the plate tothe table, upon which he half laid and half dropped it, with alively sense of its being thoroughly heated, just as the subject ofhis praises entered the room, bearing another tray and a lantern, and followed by a venerable old man with long grey hair. 

Mrs. William, like Mr. William, was a simple, innocent-lookingperson, in whose smooth cheeks the cheerful red of her husband'sofficial waistcoat was very pleasantly repeated. But whereas Mr. William's light hair stood on end all over his head, and seemed todraw his eyes up with it in an excess of bustling readiness foranything, the dark brown hair of Mrs. William was carefullysmoothed down, and waved away under a trim tidy cap, in the mostexact and quiet manner imaginable. Whereas Mr. William's verytrousers hitched themselves up at the ankles, as if it were not intheir iron-grey nature to rest without looking about them, Mrs. William's neatly-flowered skirts--red and white, like her ownpretty face--were as composed and orderly, as if the very wind thatblew so hard out of doors could not disturb one of their folds. Whereas his coat had something of a fly-away and half-offappearance about the collar and breast, her little bodice was soplacid and neat, that there should have been protection for her, init, had she needed any, with the roughest people. Who could havehad the heart to make so calm a bosom swell with grief, or throbwith fear, or flutter with a thought of shame! To whom would itsrepose and peace have not appealed against disturbance, like theinnocent slumber of a child!

"Punctual, of course, Milly, " said her husband, relieving her ofthe tray, "or it wouldn't be you. Here's Mrs. William, sir!--Helooks lonelier than ever to-night, " whispering to his wife, as hewas taking the tray, "and ghostlier altogether. "

Without any show of hurry or noise, or any show of herself even, she was so calm and quiet, Milly set the dishes she had broughtupon the table, --Mr. William, after much clattering and runningabout, having only gained possession of a butter-boat of gravy, which he stood ready to serve. 

"What is that the old man has in his arms?" asked Mr. Redlaw, as hesat down to his solitary meal. 

"Holly, sir, " replied the quiet voice of Milly. 

"That's what I say myself, sir, " interposed Mr. William, strikingin with the butter-boat. "Berries is so seasonable to the time ofyear!--Brown gravy!"

"Another Christmas come, another year gone!" murmured the Chemist, with a gloomy sigh. "More figures in the lengthening sum ofrecollection that we work and work at to our torment, till Deathidly jumbles all together, and rubs all out. So, Philip!" breakingoff, and raising his voice as he addressed the old man, standingapart, with his glistening burden in his arms, from which the quietMrs. William took small branches, which she noiselessly trimmedwith her scissors, and decorated the room with, while her agedfather-in-law looked on much interested in the ceremony. 

"My duty to you, sir, " returned the old man. "Should have spokebefore, sir, but know your ways, Mr. Redlaw--proud to say--and waittill spoke to! Merry Christmas, sir, and Happy New Year, and manyof 'em. Have had a pretty many of 'em myself--ha, ha!--and maytake the liberty of wishing 'em. I'm eighty-seven!"

"Have you had so many that were merry and happy?" asked the other. 

"Ay, sir, ever so many, " returned the old man. 

"Is his memory impaired with age? It is to be expected now, " saidMr. Redlaw, turning to the son, and speaking lower. 

"Not a morsel of it, sir, " replied Mr. William. "That's exactlywhat I say myself, sir. There never was such a memory as myfather's. He's the most wonderful man in the world. He don't knowwhat forgetting means. It's the very observation I'm always makingto Mrs. William, sir, if you'll believe me!"

Mr. Swidger, in his polite desire to seem to acquiesce at allevents, delivered this as if there were no iota of contradiction init, and it were all said in unbounded and unqualified assent. 

The Chemist pushed his plate away, and, rising from the table, walked across the room to where the old man stood looking at alittle sprig of holly in his hand. 

"It recalls the time when many of those years were old and new, then?" he said, observing him attentively, and touching him on theshoulder. "Does it?"

"Oh many, many!" said Philip, half awaking from his reverie. "I'meighty-seven!"

"Merry and happy, was it?" asked the Chemist in a low voice. "Merry and happy, old man?"

"Maybe as high as that, no higher, " said the old man, holding outhis hand a little way above the level of his knee, and lookingretrospectively at his questioner, "when I first remember 'em!Cold, sunshiny day it was, out a-walking, when some one--it was mymother as sure as you stand there, though I don't know what herblessed face was like, for she took ill and died that Christmas-time--told me they were food for birds. The pretty little fellowthought--that's me, you understand--that birds' eyes were sobright, perhaps, because the berries that they lived on in thewinter were so bright. I recollect that. And I'm eighty-seven!"

"Merry and happy!" mused the other, bending his dark eyes upon thestooping figure, with a smile of compassion. "Merry and happy--andremember well?"

"Ay, ay, ay!" resumed the old man, catching the last words. "Iremember 'em well in my school time, year after year, and all themerry-making that used to come along with them. I was a strongchap then, Mr. Redlaw; and, if you'll believe me, hadn't my matchat football within ten mile. Where's my son William? Hadn't mymatch at football, William, within ten mile!"

"That's what I always say, father!" returned the son promptly, andwith great respect. "You ARE a Swidger, if ever there was one ofthe family!"

"Dear!" said the old man, shaking his head as he again looked atthe holly. "His mother--my son William's my youngest son--and I, have sat among 'em all, boys and girls, little children and babies, many a year, when the berries like these were not shining half sobright all round us, as their bright faces. Many of 'em are gone;she's gone; and my son George (our eldest, who was her pride morethan all the rest!) is fallen very low: but I can see them, when Ilook here, alive and healthy, as they used to be in those days; andI can see him, thank God, in his innocence. It's a blessed thingto me, at eighty-seven. "

The keen look that had been fixed upon him with so muchearnestness, had gradually sought the ground. 

"When my circumstances got to be not so good as formerly, throughnot being honestly dealt by, and I first come here to becustodian, " said the old man, "--which was upwards of fifty yearsago--where's my son William? More than half a century ago, William!"

"That's what I say, father, " replied the son, as promptly anddutifully as before, "that's exactly where it is. Two timesought's an ought, and twice five ten, and there's a hundred of'em. "

"It was quite a pleasure to know that one of our founders--or morecorrectly speaking, " said the old man, with a great glory in hissubject and his knowledge of it, "one of the learned gentlemen thathelped endow us in Queen Elizabeth's time, for we were foundedafore her day--left in his will, among the other bequests he madeus, so much to buy holly, for garnishing the walls and windows, come Christmas. There was something homely and friendly in it. Being but strange here, then, and coming at Christmas time, we tooka liking for his very picter that hangs in what used to be, anciently, afore our ten poor gentlemen commuted for an annualstipend in money, our great Dinner Hall. --A sedate gentleman in apeaked beard, with a ruff round his neck, and a scroll below him, in old English letters, 'Lord! keep my memory green!' You know allabout him, Mr. Redlaw?"

"I know the portrait hangs there, Philip. "

"Yes, sure, it's the second on the right, above the panelling. Iwas going to say--he has helped to keep MY memory green, I thankhim; for going round the building every year, as I'm a doing now, and freshening up the bare rooms with these branches and berries, freshens up my bare old brain. One year brings back another, andthat year another, and those others numbers! At last, it seems tome as if the birth-time of our Lord was the birth-time of all Ihave ever had affection for, or mourned for, or delighted in, --andthey're a pretty many, for I'm eighty-seven!"

"Merry and happy, " murmured Redlaw to himself. 

The room began to darken strangely. 

"So you see, sir, " pursued old Philip, whose hale wintry cheek hadwarmed into a ruddier glow, and whose blue eyes had brightenedwhile he spoke, "I have plenty to keep, when I keep this presentseason. Now, where's my quiet Mouse? Chattering's the sin of mytime of life, and there's half the building to do yet, if the colddon't freeze us first, or the wind don't blow us away, or thedarkness don't swallow us up. "

The quiet Mouse had brought her calm face to his side, and silentlytaken his arm, before he finished speaking. 

"Come away, my dear, " said the old man. "Mr. Redlaw won't settleto his dinner, otherwise, till it's cold as the winter. I hopeyou'll excuse me rambling on, sir, and I wish you good night, and, once again, a merry--"

"Stay!" said Mr. Redlaw, resuming his place at the table, more, itwould have seemed from his manner, to reassure the old keeper, thanin any remembrance of his own appetite. "Spare me another moment, Philip. William, you were going to tell me something to yourexcellent wife's honour. It will not be disagreeable to her tohear you praise her. What was it?"

"Why, that's where it is, you see, sir, " returned Mr. WilliamSwidger, looking towards his wife in considerable embarrassment. "Mrs. William's got her eye upon me. "

"But you're not afraid of Mrs. William's eye?"

"Why, no, sir, " returned Mr. Swidger, "that's what I say myself. It wasn't made to be afraid of. It wouldn't have been made somild, if that was the intention. But I wouldn't like to--Milly!--him, you know. Down in the Buildings. "

Mr. William, standing behind the table, and rummagingdisconcertedly among the objects upon it, directed persuasiveglances at Mrs. William, and secret jerks of his head and thumb atMr. Redlaw, as alluring her towards him. 

"Him, you know, my love, " said Mr. William. "Down in theBuildings. Tell, my dear! You're the works of Shakespeare incomparison with myself. Down in the Buildings, you know, my love. --Student. "

"Student?" repeated Mr. Redlaw, raising his head. 

"That's what I say, sir!" cried Mr. William, in the utmostanimation of assent. "If it wasn't the poor student down in theBuildings, why should you wish to hear it from Mrs. William's lips?Mrs. William, my dear--Buildings. "

"I didn't know, " said Milly, with a quiet frankness, free from anyhaste or confusion, "that William had said anything about it, or Iwouldn't have come. I asked him not to. It's a sick younggentleman, sir--and very poor, I am afraid--who is too ill to gohome this holiday-time, and lives, unknown to any one, in but acommon kind of lodging for a gentleman, down in JerusalemBuildings. That's all, sir. "

"Why have I never heard of him?" said the Chemist, risinghurriedly. "Why has he not made his situation known to me? Sick!--give me my hat and cloak. Poor!--what house?--what number?"

"Oh, you mustn't go there, sir, " said Milly, leaving her father-in-law, and calmly confronting him with her collected little face andfolded hands. 

"Not go there?"

"Oh dear, no!" said Milly, shaking her head as at a most manifestand self-evident impossibility. "It couldn't be thought of!"

"What do you mean? Why not?"

"Why, you see, sir, " said Mr. William Swidger, persuasively andconfidentially, "that's what I say. Depend upon it, the younggentleman would never have made his situation known to one of hisown sex. Mrs. Williams has got into his confidence, but that'squite different. They all confide in Mrs. William; they all trustHER. A man, sir, couldn't have got a whisper out of him; butwoman, sir, and Mrs. William combined--!"

"There is good sense and delicacy in what you say, William, "returned Mr. Redlaw, observant of the gentle and composed face athis shoulder. And laying his finger on his lip, he secretly puthis purse into her hand. 

"Oh dear no, sir!" cried Milly, giving it back again. "Worse andworse! Couldn't be dreamed of!"

Such a staid matter-of-fact housewife she was, and so unruffled bythe momentary haste of this rejection, that, an instant afterwards, she was tidily picking up a few leaves which had strayed frombetween her scissors and her apron, when she had arranged theholly. 

Finding, when she rose from her stooping posture, that Mr. Redlawwas still regarding her with doubt and astonishment, she quietlyrepeated--looking about, the while, for any other fragments thatmight have escaped her observation:

"Oh dear no, sir! He said that of all the world he would not beknown to you, or receive help from you--though he is a student inyour class. I have made no terms of secrecy with you, but I trustto your honour completely. "

"Why did he say so?"

"Indeed I can't tell, sir, " said Milly, after thinking a little, "because I am not at all clever, you know; and I wanted to beuseful to him in making things neat and comfortable about him, andemployed myself that way. But I know he is poor, and lonely, and Ithink he is somehow neglected too. --How dark it is!"

The room had darkened more and more. There was a very heavy gloomand shadow gathering behind the Chemist's chair. 

"What more about him?" he asked. 

"He is engaged to be married when he can afford it, " said Milly, "and is studying, I think, to qualify himself to earn a living. Ihave seen, a long time, that he has studied hard and denied himselfmuch. --How very dark it is!"

"It's turned colder, too, " said the old man, rubbing his hands. "There's a chill and dismal feeling in the room. Where's my sonWilliam? William, my boy, turn the lamp, and rouse the fire!"

Milly's voice resumed, like quiet music very softly played:

"He muttered in his broken sleep yesterday afternoon, after talkingto me" (this was to herself) "about some one dead, and some greatwrong done that could never be forgotten; but whether to him or toanother person, I don't know. Not BY him, I am sure. "

"And, in short, Mrs. William, you see--which she wouldn't sayherself, Mr. Redlaw, if she was to stop here till the new yearafter this next one--" said Mr. William, coming up to him to speakin his ear, "has done him worlds of good! Bless you, worlds ofgood! All at home just the same as ever--my father made as snugand comfortable--not a crumb of litter to be found in the house, ifyou were to offer fifty pound ready money for it--Mrs. Williamapparently never out of the way--yet Mrs. William backwards andforwards, backwards and forwards, up and down, up and down, amother to him!"

The room turned darker and colder, and the gloom and shadowgathering behind the chair was heavier. 

"Not content with this, sir, Mrs. William goes and finds, this verynight, when she was coming home (why it's not above a couple ofhours ago), a creature more like a young wild beast than a youngchild, shivering upon a door-step. What does Mrs. William do, butbrings it home to dry it, and feed it, and keep it till our oldBounty of food and flannel is given away, on Christmas morning! Ifit ever felt a fire before, it's as much as ever it did; for it'ssitting in the old Lodge chimney, staring at ours as if itsravenous eyes would never shut again. It's sitting there, atleast, " said Mr. William, correcting himself, on reflection, "unless it's bolted!"

"Heaven keep her happy!" said the Chemist aloud, "and you too, Philip! and you, William! I must consider what to do in this. Imay desire to see this student, I'll not detain you any longer now. Good-night!"

"I thank'ee, sir, I thank'ee!" said the old man, "for Mouse, andfor my son William, and for myself. Where's my son William?William, you take the lantern and go on first, through them longdark passages, as you did last year and the year afore. Ha ha!_I_ remember--though I'm eighty-seven! 'Lord, keep my memorygreen!' It's a very good prayer, Mr. Redlaw, that of the learnedgentleman in the peaked beard, with a ruff round his neck--hangsup, second on the right above the panelling, in what used to be, afore our ten poor gentlemen commuted, our great Dinner Hall. 'Lord, keep my memory green!' It's very good and pious, sir. Amen! Amen!"

As they passed out and shut the heavy door, which, howevercarefully withheld, fired a long train of thundering reverberationswhen it shut at last, the room turned darker. 

As he fell a musing in his chair alone, the healthy holly witheredon the wall, and dropped--dead branches. 

As the gloom and shadow thickened behind him, in that place whereit had been gathering so darkly, it took, by slow degrees, --or outof it there came, by some unreal, unsubstantial process--not to betraced by any human sense, --an awful likeness of himself!

Ghastly and cold, colourless in its leaden face and hands, but withhis features, and his bright eyes, and his grizzled hair, anddressed in the gloomy shadow of his dress, it came into histerrible appearance of existence, motionless, without a sound. AsHE leaned his arm upon the elbow of his chair, ruminating beforethe fire, IT leaned upon the chair-back, close above him, with itsappalling copy of his face looking where his face looked, andbearing the expression his face bore. 

This, then, was the Something that had passed and gone already. This was the dread companion of the haunted man!

It took, for some moments, no more apparent heed of him, than he ofit. The Christmas Waits were playing somewhere in the distance, and, through his thoughtfulness, he seemed to listen to the music. It seemed to listen too. 

At length he spoke; without moving or lifting up his face. 

"Here again!" he said. 

"Here again, " replied the Phantom. 

"I see you in the fire, " said the haunted man; "I hear you inmusic, in the wind, in the dead stillness of the night. "

The Phantom moved its head, assenting. 

"Why do you come, to haunt me thus?"

"I come as I am called, " replied the Ghost. 

"No. Unbidden, " exclaimed the Chemist. 

"Unbidden be it, " said the Spectre. "It is enough. I am here. "

Hitherto the light of the fire had shone on the two faces--if thedread lineaments behind the chair might be called a face--bothaddressed towards it, as at first, and neither looking at theother. But, now, the haunted man turned, suddenly, and stared uponthe Ghost. The Ghost, as sudden in its motion, passed to beforethe chair, and stared on him. 

The living man, and the animated image of himself dead, might sohave looked, the one upon the other. An awful survey, in a lonelyand remote part of an empty old pile of building, on a winternight, with the loud wind going by upon its journey of mystery--whence or whither, no man knowing since the world began--and thestars, in unimaginable millions, glittering through it, frometernal space, where the world's bulk is as a grain, and its hoaryage is infancy. 

"Look upon me!" said the Spectre. "I am he, neglected in my youth, and miserably poor, who strove and suffered, and still strove andsuffered, until I hewed out knowledge from the mine where it wasburied, and made rugged steps thereof, for my worn feet to rest andrise on. "

"I AM that man, " returned the Chemist. 

"No mother's self-denying love, " pursued the Phantom, "no father'scounsel, aided ME. A stranger came into my father's place when Iwas but a child, and I was easily an alien from my mother's heart. My parents, at the best, were of that sort whose care soon ends, and whose duty is soon done; who cast their offspring loose, early, as birds do theirs; and, if they do well, claim the merit; and, ifill, the pity. "

It paused, and seemed to tempt and goad him with its look, and withthe manner of its speech, and with its smile. 

"I am he, " pursued the Phantom, "who, in this struggle upward, found a friend. I made him--won him--bound him to me! We workedtogether, side by side. All the love and confidence that in myearlier youth had had no outlet, and found no expression, Ibestowed on him. "

"Not all, " said Redlaw, hoarsely. 

"No, not all, " returned the Phantom. "I had a sister. "

The haunted man, with his head resting on his hands, replied "Ihad!" The Phantom, with an evil smile, drew closer to the chair, and resting its chin upon its folded hands, its folded hands uponthe back, and looking down into his face with searching eyes, thatseemed instinct with fire, went on:

"Such glimpses of the light of home as I had ever known, hadstreamed from her. How young she was, how fair, how loving! Itook her to the first poor roof that I was master of, and made itrich. She came into the darkness of my life, and made it bright. --She is before me!"

"I saw her, in the fire, but now. I hear her in music, in thewind, in the dead stillness of the night, " returned the hauntedman. 

"DID he love her?" said the Phantom, echoing his contemplativetone. "I think he did, once. I am sure he did. Better had sheloved him less--less secretly, less dearly, from the shallowerdepths of a more divided heart!"

"Let me forget it!" said the Chemist, with an angry motion of hishand. "Let me blot it from my memory!"

The Spectre, without stirring, and with its unwinking, cruel eyesstill fixed upon his face, went on:

"A dream, like hers, stole upon my own life. "

"It did, " said Redlaw. 

"A love, as like hers, " pursued the Phantom, "as my inferior naturemight cherish, arose in my own heart. I was too poor to bind itsobject to my fortune then, by any thread of promise or entreaty. Iloved her far too well, to seek to do it. But, more than ever Ihad striven in my life, I strove to climb! Only an inch gained, brought me something nearer to the height. I toiled up! In thelate pauses of my labour at that time, --my sister (sweetcompanion!) still sharing with me the expiring embers and thecooling hearth, --when day was breaking, what pictures of the futuredid I see!"

"I saw them, in the fire, but now, " he murmured. "They come backto me in music, in the wind, in the dead stillness of the night, inthe revolving years. "

"--Pictures of my own domestic life, in aftertime, with her who wasthe inspiration of my toil. Pictures of my sister, made the wifeof my dear friend, on equal terms--for he had some inheritance, wenone--pictures of our sobered age and mellowed happiness, and ofthe golden links, extending back so far, that should bind us, andour children, in a radiant garland, " said the Phantom. 

"Pictures, " said the haunted man, "that were delusions. Why is itmy doom to remember them too well!"

"Delusions, " echoed the Phantom in its changeless voice, andglaring on him with its changeless eyes. "For my friend (in whosebreast my confidence was locked as in my own), passing between meand the centre of the system of my hopes and struggles, won her tohimself, and shattered my frail universe. My sister, doubly dear, doubly devoted, doubly cheerful in my home, lived on to see mefamous, and my old ambition so rewarded when its spring was broken, and then--"

"Then died, " he interposed. "Died, gentle as ever; happy; and withno concern but for her brother. Peace!"

The Phantom watched him silently. 

"Remembered!" said the haunted man, after a pause. "Yes. So wellremembered, that even now, when years have passed, and nothing ismore idle or more visionary to me than the boyish love so longoutlived, I think of it with sympathy, as if it were a youngerbrother's or a son's. Sometimes I even wonder when her heart firstinclined to him, and how it had been affected towards me. --Notlightly, once, I think. --But that is nothing. Early unhappiness, awound from a hand I loved and trusted, and a loss that nothing canreplace, outlive such fancies. "

"Thus, " said the Phantom, "I bear within me a Sorrow and a Wrong. Thus I prey upon myself. Thus, memory is my curse; and, if I couldforget my sorrow and my wrong, I would!"

"Mocker!" said the Chemist, leaping up, and making, with a wrathfulhand, at the throat of his other self. "Why have I always thattaunt in my ears?"

"Forbear!" exclaimed the Spectre in an awful voice. "Lay a hand onMe, and die!"

He stopped midway, as if its words had paralysed him, and stoodlooking on it. It had glided from him; it had its arm raised highin warning; and a smile passed over its unearthly features, as itreared its dark figure in triumph. 

"If I could forget my sorrow and wrong, I would, " the Ghostrepeated. "If I could forget my sorrow and my wrong, I would!"

"Evil spirit of myself, " returned the haunted man, in a low, trembling tone, "my life is darkened by that incessant whisper. "

"It is an echo, " said the Phantom. 

"If it be an echo of my thoughts--as now, indeed, I know it is, "rejoined the haunted man, "why should I, therefore, be tormented?It is not a selfish thought. I suffer it to range beyond myself. All men and women have their sorrows, --most of them their wrongs;ingratitude, and sordid jealousy, and interest, besetting alldegrees of life. Who would not forget their sorrows and theirwrongs?"

"Who would not, truly, and be happier and better for it?" said thePhantom. 

"These revolutions of years, which we commemorate, " proceededRedlaw, "what do THEY recall! Are there any minds in which they donot re-awaken some sorrow, or some trouble? What is theremembrance of the old man who was here to-night? A tissue ofsorrow and trouble. "

"But common natures, " said the Phantom, with its evil smile uponits glassy face, "unenlightened minds and ordinary spirits, do notfeel or reason on these things like men of higher cultivation andprofounder thought. "

"Tempter, " answered Redlaw, "whose hollow look and voice I dreadmore than words can express, and from whom some dim foreshadowingof greater fear is stealing over me while I speak, I hear again anecho of my own mind. "

"Receive it as a proof that I am powerful, " returned the Ghost. "Hear what I offer! Forget the sorrow, wrong, and trouble you haveknown!"

"Forget them!" he repeated. 

"I have the power to cancel their remembrance--to leave but veryfaint, confused traces of them, that will die out soon, " returnedthe Spectre. "Say! Is it done?"

"Stay!" cried the haunted man, arresting by a terrified gesture theuplifted hand. "I tremble with distrust and doubt of you; and thedim fear you cast upon me deepens into a nameless horror I canhardly bear. --I would not deprive myself of any kindlyrecollection, or any sympathy that is good for me, or others. Whatshall I lose, if I assent to this? What else will pass from myremembrance?"

"No knowledge; no result of study; nothing but the intertwistedchain of feelings and associations, each in its turn dependent on, and nourished by, the banished recollections. Those will go. "

"Are they so many?" said the haunted man, reflecting in alarm. 

"They have been wont to show themselves in the fire, in music, inthe wind, in the dead stillness of the night, in the revolvingyears, " returned the Phantom scornfully. 

"In nothing else?"

The Phantom held its peace. 

But having stood before him, silent, for a little while, it movedtowards the fire; then stopped. 

"Decide!" it said, "before the opportunity is lost!"

"A moment! I call Heaven to witness, " said the agitated man, "thatI have never been a hater of any kind, --never morose, indifferent, or hard, to anything around me. If, living here alone, I have madetoo much of all that was and might have been, and too little ofwhat is, the evil, I believe, has fallen on me, and not on others. But, if there were poison in my body, should I not, possessed ofantidotes and knowledge how to use them, use them? If there bepoison in my mind, and through this fearful shadow I can cast itout, shall I not cast it out?"

"Say, " said the Spectre, "is it done?"

"A moment longer!" he answered hurriedly. "I WOULD FORGET IT IF ICOULD! Have _I_ thought that, alone, or has it been the thought ofthousands upon thousands, generation after generation? All humanmemory is fraught with sorrow and trouble. My memory is as thememory of other men, but other men have not this choice. Yes, Iclose the bargain. Yes! I WILL forget my sorrow, wrong, andtrouble!"

"Say, " said the Spectre, "is it done?"

"It is!"

"IT IS. And take this with you, man whom I here renounce! Thegift that I have given, you shall give again, go where you will. Without recovering yourself the power that you have yielded up, youshall henceforth destroy its like in all whom you approach. Yourwisdom has discovered that the memory of sorrow, wrong, and troubleis the lot of all mankind, and that mankind would be the happier, in its other memories, without it. Go! Be its benefactor! Freedfrom such remembrance, from this hour, carry involuntarily theblessing of such freedom with you. Its diffusion is inseparableand inalienable from you. Go! Be happy in the good you have won, and in the good you do!"

The Phantom, which had held its bloodless hand above him while itspoke, as if in some unholy invocation, or some ban; and which hadgradually advanced its eyes so close to his, that he could see howthey did not participate in the terrible smile upon its face, butwere a fixed, unalterable, steady horror melted before him and wasgone. 

As he stood rooted to the spot, possessed by fear and wonder, andimagining he heard repeated in melancholy echoes, dying awayfainter and fainter, the words, "Destroy its like in all whom youapproach!" a shrill cry reached his ears. It came, not from thepassages beyond the door, but from another part of the oldbuilding, and sounded like the cry of some one in the dark who hadlost the way. 

He looked confusedly upon his hands and limbs, as if to be assuredof his identity, and then shouted in reply, loudly and wildly; forthere was a strangeness and terror upon him, as if he too werelost. 

The cry responding, and being nearer, he caught up the lamp, andraised a heavy curtain in the wall, by which he was accustomed topass into and out of the theatre where he lectured, --which adjoinedhis room. Associated with youth and animation, and a highamphitheatre of faces which his entrance charmed to interest in amoment, it was a ghostly place when all this life was faded out ofit, and stared upon him like an emblem of Death. 

"Halloa!" he cried. "Halloa! This way! Come to the light!"When, as he held the curtain with one hand, and with the otherraised the lamp and tried to pierce the gloom that filled theplace, something rushed past him into the room like a wild-cat, andcrouched down in a corner. 

"What is it?" he said, hastily. 

He might have asked "What is it?" even had he seen it well, aspresently he did when he stood looking at it gathered up in itscorner. 

A bundle of tatters, held together by a hand, in size and formalmost an infant's, but in its greedy, desperate little clutch, abad old man's. A face rounded and smoothed by some half-dozenyears, but pinched and twisted by the experiences of a life. Bright eyes, but not youthful. Naked feet, beautiful in theirchildish delicacy, --ugly in the blood and dirt that cracked uponthem. A baby savage, a young monster, a child who had never been achild, a creature who might live to take the outward form of man, but who, within, would live and perish a mere beast. 

Used, already, to be worried and hunted like a beast, the boycrouched down as he was looked at, and looked back again, andinterposed his arm to ward off the expected blow. 

"I'll bite, " he said, "if you hit me!"

The time had been, and not many minutes since, when such a sight asthis would have wrung the Chemist's heart. He looked upon it now, coldly; but with a heavy effort to remember something--he did notknow what--he asked the boy what he did there, and whence he came. 

"Where's the woman?" he replied. "I want to find the woman. "

"Who?"

"The woman. Her that brought me here, and set me by the largefire. She was so long gone, that I went to look for her, and lostmyself. I don't want you. I want the woman. "

He made a spring, so suddenly, to get away, that the dull sound ofhis naked feet upon the floor was near the curtain, when Redlawcaught him by his rags. 

"Come! you let me go!" muttered the boy, struggling, and clenchinghis teeth. "I've done nothing to you. Let me go, will you, to thewoman!"

"That is not the way. There is a nearer one, " said Redlaw, detaining him, in the same blank effort to remember someassociation that ought, of right, to bear upon this monstrousobject. "What is your name?"

"Got none. "

"Where do you live?

"Live! What's that?"

The boy shook his hair from his eyes to look at him for a moment, and then, twisting round his legs and wrestling with him, brokeagain into his repetition of "You let me go, will you? I want tofind the woman. "

The Chemist led him to the door. "This way, " he said, looking athim still confusedly, but with repugnance and avoidance, growingout of his coldness. "I'll take you to her. "

The sharp eyes in the child's head, wandering round the room, lighted on the table where the remnants of the dinner were. 

"Give me some of that!" he said, covetously. 

"Has she not fed you?"

"I shall be hungry again to-morrow, sha'n't I? Ain't I hungryevery day?"

Finding himself released, he bounded at the table like some smallanimal of prey, and hugging to his breast bread and meat, and hisown rags, all together, said:

"There! Now take me to the woman!"

As the Chemist, with a new-born dislike to touch him, sternlymotioned him to follow, and was going out of the door, he trembledand stopped. 

"The gift that I have given, you shall give again, go where youwill!"

The Phantom's words were blowing in the wind, and the wind blewchill upon him. 

"I'll not go there, to-night, " he murmured faintly. "I'll gonowhere to-night. Boy! straight down this long-arched passage, andpast the great dark door into the yard, --you see the fire shiningon the window there. "

"The woman's fire?" inquired the boy. 

He nodded, and the naked feet had sprung away. He came back withhis lamp, locked his door hastily, and sat down in his chair, covering his face like one who was frightened at himself. 

For now he was, indeed, alone. Alone, alone. 

CHAPTER II--The Gift Diffused

A small man sat in a small parlour, partitioned off from a smallshop by a small screen, pasted all over with small scraps ofnewspapers. In company with the small man, was almost any amountof small children you may please to name--at least it seemed so;they made, in that very limited sphere of action, such an imposingeffect, in point of numbers. 

Of these small fry, two had, by some strong machinery, been gotinto bed in a corner, where they might have reposed snugly enoughin the sleep of innocence, but for a constitutional propensity tokeep awake, and also to scuffle in and out of bed. The immediateoccasion of these predatory dashes at the waking world, was theconstruction of an oyster-shell wall in a corner, by two otheryouths of tender age; on which fortification the two in bed madeharassing descents (like those accursed Picts and Scots whobeleaguer the early historical studies of most young Britons), andthen withdrew to their own territory. 

In addition to the stir attendant on these inroads, and the retortsof the invaded, who pursued hotly, and made lunges at the bed-clothes under which the marauders took refuge, another little boy, in another little bed, contributed his mite of confusion to thefamily stock, by casting his boots upon the waters; in other words, by launching these and several small objects, inoffensive inthemselves, though of a hard substance considered as missiles, atthe disturbers of his repose, --who were not slow to return thesecompliments. 

Besides which, another little boy--the biggest there, but stilllittle--was tottering to and fro, bent on one side, andconsiderably affected in his knees by the weight of a large baby, which he was supposed by a fiction that obtains sometimes insanguine families, to be hushing to sleep. But oh! theinexhaustible regions of contemplation and watchfulness into whichthis baby's eyes were then only beginning to compose themselves tostare, over his unconscious shoulder!

It was a very Moloch of a baby, on whose insatiate altar the wholeexistence of this particular young brother was offered up a dailysacrifice. Its personality may be said to have consisted in itsnever being quiet, in any one place, for five consecutive minutes, and never going to sleep when required. "Tetterby's baby" was aswell known in the neighbourhood as the postman or the pot-boy. Itroved from door-step to door-step, in the arms of little JohnnyTetterby, and lagged heavily at the rear of troops of juveniles whofollowed the Tumblers or the Monkey, and came up, all on one side, a little too late for everything that was attractive, from Mondaymorning until Saturday night. Wherever childhood congregated toplay, there was little Moloch making Johnny fag and toil. WhereverJohnny desired to stay, little Moloch became fractious, and wouldnot remain. Whenever Johnny wanted to go out, Moloch was asleep, and must be watched. Whenever Johnny wanted to stay at home, Moloch was awake, and must be taken out. Yet Johnny was verilypersuaded that it was a faultless baby, without its peer in therealm of England, and was quite content to catch meek glimpses ofthings in general from behind its skirts, or over its limp flappingbonnet, and to go staggering about with it like a very littleporter with a very large parcel, which was not directed to anybody, and could never be delivered anywhere. 

The small man who sat in the small parlour, making fruitlessattempts to read his newspaper peaceably in the midst of thisdisturbance, was the father of the family, and the chief of thefirm described in the inscription over the little shop front, bythe name and title of A. TETTERBY AND CO. , NEWSMEN. Indeed, strictly speaking, he was the only personage answering to thatdesignation, as Co. Was a mere poetical abstraction, altogetherbaseless and impersonal. 

Tetterby's was the corner shop in Jerusalem Buildings. There was agood show of literature in the window, chiefly consisting ofpicture-newspapers out of date, and serial pirates, and footpads. Walking-sticks, likewise, and marbles, were included in the stockin trade. It had once extended into the light confectionery line;but it would seem that those elegancies of life were not in demandabout Jerusalem Buildings, for nothing connected with that branchof commerce remained in the window, except a sort of small glasslantern containing a languishing mass of bull's-eyes, which hadmelted in the summer and congealed in the winter until all hope ofever getting them out, or of eating them without eating the lanterntoo, was gone for ever. Tetterby's had tried its hand at severalthings. It had once made a feeble little dart at the toy business;for, in another lantern, there was a heap of minute wax dolls, allsticking together upside down, in the direst confusion, with theirfeet on one another's heads, and a precipitate of broken arms andlegs at the bottom. It had made a move in the millinery direction, which a few dry, wiry bonnet-shapes remained in a corner of thewindow to attest. It had fancied that a living might lie hidden inthe tobacco trade, and had stuck up a representation of a native ofeach of the three integral portions of the British Empire, in theact of consuming that fragrant weed; with a poetic legend attached, importing that united in one cause they sat and joked, one chewedtobacco, one took snuff, one smoked: but nothing seemed to havecome of it--except flies. Time had been when it had put a forlorntrust in imitative jewellery, for in one pane of glass there was acard of cheap seals, and another of pencil-cases, and a mysteriousblack amulet of inscrutable intention, labelled ninepence. But, tothat hour, Jerusalem Buildings had bought none of them. In short, Tetterby's had tried so hard to get a livelihood out of JerusalemBuildings in one way or other, and appeared to have done soindifferently in all, that the best position in the firm was tooevidently Co. 's; Co. , as a bodiless creation, being untroubled withthe vulgar inconveniences of hunger and thirst, being chargeableneither to the poor's-rates nor the assessed taxes, and having noyoung family to provide for. 

Tetterby himself, however, in his little parlour, as alreadymentioned, having the presence of a young family impressed upon hismind in a manner too clamorous to be disregarded, or to comportwith the quiet perusal of a newspaper, laid down his paper, wheeled, in his distraction, a few times round the parlour, like anundecided carrier-pigeon, made an ineffectual rush at one or twoflying little figures in bed-gowns that skimmed past him, and then, bearing suddenly down upon the only unoffending member of thefamily, boxed the ears of little Moloch's nurse. 

"You bad boy!" said Mr. Tetterby, "haven't you any feeling for yourpoor father after the fatigues and anxieties of a hard winter'sday, since five o'clock in the morning, but must you wither hisrest, and corrode his latest intelligence, with YOUR wicioustricks? Isn't it enough, sir, that your brother 'Dolphus istoiling and moiling in the fog and cold, and you rolling in the lapof luxury with a--with a baby, and everything you can wish for, "said Mr. Tetterby, heaping this up as a great climax of blessings, "but must you make a wilderness of home, and maniacs of yourparents? Must you, Johnny? Hey?" At each interrogation, Mr. Tetterby made a feint of boxing his ears again, but thought betterof it, and held his hand. 

"Oh, father!" whimpered Johnny, "when I wasn't doing anything, I'msure, but taking such care of Sally, and getting her to sleep. Oh, father!"

"I wish my little woman would come home!" said Mr. Tetterby, relenting and repenting, "I only wish my little woman would comehome! I ain't fit to deal with 'em. They make my head go round, and get the better of me. Oh, Johnny! Isn't it enough that yourdear mother has provided you with that sweet sister?" indicatingMoloch; "isn't it enough that you were seven boys before without aray of gal, and that your dear mother went through what she DID gothrough, on purpose that you might all of you have a little sister, but must you so behave yourself as to make my head swim?"

Softening more and more, as his own tender feelings and those ofhis injured son were worked on, Mr. Tetterby concluded by embracinghim, and immediately breaking away to catch one of the realdelinquents. A reasonably good start occurring, he succeeded, after a short but smart run, and some rather severe cross-countrywork under and over the bedsteads, and in and out among theintricacies of the chairs, in capturing this infant, whom hecondignly punished, and bore to bed. This example had a powerful, and apparently, mesmeric influence on him of the boots, whoinstantly fell into a deep sleep, though he had been, but a momentbefore, broad awake, and in the highest possible feather. Nor wasit lost upon the two young architects, who retired to bed, in anadjoining closet, with great privacy and speed. The comrade of theIntercepted One also shrinking into his nest with similardiscretion, Mr. Tetterby, when he paused for breath, found himselfunexpectedly in a scene of peace. 

"My little woman herself, " said Mr. Tetterby, wiping his flushedface, "could hardly have done it better! I only wish my littlewoman had had it to do, I do indeed!"

Mr. Tetterby sought upon his screen for a passage appropriate to beimpressed upon his children's minds on the occasion, and read thefollowing. 

"'It is an undoubted fact that all remarkable men have hadremarkable mothers, and have respected them in after life as theirbest friends. ' Think of your own remarkable mother, my boys, " saidMr. Tetterby, "and know her value while she is still among you!"

He sat down again in his chair by the fire, and composed himself, cross-legged, over his newspaper. 

"Let anybody, I don't care who it is, get out of bed again, " saidTetterby, as a general proclamation, delivered in a very soft-hearted manner, "and astonishment will be the portion of thatrespected contemporary!"--which expression Mr. Tetterby selectedfrom his screen. "Johnny, my child, take care of your only sister, Sally; for she's the brightest gem that ever sparkled on your earlybrow. "

Johnny sat down on a little stool, and devotedly crushed himselfbeneath the weight of Moloch. 

"Ah, what a gift that baby is to you, Johnny!" said his father, "and how thankful you ought to be! 'It is not generally known, Johnny, '" he was now referring to the screen again, "'but it is afact ascertained, by accurate calculations, that the followingimmense percentage of babies never attain to two years old; that isto say--'"

"Oh, don't, father, please!" cried Johnny. "I can't bear it, whenI think of Sally. "

Mr. Tetterby desisting, Johnny, with a profound sense of his trust, wiped his eyes, and hushed his sister. 

"Your brother 'Dolphus, " said his father, poking the fire, "is lateto-night, Johnny, and will come home like a lump of ice. What'sgot your precious mother?"

"Here's mother, and 'Dolphus too, father!" exclaimed Johnny, "Ithink. "

"You're right!" returned his father, listening. "Yes, that's thefootstep of my little woman. "

The process of induction, by which Mr Tetterby had come to theconclusion that his wife was a little woman, was his own secret. She would have made two editions of himself, very easily. Considered as an individual, she was rather remarkable for beingrobust and portly; but considered with reference to her husband, her dimensions became magnificent. Nor did they assume a lessimposing proportion, when studied with reference to the size of herseven sons, who were but diminutive. In the case of Sally, however, Mrs. Tetterby had asserted herself, at last; as nobodyknew better than the victim Johnny, who weighed and measured thatexacting idol every hour in the day. 

Mrs. Tetterby, who had been marketing, and carried a basket, threwback her bonnet and shawl, and sitting down, fatigued, commandedJohnny to bring his sweet charge to her straightway, for a kiss. Johnny having complied, and gone back to his stool, and againcrushed himself, Master Adolphus Tetterby, who had by this timeunwound his torso out of a prismatic comforter, apparentlyinterminable, requested the same favour. Johnny having againcomplied, and again gone back to his stool, and again crushedhimself, Mr. Tetterby, struck by a sudden thought, preferred thesame claim on his own parental part. The satisfaction of thisthird desire completely exhausted the sacrifice, who had hardlybreath enough left to get back to his stool, crush himself again, and pant at his relations. 

"Whatever you do, Johnny, " said Mrs. Tetterby, shaking her head, "take care of her, or never look your mother in the face again. "

"Nor your brother, " said Adolphus. 

"Nor your father, Johnny, " added Mr. Tetterby. 

Johnny, much affected by this conditional renunciation of him, looked down at Moloch's eyes to see that they were all right, sofar, and skilfully patted her back (which was uppermost), androcked her with his foot. 

"Are you wet, 'Dolphus, my boy?" said his father. "Come and takemy chair, and dry yourself. "

"No, father, thank'ee, " said Adolphus, smoothing himself down withhis hands. "I an't very wet, I don't think. Does my face shinemuch, father?"

"Well, it DOES look waxy, my boy, " returned Mr. Tetterby. 

"It's the weather, father, " said Adolphus, polishing his cheeks onthe worn sleeve of his jacket. "What with rain, and sleet, andwind, and snow, and fog, my face gets quite brought out into a rashsometimes. And shines, it does--oh, don't it, though!"

Master Adolphus was also in the newspaper line of life, beingemployed, by a more thriving firm than his father and Co. , to vendnewspapers at a railway station, where his chubby little person, like a shabbily-disguised Cupid, and his shrill little voice (hewas not much more than ten years old), were as well known as thehoarse panting of the locomotives, running in and out. Hisjuvenility might have been at some loss for a harmless outlet, inthis early application to traffic, but for a fortunate discovery hemade of a means of entertaining himself, and of dividing the longday into stages of interest, without neglecting business. Thisingenious invention, remarkable, like many great discoveries, forits simplicity, consisted in varying the first vowel in the word"paper, " and substituting, in its stead, at different periods ofthe day, all the other vowels in grammatical succession. Thus, before daylight in the winter-time, he went to and fro, in hislittle oilskin cap and cape, and his big comforter, piercing theheavy air with his cry of "Morn-ing Pa-per!" which, about an hourbefore noon, changed to "Morn-ing Pepper!" which, at about two, changed to "Morn-ing Pip-per!" which in a couple of hours changedto "Morn-ing Pop-per!" and so declined with the sun into "Eve-ningPup-per!" to the great relief and comfort of this young gentleman'sspirits. 

Mrs. Tetterby, his lady-mother, who had been sitting with herbonnet and shawl thrown back, as aforesaid, thoughtfully turningher wedding-ring round and round upon her finger, now rose, anddivesting herself of her out-of-door attire, began to lay the clothfor supper. 

"Ah, dear me, dear me, dear me!" said Mrs. Tetterby. "That's theway the world goes!"

"Which is the way the world goes, my dear?" asked Mr. Tetterby, looking round. 

"Oh, nothing, " said Mrs. Tetterby. 

Mr. Tetterby elevated his eyebrows, folded his newspaper afresh, and carried his eyes up it, and down it, and across it, but waswandering in his attention, and not reading it. 

Mrs. Tetterby, at the same time, laid the cloth, but rather as ifshe were punishing the table than preparing the family supper;hitting it unnecessarily hard with the knives and forks, slappingit with the plates, dinting it with the salt-cellar, and comingheavily down upon it with the loaf. 

"Ah, dear me, dear me, dear me!" said Mrs. Tetterby. "That's theway the world goes!"

"My duck, " returned her husband, looking round again, "you saidthat before. Which is the way the world goes?"

"Oh, nothing!" said Mrs. Tetterby. 

"Sophia!" remonstrated her husband, "you said THAT before, too. "

"Well, I'll say it again if you like, " returned Mrs. Tetterby. "Ohnothing--there! And again if you like, oh nothing--there! Andagain if you like, oh nothing--now then!"

Mr. Tetterby brought his eye to bear upon the partner of his bosom, and said, in mild astonishment:

"My little woman, what has put you out?"

"I'm sure _I_ don't know, " she retorted. "Don't ask me. Who saidI was put out at all? _I_ never did. "

Mr. Tetterby gave up the perusal of his newspaper as a bad job, and, taking a slow walk across the room, with his hands behind him, and his shoulders raised--his gait according perfectly with theresignation of his manner--addressed himself to his two eldestoffspring. 

"Your supper will be ready in a minute, 'Dolphus, " said Mr. Tetterby. "Your mother has been out in the wet, to the cook'sshop, to buy it. It was very good of your mother so to do. YOUshall get some supper too, very soon, Johnny. Your mother'spleased with you, my man, for being so attentive to your precioussister. "

Mrs. Tetterby, without any remark, but with a decided subsidence ofher animosity towards the table, finished her preparations, andtook, from her ample basket, a substantial slab of hot peasepudding wrapped in paper, and a basin covered with a saucer, which, on being uncovered, sent forth an odour so agreeable, that thethree pair of eyes in the two beds opened wide and fixed themselvesupon the banquet. Mr. Tetterby, without regarding this tacitinvitation to be seated, stood repeating slowly, "Yes, yes, yoursupper will be ready in a minute, 'Dolphus--your mother went out inthe wet, to the cook's shop, to buy it. It was very good of yourmother so to do"--until Mrs. Tetterby, who had been exhibitingsundry tokens of contrition behind him, caught him round the neck, and wept. 

"Oh, Dolphus!" said Mrs. Tetterby, "how could I go and behave so?"

This reconciliation affected Adolphus the younger and Johnny tothat degree, that they both, as with one accord, raised a dismalcry, which had the effect of immediately shutting up the round eyesin the beds, and utterly routing the two remaining littleTetterbys, just then stealing in from the adjoining closet to seewhat was going on in the eating way. 

"I am sure, 'Dolphus, " sobbed Mrs. Tetterby, "coming home, I had nomore idea than a child unborn--"

Mr. Tetterby seemed to dislike this figure of speech, and observed, "Say than the baby, my dear. "

"--Had no more idea than the baby, " said Mrs. Tetterby. --"Johnny, don't look at me, but look at her, or she'll fall out of your lapand be killed, and then you'll die in agonies of a broken heart, and serve you right. --No more idea I hadn't than that darling, ofbeing cross when I came home; but somehow, 'Dolphus--" Mrs. Tetterby paused, and again turned her wedding-ring round and roundupon her finger. 

"I see!" said Mr. Tetterby. "I understand! My little woman wasput out. Hard times, and hard weather, and hard work, make ittrying now and then. I see, bless your soul! No wonder! Dolf, myman, " continued Mr. Tetterby, exploring the basin with a fork, "here's your mother been and bought, at the cook's shop, besidespease pudding, a whole knuckle of a lovely roast leg of pork, withlots of crackling left upon it, and with seasoning gravy andmustard quite unlimited. Hand in your plate, my boy, and beginwhile it's simmering. "

Master Adolphus, needing no second summons, received his portionwith eyes rendered moist by appetite, and withdrawing to hisparticular stool, fell upon his supper tooth and nail. Johnny wasnot forgotten, but received his rations on bread, lest he should, in a flush of gravy, trickle any on the baby. He was required, forsimilar reasons, to keep his pudding, when not on active service, in his pocket. 

There might have been more pork on the knucklebone, --whichknucklebone the carver at the cook's shop had assuredly notforgotten in carving for previous customers--but there was no stintof seasoning, and that is an accessory dreamily suggesting pork, and pleasantly cheating the sense of taste. The pease pudding, too, the gravy and mustard, like the Eastern rose in respect of thenightingale, if they were not absolutely pork, had lived near it;so, upon the whole, there was the flavour of a middle-sized pig. It was irresistible to the Tetterbys in bed, who, though professingto slumber peacefully, crawled out when unseen by their parents, and silently appealed to their brothers for any gastronomic tokenof fraternal affection. They, not hard of heart, presenting scrapsin return, it resulted that a party of light skirmishers innightgowns were careering about the parlour all through supper, which harassed Mr. Tetterby exceedingly, and once or twice imposedupon him the necessity of a charge, before which these guerillatroops retired in all directions and in great confusion. 

Mrs. Tetterby did not enjoy her supper. There seemed to besomething on Mrs. Tetterby's mind. At one time she laughed withoutreason, and at another time she cried without reason, and at lastshe laughed and cried together in a manner so very unreasonablethat her husband was confounded. 

"My little woman, " said Mr. Tetterby, "if the world goes that way, it appears to go the wrong way, and to choke you. "

"Give me a drop of water, " said Mrs. Tetterby, struggling withherself, "and don't speak to me for the present, or take any noticeof me. Don't do it!"

Mr. Tetterby having administered the water, turned suddenly on theunlucky Johnny (who was full of sympathy), and demanded why he waswallowing there, in gluttony and idleness, instead of comingforward with the baby, that the sight of her might revive hismother. Johnny immediately approached, borne down by its weight;but Mrs. Tetterby holding out her hand to signify that she was notin a condition to bear that trying appeal to her feelings, he wasinterdicted from advancing another inch, on pain of perpetualhatred from all his dearest connections; and accordingly retired tohis stool again, and crushed himself as before. 

After a pause, Mrs. Tetterby said she was better now, and began tolaugh. 

"My little woman, " said her husband, dubiously, "are you quite sureyou're better? Or are you, Sophia, about to break out in a freshdirection?"

"No, 'Dolphus, no, " replied his wife. "I'm quite myself. " Withthat, settling her hair, and pressing the palms of her hands uponher eyes, she laughed again. 

"What a wicked fool I was, to think so for a moment!" said Mrs. Tetterby. "Come nearer, 'Dolphus, and let me ease my mind, andtell you what I mean. Let me tell you all about it. "

Mr. Tetterby bringing his chair closer, Mrs. Tetterby laughedagain, gave him a hug, and wiped her eyes. 

"You know, Dolphus, my dear, " said Mrs. Tetterby, "that when I wassingle, I might have given myself away in several directions. Atone time, four after me at once; two of them were sons of Mars. "

"We're all sons of Ma's, my dear, " said Mr. Tetterby, "jointly withPa's. "

"I don't mean that, " replied his wife, "I mean soldiers--serjeants. "

"Oh!" said Mr. Tetterby. 

"Well, 'Dolphus, I'm sure I never think of such things now, toregret them; and I'm sure I've got as good a husband, and would doas much to prove that I was fond of him, as--"

"As any little woman in the world, " said Mr. Tetterby. "Very good. VERY good. "

If Mr. Tetterby had been ten feet high, he could not have expresseda gentler consideration for Mrs. Tetterby's fairy-like stature; andif Mrs. Tetterby had been two feet high, she could not have felt itmore appropriately her due. 

"But you see, 'Dolphus, " said Mrs. Tetterby, "this being Christmas-time, when all people who can, make holiday, and when all peoplewho have got money, like to spend some, I did, somehow, get alittle out of sorts when I was in the streets just now. There wereso many things to be sold--such delicious things to eat, such finethings to look at, such delightful things to have--and there was somuch calculating and calculating necessary, before I durst lay outa sixpence for the commonest thing; and the basket was so large, and wanted so much in it; and my stock of money was so small, andwould go such a little way;--you hate me, don't you, 'Dolphus?"

"Not quite, " said Mr. Tetterby, "as yet. "

"Well! I'll tell you the whole truth, " pursued his wife, penitently, "and then perhaps you will. I felt all this, so much, when I was trudging about in the cold, and when I saw a lot ofother calculating faces and large baskets trudging about, too, thatI began to think whether I mightn't have done better, and beenhappier, if--I--hadn't--" the wedding-ring went round again, andMrs. Tetterby shook her downcast head as she turned it. 

"I see, " said her husband quietly; "if you hadn't married at all, or if you had married somebody else?"

"Yes, " sobbed Mrs. Tetterby. "That's really what I thought. Doyou hate me now, 'Dolphus?"

"Why no, " said Mr. Tetterby. "I don't find that I do, as yet. "

Mrs. Tetterby gave him a thankful kiss, and went on. 

"I begin to hope you won't, now, 'Dolphus, though I'm afraid Ihaven't told you the worst. I can't think what came over me. Idon't know whether I was ill, or mad, or what I was, but I couldn'tcall up anything that seemed to bind us to each other, or toreconcile me to my fortune. All the pleasures and enjoyments wehad ever had--THEY seemed so poor and insignificant, I hated them. I could have trodden on them. And I could think of nothing else, except our being poor, and the number of mouths there were athome. "

"Well, well, my dear, " said Mr. Tetterby, shaking her handencouragingly, "that's truth, after all. We ARE poor, and thereARE a number of mouths at home here. "

"Ah! but, Dolf, Dolf!" cried his wife, laying her hands upon hisneck, "my good, kind, patient fellow, when I had been at home avery little while--how different! Oh, Dolf, dear, how different itwas! I felt as if there was a rush of recollection on me, all atonce, that softened my hard heart, and filled it up till it wasbursting. All our struggles for a livelihood, all our cares andwants since we have been married, all the times of sickness, allthe hours of watching, we have ever had, by one another, or by thechildren, seemed to speak to me, and say that they had made us one, and that I never might have been, or could have been, or would havebeen, any other than the wife and mother I am. Then, the cheapenjoyments that I could have trodden on so cruelly, got to be soprecious to me--Oh so priceless, and dear!--that I couldn't bear tothink how much I had wronged them; and I said, and say again ahundred times, how could I ever behave so, 'Dolphus, how could Iever have the heart to do it!"

The good woman, quite carried away by her honest tenderness andremorse, was weeping with all her heart, when she started up with ascream, and ran behind her husband. Her cry was so terrified, thatthe children started from their sleep and from their beds, andclung about her. Nor did her gaze belie her voice, as she pointedto a pale man in a black cloak who had come into the room. 

"Look at that man! Look there! What does he want?"

"My dear, " returned her husband, "I'll ask him if you'll let me go. What's the matter! How you shake!"

"I saw him in the street, when I was out just now. He looked atme, and stood near me. I am afraid of him. "

"Afraid of him! Why?"

"I don't know why--I--stop! husband!" for he was going towards thestranger. 

She had one hand pressed upon her forehead, and one upon herbreast; and there was a peculiar fluttering all over her, and ahurried unsteady motion of her eyes, as if she had lost something. 

"Are you ill, my dear?"

"What is it that is going from me again?" she muttered, in a lowvoice. "What IS this that is going away?"

Then she abruptly answered: "Ill? No, I am quite well, " andstood looking vacantly at the floor. 

Her husband, who had not been altogether free from the infection ofher fear at first, and whom the present strangeness of her mannerdid not tend to reassure, addressed himself to the pale visitor inthe black cloak, who stood still, and whose eyes were bent upon theground. 

"What may be your pleasure, sir, " he asked, "with us?"

"I fear that my coming in unperceived, " returned the visitor, "hasalarmed you; but you were talking and did not hear me. "

"My little woman says--perhaps you heard her say it, " returned Mr. Tetterby, "that it's not the first time you have alarmed her to-night. "

"I am sorry for it. I remember to have observed her, for a fewmoments only, in the street. I had no intention of frighteningher. "

As he raised his eyes in speaking, she raised hers. It wasextraordinary to see what dread she had of him, and with what dreadhe observed it--and yet how narrowly and closely. 

"My name, " he said, "is Redlaw. I come from the old college hardby. A young gentleman who is a student there, lodges in yourhouse, does he not?"

"Mr. Denham?" said Tetterby. 

"Yes. "

It was a natural action, and so slight as to be hardly noticeable;but the little man, before speaking again, passed his hand acrosshis forehead, and looked quickly round the room, as though he weresensible of some change in its atmosphere. The Chemist, instantlytransferring to him the look of dread he had directed towards thewife, stepped back, and his face turned paler. 

"The gentleman's room, " said Tetterby, "is upstairs, sir. There'sa more convenient private entrance; but as you have come in here, it will save your going out into the cold, if you'll take thislittle staircase, " showing one communicating directly with theparlour, "and go up to him that way, if you wish to see him. "

"Yes, I wish to see him, " said the Chemist. "Can you spare alight?"

The watchfulness of his haggard look, and the inexplicable distrustthat darkened it, seemed to trouble Mr. Tetterby. He paused; andlooking fixedly at him in return, stood for a minute or so, like aman stupefied, or fascinated. 

At length he said, "I'll light you, sir, if you'll follow me. "

"No, " replied the Chemist, "I don't wish to be attended, orannounced to him. He does not expect me. I would rather go alone. Please to give me the light, if you can spare it, and I'll find theway. "

In the quickness of his expression of this desire, and in takingthe candle from the newsman, he touched him on the breast. Withdrawing his hand hastily, almost as though he had wounded himby accident (for he did not know in what part of himself his newpower resided, or how it was communicated, or how the manner of itsreception varied in different persons), he turned and ascended thestair. 

But when he reached the top, he stopped and looked down. The wifewas standing in the same place, twisting her ring round and roundupon her finger. The husband, with his head bent forward on hisbreast, was musing heavily and sullenly. The children, stillclustering about the mother, gazed timidly after the visitor, andnestled together when they saw him looking down. 

"Come!" said the father, roughly. "There's enough of this. Get tobed here!"

"The place is inconvenient and small enough, " the mother added, "without you. Get to bed!"

The whole brood, scared and sad, crept away; little Johnny and thebaby lagging last. The mother, glancing contemptuously round thesordid room, and tossing from her the fragments of their meal, stopped on the threshold of her task of clearing the table, and satdown, pondering idly and dejectedly. The father betook himself tothe chimney-corner, and impatiently raking the small fire together, bent over it as if he would monopolise it all. They did notinterchange a word. 

The Chemist, paler than before, stole upward like a thief; lookingback upon the change below, and dreading equally to go on orreturn. 

"What have I done!" he said, confusedly. "What am I going to do!"

"To be the benefactor of mankind, " he thought he heard a voicereply. 

He looked round, but there was nothing there; and a passage nowshutting out the little parlour from his view, he went on, directing his eyes before him at the way he went. 

"It is only since last night, " he muttered gloomily, "that I haveremained shut up, and yet all things are strange to me. I amstrange to myself. I am here, as in a dream. What interest have Iin this place, or in any place that I can bring to my remembrance?My mind is going blind!"

There was a door before him, and he knocked at it. Being invited, by a voice within, to enter, he complied. 

"Is that my kind nurse?" said the voice. "But I need not ask her. There is no one else to come here. "

It spoke cheerfully, though in a languid tone, and attracted hisattention to a young man lying on a couch, drawn before thechimney-piece, with the back towards the door. A meagre scantystove, pinched and hollowed like a sick man's cheeks, and brickedinto the centre of a hearth that it could scarcely warm, containedthe fire, to which his face was turned. Being so near the windyhouse-top, it wasted quickly, and with a busy sound, and theburning ashes dropped down fast. 

"They chink when they shoot out here, " said the student, smiling, "so, according to the gossips, they are not coffins, but purses. Ishall be well and rich yet, some day, if it please God, and shalllive perhaps to love a daughter Milly, in remembrance of thekindest nature and the gentlest heart in the world. "

He put up his hand as if expecting her to take it, but, beingweakened, he lay still, with his face resting on his other hand, and did not turn round. 

The Chemist glanced about the room;--at the student's books andpapers, piled upon a table in a corner, where they, and hisextinguished reading-lamp, now prohibited and put away, told of theattentive hours that had gone before this illness, and perhapscaused it;--at such signs of his old health and freedom, as theout-of-door attire that hung idle on the wall;--at thoseremembrances of other and less solitary scenes, the littleminiatures upon the chimney-piece, and the drawing of home;--atthat token of his emulation, perhaps, in some sort, of his personalattachment too, the framed engraving of himself, the looker-on. The time had been, only yesterday, when not one of these objects, in its remotest association of interest with the living figurebefore him, would have been lost on Redlaw. Now, they were butobjects; or, if any gleam of such connexion shot upon him, itperplexed, and not enlightened him, as he stood looking round witha dull wonder. 

The student, recalling the thin hand which had remained so longuntouched, raised himself on the couch, and turned his head. 

"Mr. Redlaw!" he exclaimed, and started up. 

Redlaw put out his arm. 

"Don't come nearer to me. I will sit here. Remain you, where youare!"

He sat down on a chair near the door, and having glanced at theyoung man standing leaning with his hand upon the couch, spoke withhis eyes averted towards the ground. 

"I heard, by an accident, by what accident is no matter, that oneof my class was ill and solitary. I received no other descriptionof him, than that he lived in this street. Beginning my inquiriesat the first house in it, I have found him. "

"I have been ill, sir, " returned the student, not merely with amodest hesitation, but with a kind of awe of him, "but am greatlybetter. An attack of fever--of the brain, I believe--has weakenedme, but I am much better. I cannot say I have been solitary, in myillness, or I should forget the ministering hand that has been nearme. "

"You are speaking of the keeper's wife, " said Redlaw. 

"Yes. " The student bent his head, as if he rendered her somesilent homage. 

The Chemist, in whom there was a cold, monotonous apathy, whichrendered him more like a marble image on the tomb of the man whohad started from his dinner yesterday at the first mention of thisstudent's case, than the breathing man himself, glanced again atthe student leaning with his hand upon the couch, and looked uponthe ground, and in the air, as if for light for his blinded mind. 

"I remembered your name, " he said, "when it was mentioned to medown stairs, just now; and I recollect your face. We have held butvery little personal communication together?"

"Very little. "

"You have retired and withdrawn from me, more than any of the rest, I think?"

The student signified assent. 

"And why?" said the Chemist; not with the least expression ofinterest, but with a moody, wayward kind of curiosity. "Why? Howcomes it that you have sought to keep especially from me, theknowledge of your remaining here, at this season, when all the resthave dispersed, and of your being ill? I want to know why thisis?"

The young man, who had heard him with increasing agitation, raisedhis downcast eyes to his face, and clasping his hands together, cried with sudden earnestness and with trembling lips:

"Mr. Redlaw! You have discovered me. You know my secret!"

"Secret?" said the Chemist, harshly. "I know?"

"Yes! Your manner, so different from the interest and sympathywhich endear you to so many hearts, your altered voice, theconstraint there is in everything you say, and in your looks, "replied the student, "warn me that you know me. That you wouldconceal it, even now, is but a proof to me (God knows I need none!)of your natural kindness and of the bar there is between us. "

A vacant and contemptuous laugh, was all his answer. 

"But, Mr. Redlaw, " said the student, "as a just man, and a goodman, think how innocent I am, except in name and descent, ofparticipation in any wrong inflicted on you or in any sorrow youhave borne. "

"Sorrow!" said Redlaw, laughing. "Wrong! What are those to me?"

"For Heaven's sake, " entreated the shrinking student, "do not letthe mere interchange of a few words with me change you like this, sir! Let me pass again from your knowledge and notice. Let meoccupy my old reserved and distant place among those whom youinstruct. Know me only by the name I have assumed, and not by thatof Longford--"

"Longford!" exclaimed the other. 

He clasped his head with both his hands, and for a moment turnedupon the young man his own intelligent and thoughtful face. Butthe light passed from it, like the sun-beam of an instant, and itclouded as before. 

"The name my mother bears, sir, " faltered the young man, "the nameshe took, when she might, perhaps, have taken one more honoured. Mr. Redlaw, " hesitating, "I believe I know that history. Where myinformation halts, my guesses at what is wanting may supplysomething not remote from the truth. I am the child of a marriagethat has not proved itself a well-assorted or a happy one. Frominfancy, I have heard you spoken of with honour and respect--withsomething that was almost reverence. I have heard of suchdevotion, of such fortitude and tenderness, of such rising upagainst the obstacles which press men down, that my fancy, since Ilearnt my little lesson from my mother, has shed a lustre on yourname. At last, a poor student myself, from whom could I learn butyou?"

Redlaw, unmoved, unchanged, and looking at him with a staringfrown, answered by no word or sign. 

"I cannot say, " pursued the other, "I should try in vain to say, how much it has impressed me, and affected me, to find the gracioustraces of the past, in that certain power of winning gratitude andconfidence which is associated among us students (among thehumblest of us, most) with Mr. Redlaw's generous name. Our agesand positions are so different, sir, and I am so accustomed toregard you from a distance, that I wonder at my own presumptionwhen I touch, however lightly, on that theme. But to one who--Imay say, who felt no common interest in my mother once--it may besomething to hear, now that all is past, with what indescribablefeelings of affection I have, in my obscurity, regarded him; withwhat pain and reluctance I have kept aloof from his encouragement, when a word of it would have made me rich; yet how I have felt itfit that I should hold my course, content to know him, and to beunknown. Mr. Redlaw, " said the student, faintly, "what I wouldhave said, I have said ill, for my strength is strange to me asyet; but for anything unworthy in this fraud of mine, forgive me, and for all the rest forget me!"

The staring frown remained on Redlaw's face, and yielded to noother expression until the student, with these words, advancedtowards him, as if to touch his hand, when he drew back and criedto him:

"Don't come nearer to me!"

The young man stopped, shocked by the eagerness of his recoil, andby the sternness of his repulsion; and he passed his hand, thoughtfully, across his forehead. 

"The past is past, " said the Chemist. "It dies like the brutes. Who talks to me of its traces in my life? He raves or lies! Whathave I to do with your distempered dreams? If you want money, hereit is. I came to offer it; and that is all I came for. There canbe nothing else that brings me here, " he muttered, holding his headagain, with both his hands. "There CAN be nothing else, and yet--"

He had tossed his purse upon the table. As he fell into this dimcogitation with himself, the student took it up, and held it out tohim. 

"Take it back, sir, " he said proudly, though not angrily. "I wishyou could take from me, with it, the remembrance of your words andoffer. "

"You do?" he retorted, with a wild light in his eyes. "You do?"

"I do!"

The Chemist went close to him, for the first time, and took thepurse, and turned him by the arm, and looked him in the face. 

"There is sorrow and trouble in sickness, is there not?" hedemanded, with a laugh. 

The wondering student answered, "Yes. "

"In its unrest, in its anxiety, in its suspense, in all its trainof physical and mental miseries?" said the Chemist, with a wildunearthly exultation. "All best forgotten, are they not?"

The student did not answer, but again passed his hand, confusedly, across his forehead. Redlaw still held him by the sleeve, whenMilly's voice was heard outside. 

"I can see very well now, " she said, "thank you, Dolf. Don't cry, dear. Father and mother will be comfortable again, to-morrow, andhome will be comfortable too. A gentleman with him, is there!"

Redlaw released his hold, as he listened. 

"I have feared, from the first moment, " he murmured to himself, "tomeet her. There is a steady quality of goodness in her, that Idread to influence. I may be the murderer of what is tenderest andbest within her bosom. "

She was knocking at the door. 

"Shall I dismiss it as an idle foreboding, or still avoid her?" hemuttered, looking uneasily around. 

She was knocking at the door again. 

"Of all the visitors who could come here, " he said, in a hoarsealarmed voice, turning to his companion, "this is the one I shoulddesire most to avoid. Hide me!"

The student opened a frail door in the wall, communicating wherethe garret-roof began to slope towards the floor, with a smallinner room. Redlaw passed in hastily, and shut it after him. 

The student then resumed his place upon the couch, and called toher to enter. 

"Dear Mr. Edmund, " said Milly, looking round, "they told me therewas a gentleman here. "

"There is no one here but I. "

"There has been some one?"

"Yes, yes, there has been some one. "

She put her little basket on the table, and went up to the back ofthe couch, as if to take the extended hand--but it was not there. A little surprised, in her quiet way, she leaned over to look athis face, and gently touched him on the brow. 

"Are you quite as well to-night? Your head is not so cool as inthe afternoon. "

"Tut!" said the student, petulantly, "very little ails me. "

A little more surprise, but no reproach, was expressed in her face, as she withdrew to the other side of the table, and took a smallpacket of needlework from her basket. But she laid it down again, on second thoughts, and going noiselessly about the room, seteverything exactly in its place, and in the neatest order; even tothe cushions on the couch, which she touched with so light a hand, that he hardly seemed to know it, as he lay looking at the fire. When all this was done, and she had swept the hearth, she sat down, in her modest little bonnet, to her work, and was quietly busy onit directly. 

"It's the new muslin curtain for the window, Mr. Edmund, " saidMilly, stitching away as she talked. "It will look very clean andnice, though it costs very little, and will save your eyes, too, from the light. My William says the room should not be too lightjust now, when you are recovering so well, or the glare might makeyou giddy. "

He said nothing; but there was something so fretful and impatientin his change of position, that her quick fingers stopped, and shelooked at him anxiously. 

"The pillows are not comfortable, " she said, laying down her workand rising. "I will soon put them right. "

"They are very well, " he answered. "Leave them alone, pray. Youmake so much of everything. "

He raised his head to say this, and looked at her so thanklessly, that, after he had thrown himself down again, she stood timidlypausing. However, she resumed her seat, and her needle, withouthaving directed even a murmuring look towards him, and was soon asbusy as before. 

"I have been thinking, Mr. Edmund, that YOU have been oftenthinking of late, when I have been sitting by, how true the sayingis, that adversity is a good teacher. Health will be more preciousto you, after this illness, than it has ever been. And yearshence, when this time of year comes round, and you remember thedays when you lay here sick, alone, that the knowledge of yourillness might not afflict those who are dearest to you, your homewill be doubly dear and doubly blest. Now, isn't that a good, truething?"

She was too intent upon her work, and too earnest in what she said, and too composed and quiet altogether, to be on the watch for anylook he might direct towards her in reply; so the shaft of hisungrateful glance fell harmless, and did not wound her. 

"Ah!" said Milly, with her pretty head inclining thoughtfully onone side, as she looked down, following her busy fingers with hereyes. "Even on me--and I am very different from you, Mr. Edmund, for I have no learning, and don't know how to think properly--thisview of such things has made a great impression, since you havebeen lying ill. When I have seen you so touched by the kindnessand attention of the poor people down stairs, I have felt that youthought even that experience some repayment for the loss of health, and I have read in your face, as plain as if it was a book, thatbut for some trouble and sorrow we should never know half the goodthere is about us. "

His getting up from the couch, interrupted her, or she was going onto say more. 

"We needn't magnify the merit, Mrs. William, " he rejoinedslightingly. "The people down stairs will be paid in good time Idare say, for any little extra service they may have rendered me;and perhaps they anticipate no less. I am much obliged to you, too. "

Her fingers stopped, and she looked at him. 

"I can't be made to feel the more obliged by your exaggerating thecase, " he said. "I am sensible that you have been interested inme, and I say I am much obliged to you. What more would you have?"

Her work fell on her lap, as she still looked at him walking to andfro with an intolerant air, and stopping now and then. 

"I say again, I am much obliged to you. Why weaken my sense ofwhat is your due in obligation, by preferring enormous claims uponme? Trouble, sorrow, affliction, adversity! One might suppose Ihad been dying a score of deaths here!"

"Do you believe, Mr. Edmund, " she asked, rising and going nearer tohim, "that I spoke of the poor people of the house, with anyreference to myself? To me?" laying her hand upon her bosom with asimple and innocent smile of astonishment. 

"Oh! I think nothing about it, my good creature, " he returned. "Ihave had an indisposition, which your solicitude--observe! I saysolicitude--makes a great deal more of, than it merits; and it'sover, and we can't perpetuate it. "

He coldly took a book, and sat down at the table. 

She watched him for a little while, until her smile was quite gone, and then, returning to where her basket was, said gently:

"Mr. Edmund, would you rather be alone?"

"There is no reason why I should detain you here, " he replied. 

"Except--" said Milly, hesitating, and showing her work. 

"Oh! the curtain, " he answered, with a supercilious laugh. "That'snot worth staying for. "

She made up the little packet again, and put it in her basket. Then, standing before him with such an air of patient entreaty thathe could not choose but look at her, she said:

"If you should want me, I will come back willingly. When you didwant me, I was quite happy to come; there was no merit in it. Ithink you must be afraid, that, now you are getting well, I may betroublesome to you; but I should not have been, indeed. I shouldhave come no longer than your weakness and confinement lasted. Youowe me nothing; but it is right that you should deal as justly byme as if I was a lady--even the very lady that you love; and if yoususpect me of meanly making much of the little I have tried to doto comfort your sick room, you do yourself more wrong than ever youcan do me. That is why I am sorry. That is why I am very sorry. "

If she had been as passionate as she was quiet, as indignant as shewas calm, as angry in her look as she was gentle, as loud of toneas she was low and clear, she might have left no sense of herdeparture in the room, compared with that which fell upon thelonely student when she went away. 

He was gazing drearily upon the place where she had been, whenRedlaw came out of his concealment, and came to the door. 

"When sickness lays its hand on you again, " he said, lookingfiercely back at him, "--may it be soon!--Die here! Rot here!"

"What have you done?" returned the other, catching at his cloak. "What change have you wrought in me? What curse have you broughtupon me? Give me back MYself!"

"Give me back myself!" exclaimed Redlaw like a madman. "I aminfected! I am infectious! I am charged with poison for my ownmind, and the minds of all mankind. Where I felt interest, compassion, sympathy, I am turning into stone. Selfishness andingratitude spring up in my blighting footsteps. I am only so muchless base than the wretches whom I make so, that in the moment oftheir transformation I can hate them. "

As he spoke--the young man still holding to his cloak--he cast himoff, and struck him: then, wildly hurried out into the night airwhere the wind was blowing, the snow falling, the cloud-driftsweeping on, the moon dimly shining; and where, blowing in thewind, falling with the snow, drifting with the clouds, shining inthe moonlight, and heavily looming in the darkness, were thePhantom's words, "The gift that I have given, you shall give again, go where you will!"

Whither he went, he neither knew nor cared, so that he avoidedcompany. The change he felt within him made the busy streets adesert, and himself a desert, and the multitude around him, intheir manifold endurances and ways of life, a mighty waste of sand, which the winds tossed into unintelligible heaps and made a ruinousconfusion of. Those traces in his breast which the Phantom hadtold him would "die out soon, " were not, as yet, so far upon theirway to death, but that he understood enough of what he was, andwhat he made of others, to desire to be alone. 

This put it in his mind--he suddenly bethought himself, as he wasgoing along, of the boy who had rushed into his room. And then herecollected, that of those with whom he had communicated since thePhantom's disappearance, that boy alone had shown no sign of beingchanged. 

Monstrous and odious as the wild thing was to him, he determined toseek it out, and prove if this were really so; and also to seek itwith another intention, which came into his thoughts at the sametime. 

So, resolving with some difficulty where he was, he directed hissteps back to the old college, and to that part of it where thegeneral porch was, and where, alone, the pavement was worn by thetread of the students' feet. 

The keeper's house stood just within the iron gates, forming a partof the chief quadrangle. There was a little cloister outside, andfrom that sheltered place he knew he could look in at the window oftheir ordinary room, and see who was within. The iron gates wereshut, but his hand was familiar with the fastening, and drawing itback by thrusting in his wrist between the bars, he passed throughsoftly, shut it again, and crept up to the window, crumbling thethin crust of snow with his feet. 

The fire, to which he had directed the boy last night, shiningbrightly through the glass, made an illuminated place upon theground. Instinctively avoiding this, and going round it, he lookedin at the window. At first, he thought that there was no onethere, and that the blaze was reddening only the old beams in theceiling and the dark walls; but peering in more narrowly, he sawthe object of his search coiled asleep before it on the floor. Hepassed quickly to the door, opened it, and went in. 

The creature lay in such a fiery heat, that, as the Chemist stoopedto rouse him, it scorched his head. So soon as he was touched, theboy, not half awake, clutching his rags together with the instinctof flight upon him, half rolled and half ran into a distant cornerof the room, where, heaped upon the ground, he struck his foot outto defend himself. 

"Get up!" said the Chemist. "You have not forgotten me?"

"You let me alone!" returned the boy. "This is the woman's house--not yours. "

The Chemist's steady eye controlled him somewhat, or inspired himwith enough submission to be raised upon his feet, and looked at. 

"Who washed them, and put those bandages where they were bruisedand cracked?" asked the Chemist, pointing to their altered state. 

"The woman did. "

"And is it she who has made you cleaner in the face, too?"

"Yes, the woman. "

Redlaw asked these questions to attract his eyes towards himself, and with the same intent now held him by the chin, and threw hiswild hair back, though he loathed to touch him. The boy watchedhis eyes keenly, as if he thought it needful to his own defence, not knowing what he might do next; and Redlaw could see well thatno change came over him. 

"Where are they?" he inquired. 

"The woman's out. "

"I know she is. Where is the old man with the white hair, and hisson?"

"The woman's husband, d'ye mean?" inquired the boy. 

"Ay. Where are those two?"

"Out. Something's the matter, somewhere. They were fetched out ina hurry, and told me to stop here. "

"Come with me, " said the Chemist, "and I'll give you money. "

"Come where? and how much will you give?"

"I'll give you more shillings than you ever saw, and bring you backsoon. Do you know your way to where you came from?"

"You let me go, " returned the boy, suddenly twisting out of hisgrasp. "I'm not a going to take you there. Let me be, or I'llheave some fire at you!"

He was down before it, and ready, with his savage little hand, topluck the burning coals out. 

What the Chemist had felt, in observing the effect of his charmedinfluence stealing over those with whom he came in contact, was notnearly equal to the cold vague terror with which he saw this baby-monster put it at defiance. It chilled his blood to look on theimmovable impenetrable thing, in the likeness of a child, with itssharp malignant face turned up to his, and its almost infant hand, ready at the bars. 

"Listen, boy!" he said. "You shall take me where you please, sothat you take me where the people are very miserable or verywicked. I want to do them good, and not to harm them. You shallhave money, as I have told you, and I will bring you back. Get up!Come quickly!" He made a hasty step towards the door, afraid ofher returning. 

"Will you let me walk by myself, and never hold me, nor yet touchme?" said the boy, slowly withdrawing the hand with which hethreatened, and beginning to get up. 

"I will!"

"And let me go, before, behind, or anyways I like?"

"I will!"

"Give me some money first, then, and go. "

The Chemist laid a few shillings, one by one, in his extended hand. To count them was beyond the boy's knowledge, but he said "one, "every time, and avariciously looked at each as it was given, and atthe donor. He had nowhere to put them, out of his hand, but in hismouth; and he put them there. 

Redlaw then wrote with his pencil on a leaf of his pocket-book, that the boy was with him; and laying it on the table, signed tohim to follow. Keeping his rags together, as usual, the boycomplied, and went out with his bare head and naked feet into thewinter night. 

Preferring not to depart by the iron gate by which he had entered, where they were in danger of meeting her whom he so anxiouslyavoided, the Chemist led the way, through some of those passagesamong which the boy had lost himself, and by that portion of thebuilding where he lived, to a small door of which he had the key. When they got into the street, he stopped to ask his guide--whoinstantly retreated from him--if he knew where they were. 

The savage thing looked here and there, and at length, nodding hishead, pointed in the direction he designed to take. Redlaw goingon at once, he followed, something less suspiciously; shifting hismoney from his mouth into his hand, and back again into his mouth, and stealthily rubbing it bright upon his shreds of dress, as hewent along. 

Three times, in their progress, they were side by side. Threetimes they stopped, being side by side. Three times the Chemistglanced down at his face, and shuddered as it forced upon him onereflection. 

The first occasion was when they were crossing an old churchyard, and Redlaw stopped among the graves, utterly at a loss how toconnect them with any tender, softening, or consolatory thought. 

The second was, when the breaking forth of the moon induced him tolook up at the Heavens, where he saw her in her glory, surroundedby a host of stars he still knew by the names and histories whichhuman science has appended to them; but where he saw nothing elsehe had been wont to see, felt nothing he had been wont to feel, inlooking up there, on a bright night. 

The third was when he stopped to listen to a plaintive strain ofmusic, but could only hear a tune, made manifest to him by the drymechanism of the instruments and his own ears, with no address toany mystery within him, without a whisper in it of the past, or ofthe future, powerless upon him as the sound of last year's runningwater, or the rushing of last year's wind. 

At each of these three times, he saw with horror that, in spite ofthe vast intellectual distance between them, and their being unlikeeach other in all physical respects, the expression on the boy'sface was the expression on his own. 

They journeyed on for some time--now through such crowded places, that he often looked over his shoulder thinking he had lost hisguide, but generally finding him within his shadow on his otherside; now by ways so quiet, that he could have counted his short, quick, naked footsteps coming on behind--until they arrived at aruinous collection of houses, and the boy touched him and stopped. 

"In there!" he said, pointing out one house where there wereshattered lights in the windows, and a dim lantern in the doorway, with "Lodgings for Travellers" painted on it. 

Redlaw looked about him; from the houses to the waste piece ofground on which the houses stood, or rather did not altogethertumble down, unfenced, undrained, unlighted, and bordered by asluggish ditch; from that, to the sloping line of arches, part ofsome neighbouring viaduct or bridge with which it was surrounded, and which lessened gradually towards them, until the last but onewas a mere kennel for a dog, the last a plundered little heap ofbricks; from that, to the child, close to him, cowering andtrembling with the cold, and limping on one little foot, while hecoiled the other round his leg to warm it, yet staring at all thesethings with that frightful likeness of expression so apparent inhis face, that Redlaw started from him. 

"In there!" said the boy, pointing out the house again. "I'llwait. "

"Will they let me in?" asked Redlaw. 

"Say you're a doctor, " he answered with a nod. "There's plenty illhere. "

Looking back on his way to the house-door, Redlaw saw him trailhimself upon the dust and crawl within the shelter of the smallestarch, as if he were a rat. He had no pity for the thing, but hewas afraid of it; and when it looked out of its den at him, hehurried to the house as a retreat. 

"Sorrow, wrong, and trouble, " said the Chemist, with a painfuleffort at some more distinct remembrance, "at least haunt thisplace darkly. He can do no harm, who brings forgetfulness of suchthings here!"

With these words, he pushed the yielding door, and went in. 

There was a woman sitting on the stairs, either asleep or forlorn, whose head was bent down on her hands and knees. As it was noteasy to pass without treading on her, and as she was perfectlyregardless of his near approach, he stopped, and touched her on theshoulder. Looking up, she showed him quite a young face, but onewhose bloom and promise were all swept away, as if the haggardwinter should unnaturally kill the spring. 

With little or no show of concern on his account, she moved nearerto the wall to leave him a wider passage. 

"What are you?" said Redlaw, pausing, with his hand upon the brokenstair-rail. 

"What do you think I am?" she answered, showing him her face again. 

He looked upon the ruined Temple of God, so lately made, so soondisfigured; and something, which was not compassion--for thesprings in which a true compassion for such miseries has its rise, were dried up in his breast--but which was nearer to it, for themoment, than any feeling that had lately struggled into thedarkening, but not yet wholly darkened, night of his mind--mingleda touch of softness with his next words. 

"I am come here to give relief, if I can, " he said. "Are youthinking of any wrong?"

She frowned at him, and then laughed; and then her laugh prolongeditself into a shivering sigh, as she dropped her head again, andhid her fingers in her hair. 

"Are you thinking of a wrong?" he asked once more. 

"I am thinking of my life, " she said, with a monetary look at him. 

He had a perception that she was one of many, and that he saw thetype of thousands, when he saw her, drooping at his feet. 

"What are your parents?" he demanded. 

"I had a good home once. My father was a gardener, far away, inthe country. "

"Is he dead?"

"He's dead to me. All such things are dead to me. You agentleman, and not know that!" She raised her eyes again, andlaughed at him. 

"Girl!" said Redlaw, sternly, "before this death, of all suchthings, was brought about, was there no wrong done to you? Inspite of all that you can do, does no remembrance of wrong cleaveto you? Are there not times upon times when it is misery to you?"

So little of what was womanly was left in her appearance, that now, when she burst into tears, he stood amazed. But he was moreamazed, and much disquieted, to note that in her awakenedrecollection of this wrong, the first trace of her old humanity andfrozen tenderness appeared to show itself. 

He drew a little off, and in doing so, observed that her arms wereblack, her face cut, and her bosom bruised. 

"What brutal hand has hurt you so?" he asked. 

"My own. I did it myself!" she answered quickly. 

"It is impossible. "

"I'll swear I did! He didn't touch me. I did it to myself in apassion, and threw myself down here. He wasn't near me. He neverlaid a hand upon me!"

In the white determination of her face, confronting him with thisuntruth, he saw enough of the last perversion and distortion ofgood surviving in that miserable breast, to be stricken withremorse that he had ever come near her. 

"Sorrow, wrong, and trouble!" he muttered, turning his fearful gazeaway. "All that connects her with the state from which she hasfallen, has those roots! In the name of God, let me go by!"

Afraid to look at her again, afraid to touch her, afraid to thinkof having sundered the last thread by which she held upon the mercyof Heaven, he gathered his cloak about him, and glided swiftly upthe stairs. 

Opposite to him, on the landing, was a door, which stood partlyopen, and which, as he ascended, a man with a candle in his hand, came forward from within to shut. But this man, on seeing him, drew back, with much emotion in his manner, and, as if by a suddenimpulse, mentioned his name aloud. 

In the surprise of such a recognition there, he stopped, endeavouring to recollect the wan and startled face. He had notime to consider it, for, to his yet greater amazement, old Philipcame out of the room, and took him by the hand. 

"Mr. Redlaw, " said the old man, "this is like you, this is likeyou, sir! you have heard of it, and have come after us to renderany help you can. Ah, too late, too late!"

Redlaw, with a bewildered look, submitted to be led into the room. A man lay there, on a truckle-bed, and William Swidger stood at thebedside. 

"Too late!" murmured the old man, looking wistfully into theChemist's face; and the tears stole down his cheeks. 

"That's what I say, father, " interposed his son in a low voice. "That's where it is, exactly. To keep as quiet as ever we canwhile he's a dozing, is the only thing to do. You're right, father!"

Redlaw paused at the bedside, and looked down on the figure thatwas stretched upon the mattress. It was that of a man, who shouldhave been in the vigour of his life, but on whom it was not likelythe sun would ever shine again. The vices of his forty or fiftyyears' career had so branded him, that, in comparison with theireffects upon his face, the heavy hand of Time upon the old man'sface who watched him had been merciful and beautifying. 

"Who is this?" asked the Chemist, looking round. 

"My son George, Mr. Redlaw, " said the old man, wringing his hands. "My eldest son, George, who was more his mother's pride than allthe rest!"

Redlaw's eyes wandered from the old man's grey head, as he laid itdown upon the bed, to the person who had recognised him, and whohad kept aloof, in the remotest corner of the room. He seemed tobe about his own age; and although he knew no such hopeless decayand broken man as he appeared to be, there was something in theturn of his figure, as he stood with his back towards him, and nowwent out at the door, that made him pass his hand uneasily acrosshis brow. 

"William, " he said in a gloomy whisper, "who is that man?"

"Why you see, sir, " returned Mr. William, "that's what I say, myself. Why should a man ever go and gamble, and the like of that, and let himself down inch by inch till he can't let himself downany lower!"

"Has HE done so?" asked Redlaw, glancing after him with the sameuneasy action as before. 

"Just exactly that, sir, " returned William Swidger, "as I'm told. He knows a little about medicine, sir, it seems; and having beenwayfaring towards London with my unhappy brother that you seehere, " Mr. William passed his coat-sleeve across his eyes, "andbeing lodging up stairs for the night--what I say, you see, is thatstrange companions come together here sometimes--he looked in toattend upon him, and came for us at his request. What a mournfulspectacle, sir! But that's where it is. It's enough to kill myfather!"

Redlaw looked up, at these words, and, recalling where he was andwith whom, and the spell he carried with him--which his surprisehad obscured--retired a little, hurriedly, debating with himselfwhether to shun the house that moment, or remain. 

Yielding to a certain sullen doggedness, which it seemed to be apart of his condition to struggle with, he argued for remaining. 

"Was it only yesterday, " he said, "when I observed the memory ofthis old man to be a tissue of sorrow and trouble, and shall I beafraid, to-night, to shake it? Are such remembrances as I candrive away, so precious to this dying man that I need fear for HIM?No! I'll stay here. "

But he stayed in fear and trembling none the less for these words;and, shrouded in his black cloak with his face turned from them, stood away from the bedside, listening to what they said, as if hefelt himself a demon in the place. 

"Father!" murmured the sick man, rallying a little from stupor. 

"My boy! My son George!" said old Philip. 

"You spoke, just now, of my being mother's favourite, long ago. It's a dreadful thing to think now, of long ago!"

"No, no, no;" returned the old man. "Think of it. Don't say it'sdreadful. It's not dreadful to me, my son. "

"It cuts you to the heart, father. " For the old man's tears werefalling on him. 

"Yes, yes, " said Philip, "so it does; but it does me good. It's aheavy sorrow to think of that time, but it does me good, George. Oh, think of it too, think of it too, and your heart will besoftened more and more! Where's my son William? William, my boy, your mother loved him dearly to the last, and with her latestbreath said, 'Tell him I forgave him, blessed him, and prayed forhim. ' Those were her words to me. I have never forgotten them, and I'm eighty-seven!"

"Father!" said the man upon the bed, "I am dying, I know. I am sofar gone, that I can hardly speak, even of what my mind most runson. Is there any hope for me beyond this bed?"

"There is hope, " returned the old man, "for all who are softenedand penitent. There is hope for all such. Oh!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands and looking up, "I was thankful, only yesterday, that I could remember this unhappy son when he was an innocentchild. But what a comfort it is, now, to think that even Godhimself has that remembrance of him!"

Redlaw spread his hands upon his face, and shrank, like a murderer. 

"Ah!" feebly moaned the man upon the bed. "The waste since then, the waste of life since then!"

"But he was a child once, " said the old man. "He played withchildren. Before he lay down on his bed at night, and fell intohis guiltless rest, he said his prayers at his poor mother's knee. I have seen him do it, many a time; and seen her lay his head uponher breast, and kiss him. Sorrowful as it was to her and me, tothink of this, when he went so wrong, and when our hopes and plansfor him were all broken, this gave him still a hold upon us, thatnothing else could have given. Oh, Father, so much better than thefathers upon earth! Oh, Father, so much more afflicted by theerrors of Thy children! take this wanderer back! Not as he is, butas he was then, let him cry to Thee, as he has so often seemed tocry to us!"

As the old man lifted up his trembling hands, the son, for whom hemade the supplication, laid his sinking head against him forsupport and comfort, as if he were indeed the child of whom hespoke. 

When did man ever tremble, as Redlaw trembled, in the silence thatensued! He knew it must come upon them, knew that it was comingfast. 

"My time is very short, my breath is shorter, " said the sick man, supporting himself on one arm, and with the other groping in theair, "and I remember there is something on my mind concerning theman who was here just now, Father and William--wait!--is therereally anything in black, out there?"

"Yes, yes, it is real, " said his aged father. 

"Is it a man?"

"What I say myself, George, " interposed his brother, bending kindlyover him. "It's Mr. Redlaw. "

"I thought I had dreamed of him. Ask him to come here. "

The Chemist, whiter than the dying man, appeared before him. Obedient to the motion of his hand, he sat upon the bed. 

"It has been so ripped up, to-night, sir, " said the sick man, laying his hand upon his heart, with a look in which the mute, imploring agony of his condition was concentrated, "by the sight ofmy poor old father, and the thought of all the trouble I have beenthe cause of, and all the wrong and sorrow lying at my door, that--"

Was it the extremity to which he had come, or was it the dawning ofanother change, that made him stop?

"--that what I CAN do right, with my mind running on so much, sofast, I'll try to do. There was another man here. Did you seehim?"

Redlaw could not reply by any word; for when he saw that fatal signhe knew so well now, of the wandering hand upon the forehead, hisvoice died at his lips. But he made some indication of assent. 

"He is penniless, hungry, and destitute. He is completely beatendown, and has no resource at all. Look after him! Lose no time!I know he has it in his mind to kill himself. "

It was working. It was on his face. His face was changing, hardening, deepening in all its shades, and losing all its sorrow. 

"Don't you remember? Don't you know him?" he pursued. 

He shut his face out for a moment, with the hand that againwandered over his forehead, and then it lowered on Redlaw, reckless, ruffianly, and callous. 

"Why, d-n you!" he said, scowling round, "what have you been doingto me here! I have lived bold, and I mean to die bold. To theDevil with you!"

And so lay down upon his bed, and put his arms up, over his headand ears, as resolute from that time to keep out all access, and todie in his indifference. 

If Redlaw had been struck by lightning, it could not have struckhim from the bedside with a more tremendous shock. But the oldman, who had left the bed while his son was speaking to him, nowreturning, avoided it quickly likewise, and with abhorrence. 

"Where's my boy William?" said the old man hurriedly. "William, come away from here. We'll go home. "

"Home, father!" returned William. "Are you going to leave your ownson?"

"Where's my own son?" replied the old man. 

"Where? why, there!"

"That's no son of mine, " said Philip, trembling with resentment. "No such wretch as that, has any claim on me. My children arepleasant to look at, and they wait upon me, and get my meat anddrink ready, and are useful to me. I've a right to it! I'meighty-seven!"

"You're old enough to be no older, " muttered William, looking athim grudgingly, with his hands in his pockets. "I don't know whatgood you are, myself. We could have a deal more pleasure withoutyou. "

"MY son, Mr. Redlaw!" said the old man. "MY son, too! The boytalking to me of MY son! Why, what has he ever done to give me anypleasure, I should like to know?"

"I don't know what you have ever done to give ME any pleasure, "said William, sulkily. 

"Let me think, " said the old man. "For how many Christmas timesrunning, have I sat in my warm place, and never had to come out inthe cold night air; and have made good cheer, without beingdisturbed by any such uncomfortable, wretched sight as him there?Is it twenty, William?"

"Nigher forty, it seems, " he muttered. "Why, when I look at myfather, sir, and come to think of it, " addressing Redlaw, with animpatience and irritation that were quite new, "I'm whipped if Ican see anything in him but a calendar of ever so many years ofeating and drinking, and making himself comfortable, over and overagain. "

"I--I'm eighty-seven, " said the old man, rambling on, childishlyand weakly, "and I don't know as I ever was much put out byanything. I'm not going to begin now, because of what he calls myson. He's not my son. I've had a power of pleasant times. Irecollect once--no I don't--no, it's broken off. It was somethingabout a game of cricket and a friend of mine, but it's somehowbroken off. I wonder who he was--I suppose I liked him? And Iwonder what became of him--I suppose he died? But I don't know. And I don't care, neither; I don't care a bit. "

In his drowsy chuckling, and the shaking of his head, he put hishands into his waistcoat pockets. In one of them he found a bit ofholly (left there, probably last night), which he now took out, andlooked at. 

"Berries, eh?" said the old man. "Ah! It's a pity they're notgood to eat. I recollect, when I was a little chap about as highas that, and out a walking with--let me see--who was I out awalking with?--no, I don't remember how that was. I don't rememberas I ever walked with any one particular, or cared for any one, orany one for me. Berries, eh? There's good cheer when there'sberries. Well; I ought to have my share of it, and to be waitedon, and kept warm and comfortable; for I'm eighty-seven, and a poorold man. I'm eigh-ty-seven. Eigh-ty-seven!"

The drivelling, pitiable manner in which, as he repeated this, henibbled at the leaves, and spat the morsels out; the cold, uninterested eye with which his youngest son (so changed) regardedhim; the determined apathy with which his eldest son lay hardenedin his sin; impressed themselves no more on Redlaw's observation, --for he broke his way from the spot to which his feet seemed to havebeen fixed, and ran out of the house. 

His guide came crawling forth from his place of refuge, and wasready for him before he reached the arches. 

"Back to the woman's?" he inquired. 

"Back, quickly!" answered Redlaw. "Stop nowhere on the way!"

For a short distance the boy went on before; but their return wasmore like a flight than a walk, and it was as much as his bare feetcould do, to keep pace with the Chemist's rapid strides. Shrinkingfrom all who passed, shrouded in his cloak, and keeping it drawnclosely about him, as though there were mortal contagion in anyfluttering touch of his garments, he made no pause until theyreached the door by which they had come out. He unlocked it withhis key, went in, accompanied by the boy, and hastened through thedark passages to his own chamber. 

The boy watched him as he made the door fast, and withdrew behindthe table, when he looked round. 

"Come!" he said. "Don't you touch me! You've not brought me hereto take my money away. "

Redlaw threw some more upon the ground. He flung his body on itimmediately, as if to hide it from him, lest the sight of it shouldtempt him to reclaim it; and not until he saw him seated by hislamp, with his face hidden in his hands, began furtively to pick itup. When he had done so, he crept near the fire, and, sitting downin a great chair before it, took from his breast some broken scrapsof food, and fell to munching, and to staring at the blaze, and nowand then to glancing at his shillings, which he kept clenched up ina bunch, in one hand. 

"And this, " said Redlaw, gazing on him with increased repugnanceand fear, "is the only one companion I have left on earth!"

How long it was before he was aroused from his contemplation ofthis creature, whom he dreaded so--whether half-an-hour, or halfthe night--he knew not. But the stillness of the room was brokenby the boy (whom he had seen listening) starting up, and runningtowards the door. 

"Here's the woman coming!" he exclaimed. 

The Chemist stopped him on his way, at the moment when she knocked. 

"Let me go to her, will you?" said the boy. 

"Not now, " returned the Chemist. "Stay here. Nobody must pass inor out of the room now. Who's that?"

"It's I, sir, " cried Milly. "Pray, sir, let me in!"

"No! not for the world!" he said. 

"Mr. Redlaw, Mr. Redlaw, pray, sir, let me in. "

"What is the matter?" he said, holding the boy. 

"The miserable man you saw, is worse, and nothing I can say willwake him from his terrible infatuation. William's father hasturned childish in a moment, William himself is changed. The shockhas been too sudden for him; I cannot understand him; he is notlike himself. Oh, Mr. Redlaw, pray advise me, help me!"

"No! No! No!" he answered. 

"Mr. Redlaw! Dear sir! George has been muttering, in his doze, about the man you saw there, who, he fears, will kill himself. "

"Better he should do it, than come near me!"

"He says, in his wandering, that you know him; that he was yourfriend once, long ago; that he is the ruined father of a studenthere--my mind misgives me, of the young gentleman who has been ill. What is to be done? How is he to be followed? How is he to besaved? Mr. Redlaw, pray, oh, pray, advise me! Help me!"

All this time he held the boy, who was half-mad to pass him, andlet her in. 

"Phantoms! Punishers of impious thoughts!" cried Redlaw, gazinground in anguish, "look upon me! From the darkness of my mind, letthe glimmering of contrition that I know is there, shine up andshow my misery! In the material world as I have long taught, nothing can be spared; no step or atom in the wondrous structurecould be lost, without a blank being made in the great universe. Iknow, now, that it is the same with good and evil, happiness andsorrow, in the memories of men. Pity me! Relieve me!"

There was no response, but her "Help me, help me, let me in!" andthe boy's struggling to get to her. 

"Shadow of myself! Spirit of my darker hours!" cried Redlaw, indistraction, "come back, and haunt me day and night, but take thisgift away! Or, if it must still rest with me, deprive me of thedreadful power of giving it to others. Undo what I have done. Leave me benighted, but restore the day to those whom I havecursed. As I have spared this woman from the first, and as I neverwill go forth again, but will die here, with no hand to tend me, save this creature's who is proof against me, --hear me!"

The only reply still was, the boy struggling to get to her, whilehe held him back; and the cry, increasing in its energy, "Help! letme in. He was your friend once, how shall he be followed, howshall he be saved? They are all changed, there is no one else tohelp me, pray, pray, let me in!"

CHAPTER III--The Gift Reversed

Night was still heavy in the sky. On open plains, from hill-tops, and from the decks of solitary ships at sea, a distant low-lyingline, that promised by-and-by to change to light, was visible inthe dim horizon; but its promise was remote and doubtful, and themoon was striving with the night-clouds busily. 

The shadows upon Redlaw's mind succeeded thick and fast to oneanother, and obscured its light as the night-clouds hovered betweenthe moon and earth, and kept the latter veiled in darkness. Fitfuland uncertain as the shadows which the night-clouds cast, weretheir concealments from him, and imperfect revelations to him; and, like the night-clouds still, if the clear light broke forth for amoment, it was only that they might sweep over it, and make thedarkness deeper than before. 

Without, there was a profound and solemn hush upon the ancient pileof building, and its buttresses and angles made dark shapes ofmystery upon the ground, which now seemed to retire into the smoothwhite snow and now seemed to come out of it, as the moon's path wasmore or less beset. Within, the Chemist's room was indistinct andmurky, by the light of the expiring lamp; a ghostly silence hadsucceeded to the knocking and the voice outside; nothing wasaudible but, now and then, a low sound among the whitened ashes ofthe fire, as of its yielding up its last breath. Before it on theground the boy lay fast asleep. In his chair, the Chemist sat, ashe had sat there since the calling at his door had ceased--like aman turned to stone. 

At such a time, the Christmas music he had heard before, began toplay. He listened to it at first, as he had listened in thechurch-yard; but presently--it playing still, and being bornetowards him on the night air, in a low, sweet, melancholy strain--he rose, and stood stretching his hands about him, as if there weresome friend approaching within his reach, on whom his desolatetouch might rest, yet do no harm. As he did this, his face becameless fixed and wondering; a gentle trembling came upon him; and atlast his eyes filled with tears, and he put his hands before them, and bowed down his head. 

His memory of sorrow, wrong, and trouble, had not come back to him;he knew that it was not restored; he had no passing belief or hopethat it was. But some dumb stir within him made him capable, again, of being moved by what was hidden, afar off, in the music. If it were only that it told him sorrowfully the value of what hehad lost, he thanked Heaven for it with a fervent gratitude. 

As the last chord died upon his ear, he raised his head to listento its lingering vibration. Beyond the boy, so that his sleepingfigure lay at its feet, the Phantom stood, immovable and silent, with its eyes upon him. 

Ghastly it was, as it had ever been, but not so cruel andrelentless in its aspect--or he thought or hoped so, as he lookedupon it trembling. It was not alone, but in its shadowy hand itheld another hand. 

And whose was that? Was the form that stood beside it indeedMilly's, or but her shade and picture? The quiet head was bent alittle, as her manner was, and her eyes were looking down, as if inpity, on the sleeping child. A radiant light fell on her face, butdid not touch the Phantom; for, though close beside her, it wasdark and colourless as ever. 

"Spectre!" said the Chemist, newly troubled as he looked, "I havenot been stubborn or presumptuous in respect of her. Oh, do notbring her here. Spare me that!"

"This is but a shadow, " said the Phantom; "when the morning shinesseek out the reality whose image I present before you. "

"Is it my inexorable doom to do so?" cried the Chemist. 

"It is, " replied the Phantom. 

"To destroy her peace, her goodness; to make her what I am myself, and what I have made of others!"

"I have said seek her out, " returned the Phantom. "I have said nomore. "

"Oh, tell me, " exclaimed Redlaw, catching at the hope which hefancied might lie hidden in the words. "Can I undo what I havedone?"

"No, " returned the Phantom. 

"I do not ask for restoration to myself, " said Redlaw. "What Iabandoned, I abandoned of my own free will, and have justly lost. But for those to whom I have transferred the fatal gift; who neversought it; who unknowingly received a curse of which they had nowarning, and which they had no power to shun; can I do nothing?"

"Nothing, " said the Phantom. 

"If I cannot, can any one?"

The Phantom, standing like a statue, kept its gaze upon him for awhile; then turned its head suddenly, and looked upon the shadow atits side. 

"Ah! Can she?" cried Redlaw, still looking upon the shade. 

The Phantom released the hand it had retained till now, and softlyraised its own with a gesture of dismissal. Upon that, her shadow, still preserving the same attitude, began to move or melt away. 

"Stay, " cried Redlaw with an earnestness to which he could not giveenough expression. "For a moment! As an act of mercy! I knowthat some change fell upon me, when those sounds were in the airjust now. Tell me, have I lost the power of harming her? May I gonear her without dread? Oh, let her give me any sign of hope!"

The Phantom looked upon the shade as he did--not at him--and gaveno answer. 

"At least, say this--has she, henceforth, the consciousness of anypower to set right what I have done?"

"She has not, " the Phantom answered. 

"Has she the power bestowed on her without the consciousness?"

The phantom answered: "Seek her out. "

And her shadow slowly vanished. 

They were face to face again, and looking on each other, asintently and awfully as at the time of the bestowal of the gift, across the boy who still lay on the ground between them, at thePhantom's feet. 

"Terrible instructor, " said the Chemist, sinking on his knee beforeit, in an attitude of supplication, "by whom I was renounced, butby whom I am revisited (in which, and in whose milder aspect, Iwould fain believe I have a gleam of hope), I will obey withoutinquiry, praying that the cry I have sent up in the anguish of mysoul has been, or will be, heard, in behalf of those whom I haveinjured beyond human reparation. But there is one thing--"

"You speak to me of what is lying here, " the phantom interposed, and pointed with its finger to the boy. 

"I do, " returned the Chemist. "You know what I would ask. Why hasthis child alone been proof against my influence, and why, why, have I detected in its thoughts a terrible companionship withmine?"

"This, " said the Phantom, pointing to the boy, "is the last, completest illustration of a human creature, utterly bereft of suchremembrances as you have yielded up. No softening memory ofsorrow, wrong, or trouble enters here, because this wretched mortalfrom his birth has been abandoned to a worse condition than thebeasts, and has, within his knowledge, no one contrast, nohumanising touch, to make a grain of such a memory spring up in hishardened breast. All within this desolate creature is barrenwilderness. All within the man bereft of what you have resigned, is the same barren wilderness. Woe to such a man! Woe, tenfold, to the nation that shall count its monsters such as this, lyinghere, by hundreds and by thousands!"

Redlaw shrank, appalled, from what he heard. 

"There is not, " said the Phantom, "one of these--not one--but sowsa harvest that mankind MUST reap. From every seed of evil in thisboy, a field of ruin is grown that shall be gathered in, andgarnered up, and sown again in many places in the world, untilregions are overspread with wickedness enough to raise the watersof another Deluge. Open and unpunished murder in a city's streetswould be less guilty in its daily toleration, than one suchspectacle as this. "

It seemed to look down upon the boy in his sleep. Redlaw, too, looked down upon him with a new emotion. 

"There is not a father, " said the Phantom, "by whose side in hisdaily or his nightly walk, these creatures pass; there is not amother among all the ranks of loving mothers in this land; there isno one risen from the state of childhood, but shall be responsiblein his or her degree for this enormity. There is not a countrythroughout the earth on which it would not bring a curse. There isno religion upon earth that it would not deny; there is no peopleupon earth it would not put to shame. "

The Chemist clasped his hands, and looked, with trembling fear andpity, from the sleeping boy to the Phantom, standing above him withhis finger pointing down. 

"Behold, I say, " pursued the Spectre, "the perfect type of what itwas your choice to be. Your influence is powerless here, becausefrom this child's bosom you can banish nothing. His thoughts havebeen in 'terrible companionship' with yours, because you have gonedown to his unnatural level. He is the growth of man'sindifference; you are the growth of man's presumption. Thebeneficent design of Heaven is, in each case, overthrown, and fromthe two poles of the immaterial world you come together. "

The Chemist stooped upon the ground beside the boy, and, with thesame kind of compassion for him that he now felt for himself, covered him as he slept, and no longer shrank from him withabhorrence or indifference. 

Soon, now, the distant line on the horizon brightened, the darknessfaded, the sun rose red and glorious, and the chimney stacks andgables of the ancient building gleamed in the clear air, whichturned the smoke and vapour of the city into a cloud of gold. Thevery sun-dial in his shady corner, where the wind was used to spinwith such unwindy constancy, shook off the finer particles of snowthat had accumulated on his dull old face in the night, and lookedout at the little white wreaths eddying round and round him. Doubtless some blind groping of the morning made its way down intothe forgotten crypt so cold and earthy, where the Norman archeswere half buried in the ground, and stirred the dull sap in thelazy vegetation hanging to the walls, and quickened the slowprinciple of life within the little world of wonderful and delicatecreation which existed there, with some faint knowledge that thesun was up. 

The Tetterbys were up, and doing. Mr. Tetterby took down theshutters of the shop, and, strip by strip, revealed the treasuresof the window to the eyes, so proof against their seductions, ofJerusalem Buildings. Adolphus had been out so long already, thathe was halfway on to "Morning Pepper. " Five small Tetterbys, whoseten round eyes were much inflamed by soap and friction, were in thetortures of a cool wash in the back kitchen; Mrs. Tetterbypresiding. Johnny, who was pushed and hustled through his toiletwith great rapidity when Moloch chanced to be in an exacting frameof mind (which was always the case), staggered up and down with hischarge before the shop door, under greater difficulties than usual;the weight of Moloch being much increased by a complication ofdefences against the cold, composed of knitted worsted-work, andforming a complete suit of chain-armour, with a head-piece and bluegaiters. 

It was a peculiarity of this baby to be always cutting teeth. Whether they never came, or whether they came and went away again, is not in evidence; but it had certainly cut enough, on the showingof Mrs. Tetterby, to make a handsome dental provision for the signof the Bull and Mouth. All sorts of objects were impressed for therubbing of its gums, notwithstanding that it always carried, dangling at its waist (which was immediately under its chin), abone ring, large enough to have represented the rosary of a youngnun. Knife-handles, umbrella-tops, the heads of walking-sticksselected from the stock, the fingers of the family in general, butespecially of Johnny, nutmeg-graters, crusts, the handles of doors, and the cool knobs on the tops of pokers, were among the commonestinstruments indiscriminately applied for this baby's relief. Theamount of electricity that must have been rubbed out of it in aweek, is not to be calculated. Still Mrs. Tetterby always said "itwas coming through, and then the child would be herself;" and stillit never did come through, and the child continued to be somebodyelse. 

The tempers of the little Tetterbys had sadly changed with a fewhours. Mr. And Mrs. Tetterby themselves were not more altered thantheir offspring. Usually they were an unselfish, good-natured, yielding little race, sharing short commons when it happened (whichwas pretty often) contentedly and even generously, and taking agreat deal of enjoyment out of a very little meat. But they werefighting now, not only for the soap and water, but even for thebreakfast which was yet in perspective. The hand of every littleTetterby was against the other little Tetterbys; and even Johnny'shand--the patient, much-enduring, and devoted Johnny--rose againstthe baby! Yes, Mrs. Tetterby, going to the door by mere accident, saw him viciously pick out a weak place in the suit of armour wherea slap would tell, and slap that blessed child. 

Mrs. Tetterby had him into the parlour by the collar, in that sameflash of time, and repaid him the assault with usury thereto. 

"You brute, you murdering little boy, " said Mrs. Tetterby. "Hadyou the heart to do it?"

"Why don't her teeth come through, then, " retorted Johnny, in aloud rebellious voice, "instead of bothering me? How would youlike it yourself?"

"Like it, sir!" said Mrs. Tetterby, relieving him of hisdishonoured load. 

"Yes, like it, " said Johnny. "How would you? Not at all. If youwas me, you'd go for a soldier. I will, too. There an't no babiesin the Army. "

Mr. Tetterby, who had arrived upon the scene of action, rubbed hischin thoughtfully, instead of correcting the rebel, and seemedrather struck by this view of a military life. 

"I wish I was in the Army myself, if the child's in the right, "said Mrs. Tetterby, looking at her husband, "for I have no peace ofmy life here. I'm a slave--a Virginia slave:" some indistinctassociation with their weak descent on the tobacco trade perhapssuggested this aggravated expression to Mrs. Tetterby. "I neverhave a holiday, or any pleasure at all, from year's end to year'send! Why, Lord bless and save the child, " said Mrs. Tetterby, shaking the baby with an irritability hardly suited to so pious anaspiration, "what's the matter with her now?"

Not being able to discover, and not rendering the subject muchclearer by shaking it, Mrs. Tetterby put the baby away in a cradle, and, folding her arms, sat rocking it angrily with her foot. 

"How you stand there, 'Dolphus, " said Mrs. Tetterby to her husband. "Why don't you do something?"

"Because I don't care about doing anything, " Mr. Tetterby replied. 

"I am sure _I_ don't, " said Mrs. Tetterby. 

"I'll take my oath _I_ don't, " said Mr. Tetterby. 

A diversion arose here among Johnny and his five younger brothers, who, in preparing the family breakfast table, had fallen toskirmishing for the temporary possession of the loaf, and werebuffeting one another with great heartiness; the smallest boy ofall, with precocious discretion, hovering outside the knot ofcombatants, and harassing their legs. Into the midst of this fray, Mr. And Mrs. Tetterby both precipitated themselves with greatardour, as if such ground were the only ground on which they couldnow agree; and having, with no visible remains of their late soft-heartedness, laid about them without any lenity, and done muchexecution, resumed their former relative positions. 

"You had better read your paper than do nothing at all, " said Mrs. Tetterby. 

"What's there to read in a paper?" returned Mr. Tetterby, withexcessive discontent. 

"What?" said Mrs. Tetterby. "Police. "

"It's nothing to me, " said Tetterby. "What do I care what peopledo, or are done to?"

"Suicides, " suggested Mrs. Tetterby. 

"No business of mine, " replied her husband. 

"Births, deaths, and marriages, are those nothing to you?" saidMrs. Tetterby. 

"If the births were all over for good, and all to-day; and thedeaths were all to begin to come off to-morrow; I don't see why itshould interest me, till I thought it was a coming to my turn, "grumbled Tetterby. "As to marriages, I've done it myself. I knowquite enough about THEM. "

To judge from the dissatisfied expression of her face and manner, Mrs. Tetterby appeared to entertain the same opinions as herhusband; but she opposed him, nevertheless, for the gratificationof quarrelling with him. 

"Oh, you're a consistent man, " said Mrs. Tetterby, "an't you? You, with the screen of your own making there, made of nothing else butbits of newspapers, which you sit and read to the children by thehalf-hour together!"

"Say used to, if you please, " returned her husband. "You won'tfind me doing so any more. I'm wiser now. "

"Bah! wiser, indeed!" said Mrs. Tetterby. "Are you better?"

The question sounded some discordant note in Mr. Tetterby's breast. He ruminated dejectedly, and passed his hand across and across hisforehead. 

"Better!" murmured Mr. Tetterby. "I don't know as any of us arebetter, or happier either. Better, is it?"

He turned to the screen, and traced about it with his finger, untilhe found a certain paragraph of which he was in quest. 

"This used to be one of the family favourites, I recollect, " saidTetterby, in a forlorn and stupid way, "and used to draw tears fromthe children, and make 'em good, if there was any little bickeringor discontent among 'em, next to the story of the robin redbreastsin the wood. 'Melancholy case of destitution. Yesterday a smallman, with a baby in his arms, and surrounded by half-a-dozen raggedlittle ones, of various ages between ten and two, the whole of whomwere evidently in a famishing condition, appeared before the worthymagistrate, and made the following recital:'--Ha! I don'tunderstand it, I'm sure, " said Tetterby; "I don't see what it hasgot to do with us. "

"How old and shabby he looks, " said Mrs. Tetterby, watching him. "I never saw such a change in a man. Ah! dear me, dear me, dearme, it was a sacrifice!"

"What was a sacrifice?" her husband sourly inquired. 

Mrs. Tetterby shook her head; and without replying in words, raiseda complete sea-storm about the baby, by her violent agitation ofthe cradle. 

"If you mean your marriage was a sacrifice, my good woman--" saidher husband. 

"I DO mean it" said his wife. 

"Why, then I mean to say, " pursued Mr. Tetterby, as sulkily andsurlily as she, "that there are two sides to that affair; and thatI was the sacrifice; and that I wish the sacrifice hadn't beenaccepted. "

"I wish it hadn't, Tetterby, with all my heart and soul I do assureyou, " said his wife. "You can't wish it more than I do, Tetterby. "

"I don't know what I saw in her, " muttered the newsman, "I'm sure;--certainly, if I saw anything, it's not there now. I was thinkingso, last night, after supper, by the fire. She's fat, she'sageing, she won't bear comparison with most other women. "

"He's common-looking, he has no air with him, he's small, he'sbeginning to stoop and he's getting bald, " muttered Mrs. Tetterby. 

"I must have been half out of my mind when I did it, " muttered Mr. Tetterby. 

"My senses must have forsook me. That's the only way in which Ican explain it to myself, " said Mrs. Tetterby with elaboration. 

In this mood they sat down to breakfast. The little Tetterbys werenot habituated to regard that meal in the light of a sedentaryoccupation, but discussed it as a dance or trot; rather resemblinga savage ceremony, in the occasionally shrill whoops, andbrandishings of bread and butter, with which it was accompanied, aswell as in the intricate filings off into the street and backagain, and the hoppings up and down the door-steps, which wereincidental to the performance. In the present instance, thecontentions between these Tetterby children for the milk-and-waterjug, common to all, which stood upon the table, presented solamentable an instance of angry passions risen very high indeed, that it was an outrage on the memory of Dr. Watts. It was notuntil Mr. Tetterby had driven the whole herd out at the front door, that a moment's peace was secured; and even that was broken by thediscovery that Johnny had surreptitiously come back, and was atthat instant choking in the jug like a ventriloquist, in hisindecent and rapacious haste. 

"These children will be the death of me at last!" said Mrs. Tetterby, after banishing the culprit. "And the sooner the better, I think. "

"Poor people, " said Mr. Tetterby, "ought not to have children atall. They give US no pleasure. "

He was at that moment taking up the cup which Mrs. Tetterby hadrudely pushed towards him, and Mrs. Tetterby was lifting her owncup to her lips, when they both stopped, as if they weretransfixed. 

"Here! Mother! Father!" cried Johnny, running into the room. "Here's Mrs. William coming down the street!"

And if ever, since the world began, a young boy took a baby from acradle with the care of an old nurse, and hushed and soothed ittenderly, and tottered away with it cheerfully, Johnny was thatboy, and Moloch was that baby, as they went out together!

Mr. Tetterby put down his cup; Mrs. Tetterby put down her cup. Mr. Tetterby rubbed his forehead; Mrs. Tetterby rubbed hers. Mr. Tetterby's face began to smooth and brighten; Mrs. Tetterby's beganto smooth and brighten. 

"Why, Lord forgive me, " said Mr. Tetterby to himself, "what eviltempers have I been giving way to? What has been the matter here!"

"How could I ever treat him ill again, after all I said and feltlast night!" sobbed Mrs. Tetterby, with her apron to her eyes. 

"Am I a brute, " said Mr. Tetterby, "or is there any good in me atall? Sophia! My little woman!"

"'Dolphus dear, " returned his wife. 

"I--I've been in a state of mind, " said Mr. Tetterby, "that I can'tabear to think of, Sophy. "

"Oh! It's nothing to what I've been in, Dolf, " cried his wife in agreat burst of grief. 

"My Sophia, " said Mr. Tetterby, "don't take on. I never shallforgive myself. I must have nearly broke your heart, I know. "

"No, Dolf, no. It was me! Me!" cried Mrs. Tetterby. 

"My little woman, " said her husband, "don't. You make me reproachmyself dreadful, when you show such a noble spirit. Sophia, mydear, you don't know what I thought. I showed it bad enough, nodoubt; but what I thought, my little woman!--"

"Oh, dear Dolf, don't! Don't!" cried his wife. 

"Sophia, " said Mr. Tetterby, "I must reveal it. I couldn't rest inmy conscience unless I mentioned it. My little woman--"

"Mrs. William's very nearly here!" screamed Johnny at the door. 

"My little woman, I wondered how, " gasped Mr. Tetterby, supportinghimself by his chair, "I wondered how I had ever admired you--Iforgot the precious children you have brought about me, and thoughtyou didn't look as slim as I could wish. I--I never gave arecollection, " said Mr. Tetterby, with severe self-accusation, "tothe cares you've had as my wife, and along of me and mine, when youmight have had hardly any with another man, who got on better andwas luckier than me (anybody might have found such a man easily Iam sure); and I quarrelled with you for having aged a little in therough years you have lightened for me. Can you believe it, mylittle woman? I hardly can myself. "

Mrs. Tetterby, in a whirlwind of laughing and crying, caught hisface within her hands, and held it there. 

"Oh, Dolf!" she cried. "I am so happy that you thought so; I am sograteful that you thought so! For I thought that you were common-looking, Dolf; and so you are, my dear, and may you be thecommonest of all sights in my eyes, till you close them with yourown good hands. I thought that you were small; and so you are, andI'll make much of you because you are, and more of you because Ilove my husband. I thought that you began to stoop; and so you do, and you shall lean on me, and I'll do all I can to keep you up. Ithought there was no air about you; but there is, and it's the airof home, and that's the purest and the best there is, and God blesshome once more, and all belonging to it, Dolf!"

"Hurrah! Here's Mrs. William!" cried Johnny. 

So she was, and all the children with her; and so she came in, theykissed her, and kissed one another, and kissed the baby, and kissedtheir father and mother, and then ran back and flocked and dancedabout her, trooping on with her in triumph. 

Mr. And Mrs. Tetterby were not a bit behind-hand in the warmth oftheir reception. They were as much attracted to her as thechildren were; they ran towards her, kissed her hands, pressedround her, could not receive her ardently or enthusiasticallyenough. She came among them like the spirit of all goodness, affection, gentle consideration, love, and domesticity. 

"What! are YOU all so glad to see me, too, this bright Christmasmorning?" said Milly, clapping her hands in a pleasant wonder. "Ohdear, how delightful this is!"

More shouting from the children, more kissing, more trooping roundher, more happiness, more love, more joy, more honour, on allsides, than she could bear. 

"Oh dear!" said Milly, "what delicious tears you make me shed. Howcan I ever have deserved this! What have I done to be so loved?"

"Who can help it!" cried Mr. Tetterby. 

"Who can help it!" cried Mrs. Tetterby. 

"Who can help it!" echoed the children, in a joyful chorus. Andthey danced and trooped about her again, and clung to her, and laidtheir rosy faces against her dress, and kissed and fondled it, andcould not fondle it, or her, enough. 

"I never was so moved, " said Milly, drying her eyes, "as I havebeen this morning. I must tell you, as soon as I can speak. --Mr. Redlaw came to me at sunrise, and with a tenderness in his manner, more as if I had been his darling daughter than myself, implored meto go with him to where William's brother George is lying ill. Wewent together, and all the way along he was so kind, and sosubdued, and seemed to put such trust and hope in me, that I couldnot help trying with pleasure. When we got to the house, we met awoman at the door (somebody had bruised and hurt her, I am afraid), who caught me by the hand, and blessed me as I passed. "

"She was right!" said Mr. Tetterby. Mrs. Tetterby said she wasright. All the children cried out that she was right. 

"Ah, but there's more than that, " said Milly. "When we got upstairs, into the room, the sick man who had lain for hours in astate from which no effort could rouse him, rose up in his bed, and, bursting into tears, stretched out his arms to me, and saidthat he had led a mis-spent life, but that he was truly repentantnow, in his sorrow for the past, which was all as plain to him as agreat prospect, from which a dense black cloud had cleared away, and that he entreated me to ask his poor old father for his pardonand his blessing, and to say a prayer beside his bed. And when Idid so, Mr. Redlaw joined in it so fervently, and then so thankedand thanked me, and thanked Heaven, that my heart quite overflowed, and I could have done nothing but sob and cry, if the sick man hadnot begged me to sit down by him, --which made me quiet of course. As I sat there, he held my hand in his until he sank in a doze; andeven then, when I withdrew my hand to leave him to come here (whichMr. Redlaw was very earnest indeed in wishing me to do), his handfelt for mine, so that some one else was obliged to take my placeand make believe to give him my hand back. Oh dear, oh dear, " saidMilly, sobbing. "How thankful and how happy I should feel, and dofeel, for all this!"

While she was speaking, Redlaw had come in, and, after pausing fora moment to observe the group of which she was the centre, hadsilently ascended the stairs. Upon those stairs he now appearedagain; remaining there, while the young student passed him, andcame running down. 

"Kind nurse, gentlest, best of creatures, " he said, falling on hisknee to her, and catching at her hand, "forgive my cruelingratitude!"

"Oh dear, oh dear!" cried Milly innocently, "here's another ofthem! Oh dear, here's somebody else who likes me. What shall Iever do!"

The guileless, simple way in which she said it, and in which sheput her hands before her eyes and wept for very happiness, was astouching as it was delightful. 

"I was not myself, " he said. "I don't know what it was--it wassome consequence of my disorder perhaps--I was mad. But I am so nolonger. Almost as I speak, I am restored. I heard the childrencrying out your name, and the shade passed from me at the verysound of it. Oh, don't weep! Dear Milly, if you could read myheart, and only knew with what affection and what grateful homageit is glowing, you would not let me see you weep. It is such deepreproach. "

"No, no, " said Milly, "it's not that. It's not indeed. It's joy. It's wonder that you should think it necessary to ask me to forgiveso little, and yet it's pleasure that you do. "

"And will you come again? and will you finish the little curtain?"

"No, " said Milly, drying her eyes, and shaking her head. "Youwon't care for my needlework now. "

"Is it forgiving me, to say that?"

She beckoned him aside, and whispered in his ear. 

"There is news from your home, Mr. Edmund. "

"News? How?"

"Either your not writing when you were very ill, or the change inyour handwriting when you began to be better, created somesuspicion of the truth; however that is--but you're sure you'll notbe the worse for any news, if it's not bad news?"

"Sure. "

"Then there's some one come!" said Milly. 

"My mother?" asked the student, glancing round involuntarilytowards Redlaw, who had come down from the stairs. 

"Hush! No, " said Milly. 

"It can be no one else. "

"Indeed?" said Milly, "are you sure?"

"It is not -" Before he could say more, she put her hand upon hismouth. 

"Yes it is!" said Milly. "The young lady (she is very like theminiature, Mr. Edmund, but she is prettier) was too unhappy to restwithout satisfying her doubts, and came up, last night, with alittle servant-maid. As you always dated your letters from thecollege, she came there; and before I saw Mr. Redlaw this morning, I saw her. SHE likes me too!" said Milly. "Oh dear, that'sanother!"

"This morning! Where is she now?"

"Why, she is now, " said Milly, advancing her lips to his ear, "inmy little parlour in the Lodge, and waiting to see you. "

He pressed her hand, and was darting off, but she detained him. 

"Mr. Redlaw is much altered, and has told me this morning that hismemory is impaired. Be very considerate to him, Mr. Edmund; heneeds that from us all. "

The young man assured her, by a look, that her caution was not ill-bestowed; and as he passed the Chemist on his way out, bentrespectfully and with an obvious interest before him. 

Redlaw returned the salutation courteously and even humbly, andlooked after him as he passed on. He dropped his head upon hishand too, as trying to reawaken something he had lost. But it wasgone. 

The abiding change that had come upon him since the influence ofthe music, and the Phantom's reappearance, was, that now he trulyfelt how much he had lost, and could compassionate his owncondition, and contrast it, clearly, with the natural state ofthose who were around him. In this, an interest in those who werearound him was revived, and a meek, submissive sense of hiscalamity was bred, resembling that which sometimes obtains in age, when its mental powers are weakened, without insensibility orsullenness being added to the list of its infirmities. 

He was conscious that, as he redeemed, through Milly, more and moreof the evil he had done, and as he was more and more with her, thischange ripened itself within him. Therefore, and because of theattachment she inspired him with (but without other hope), he feltthat he was quite dependent on her, and that she was his staff inhis affliction. 

So, when she asked him whether they should go home now, to wherethe old man and her husband were, and he readily replied "yes"--being anxious in that regard--he put his arm through hers, andwalked beside her; not as if he were the wise and learned man towhom the wonders of Nature were an open book, and hers were theuninstructed mind, but as if their two positions were reversed, andhe knew nothing, and she all. 

He saw the children throng about her, and caress her, as he and shewent away together thus, out of the house; he heard the ringing oftheir laughter, and their merry voices; he saw their bright faces, clustering around him like flowers; he witnessed the renewedcontentment and affection of their parents; he breathed the simpleair of their poor home, restored to its tranquillity; he thought ofthe unwholesome blight he had shed upon it, and might, but for her, have been diffusing then; and perhaps it is no wonder that hewalked submissively beside her, and drew her gentle bosom nearer tohis own. 

When they arrived at the Lodge, the old man was sitting in hischair in the chimney-corner, with his eyes fixed on the ground, andhis son was leaning against the opposite side of the fire-place, looking at him. As she came in at the door, both started, andturned round towards her, and a radiant change came upon theirfaces. 

"Oh dear, dear, dear, they are all pleased to see me like therest!" cried Milly, clapping her hands in an ecstasy, and stoppingshort. "Here are two more!"

Pleased to see her! Pleasure was no word for it. She ran into herhusband's arms, thrown wide open to receive her, and he would havebeen glad to have her there, with her head lying on his shoulder, through the short winter's day. But the old man couldn't spareher. He had arms for her too, and he locked her in them. 

"Why, where has my quiet Mouse been all this time?" said the oldman. "She has been a long while away. I find that it's impossiblefor me to get on without Mouse. I--where's my son William?--Ifancy I have been dreaming, William. "

"That's what I say myself, father, " returned his son. "I have beenin an ugly sort of dream, I think. --How are you, father? Are youpretty well?"

"Strong and brave, my boy, " returned the old man. 

It was quite a sight to see Mr. William shaking hands with hisfather, and patting him on the back, and rubbing him gently downwith his hand, as if he could not possibly do enough to show aninterest in him. 

"What a wonderful man you are, father!--How are you, father? Areyou really pretty hearty, though?" said William, shaking hands withhim again, and patting him again, and rubbing him gently downagain. 

"I never was fresher or stouter in my life, my boy. "

"What a wonderful man you are, father! But that's exactly where itis, " said Mr. William, with enthusiasm. "When I think of all thatmy father's gone through, and all the chances and changes, andsorrows and troubles, that have happened to him in the course ofhis long life, and under which his head has grown grey, and yearsupon years have gathered on it, I feel as if we couldn't do enoughto honour the old gentleman, and make his old age easy. --How areyou, father? Are you really pretty well, though?"

Mr. William might never have left off repeating this inquiry, andshaking hands with him again, and patting him again, and rubbinghim down again, if the old man had not espied the Chemist, whomuntil now he had not seen. 

"I ask your pardon, Mr. Redlaw, " said Philip, "but didn't know youwere here, sir, or should have made less free. It reminds me, Mr. Redlaw, seeing you here on a Christmas morning, of the time whenyou was a student yourself, and worked so hard that you werebackwards and forwards in our Library even at Christmas time. Ha!ha! I'm old enough to remember that; and I remember it right well, I do, though I am eight-seven. It was after you left here that mypoor wife died. You remember my poor wife, Mr. Redlaw?"

The Chemist answered yes. 

"Yes, " said the old man. "She was a dear creetur. --I recollect youcome here one Christmas morning with a young lady--I ask yourpardon, Mr. Redlaw, but I think it was a sister you was very muchattached to?"

The Chemist looked at him, and shook his head. "I had a sister, "he said vacantly. He knew no more. 

"One Christmas morning, " pursued the old man, "that you come herewith her--and it began to snow, and my wife invited the lady towalk in, and sit by the fire that is always a burning on ChristmasDay in what used to be, before our ten poor gentlemen commuted, ourgreat Dinner Hall. I was there; and I recollect, as I was stirringup the blaze for the young lady to warm her pretty feet by, sheread the scroll out loud, that is underneath that pictur, 'Lord, keep my memory green!' She and my poor wife fell a talking aboutit; and it's a strange thing to think of, now, that they both said(both being so unlike to die) that it was a good prayer, and thatit was one they would put up very earnestly, if they were calledaway young, with reference to those who were dearest to them. 'Mybrother, ' says the young lady--'My husband, ' says my poor wife. --'Lord, keep his memory of me, green, and do not let me beforgotten!'"

Tears more painful, and more bitter than he had ever shed in allhis life, coursed down Redlaw's face. Philip, fully occupied inrecalling his story, had not observed him until now, nor Milly'sanxiety that he should not proceed. 

"Philip!" said Redlaw, laying his hand upon his arm, "I am astricken man, on whom the hand of Providence has fallen heavily, although deservedly. You speak to me, my friend, of what I cannotfollow; my memory is gone. "

"Merciful power!" cried the old man. 

"I have lost my memory of sorrow, wrong, and trouble, " said theChemist, "and with that I have lost all man would remember!"

To see old Philip's pity for him, to see him wheel his own greatchair for him to rest in, and look down upon him with a solemnsense of his bereavement, was to know, in some degree, how preciousto old age such recollections are. 

The boy came running in, and ran to Milly. 

"Here's the man, " he said, "in the other room. I don't want HIM. "

"What man does he mean?" asked Mr. William. 

"Hush!" said Milly. 

Obedient to a sign from her, he and his old father softly withdrew. As they went out, unnoticed, Redlaw beckoned to the boy to come tohim. 

"I like the woman best, " he answered, holding to her skirts. 

"You are right, " said Redlaw, with a faint smile. "But you needn'tfear to come to me. I am gentler than I was. Of all the world, toyou, poor child!"

The boy still held back at first, but yielding little by little toher urging, he consented to approach, and even to sit down at hisfeet. As Redlaw laid his hand upon the shoulder of the child, looking on him with compassion and a fellow-feeling, he put out hisother hand to Milly. She stooped down on that side of him, so thatshe could look into his face, and after silence, said:

"Mr. Redlaw, may I speak to you?"

"Yes, " he answered, fixing his eyes upon her. "Your voice andmusic are the same to me. "

"May I ask you something?"

"What you will. "

"Do you remember what I said, when I knocked at your door lastnight? About one who was your friend once, and who stood on theverge of destruction?"

"Yes. I remember, " he said, with some hesitation. 

"Do you understand it?"

He smoothed the boy's hair--looking at her fixedly the while, andshook his head. 

"This person, " said Milly, in her clear, soft voice, which her mildeyes, looking at him, made clearer and softer, "I found soonafterwards. I went back to the house, and, with Heaven's help, traced him. I was not too soon. A very little and I should havebeen too late. "

He took his hand from the boy, and laying it on the back of thathand of hers, whose timid and yet earnest touch addressed him noless appealingly than her voice and eyes, looked more intently onher. 

"He IS the father of Mr. Edmund, the young gentleman we saw justnow. His real name is Longford. --You recollect the name?"

"I recollect the name. "

"And the man?"

"No, not the man. Did he ever wrong me?"

"Yes!"

"Ah! Then it's hopeless--hopeless. "

He shook his head, and softly beat upon the hand he held, as thoughmutely asking her commiseration. 

"I did not go to Mr. Edmund last night, " said Milly, --"You willlisten to me just the same as if you did remember all?"

"To every syllable you say. "

"Both, because I did not know, then, that this really was hisfather, and because I was fearful of the effect of suchintelligence upon him, after his illness, if it should be. Since Ihave known who this person is, I have not gone either; but that isfor another reason. He has long been separated from his wife andson--has been a stranger to his home almost from this son'sinfancy, I learn from him--and has abandoned and deserted what heshould have held most dear. In all that time he has been fallingfrom the state of a gentleman, more and more, until--" she rose up, hastily, and going out for a moment, returned, accompanied by thewreck that Redlaw had beheld last night. 

"Do you know me?" asked the Chemist. 

"I should be glad, " returned the other, "and that is an unwontedword for me to use, if I could answer no. "

The Chemist looked at the man, standing in self-abasement anddegradation before him, and would have looked longer, in anineffectual struggle for enlightenment, but that Milly resumed herlate position by his side, and attracted his attentive gaze to herown face. 

"See how low he is sunk, how lost he is!" she whispered, stretchingout her arm towards him, without looking from the Chemist's face. "If you could remember all that is connected with him, do you notthink it would move your pity to reflect that one you ever loved(do not let us mind how long ago, or in what belief that he hasforfeited), should come to this?"

"I hope it would, " he answered. "I believe it would. "

His eyes wandered to the figure standing near the door, but cameback speedily to her, on whom he gazed intently, as if he strove tolearn some lesson from every tone of her voice, and every beam ofher eyes. 

"I have no learning, and you have much, " said Milly; "I am not usedto think, and you are always thinking. May I tell you why it seemsto me a good thing for us, to remember wrong that has been doneus?"

"Yes. "

"That we may forgive it. "

"Pardon me, great Heaven!" said Redlaw, lifting up his eyes, "forhaving thrown away thine own high attribute!"

"And if, " said Milly, "if your memory should one day be restored, as we will hope and pray it may be, would it not be a blessing toyou to recall at once a wrong and its forgiveness?"

He looked at the figure by the door, and fastened his attentiveeyes on her again; a ray of clearer light appeared to him to shineinto his mind, from her bright face. 

"He cannot go to his abandoned home. He does not seek to go there. He knows that he could only carry shame and trouble to those he hasso cruelly neglected; and that the best reparation he can make themnow, is to avoid them. A very little money carefully bestowed, would remove him to some distant place, where he might live and dono wrong, and make such atonement as is left within his power forthe wrong he has done. To the unfortunate lady who is his wife, and to his son, this would be the best and kindest boon that theirbest friend could give them--one too that they need never know of;and to him, shattered in reputation, mind, and body, it might besalvation. "

He took her head between her hands, and kissed it, and said: "Itshall be done. I trust to you to do it for me, now and secretly;and to tell him that I would forgive him, if I were so happy as toknow for what. "

As she rose, and turned her beaming face towards the fallen man, implying that her mediation had been successful, he advanced astep, and without raising his eyes, addressed himself to Redlaw. 

"You are so generous, " he said, "--you ever were--that you will tryto banish your rising sense of retribution in the spectacle that isbefore you. I do not try to banish it from myself, Redlaw. If youcan, believe me. "

The Chemist entreated Milly, by a gesture, to come nearer to him;and, as he listened looked in her face, as if to find in it theclue to what he heard. 

"I am too decayed a wretch to make professions; I recollect my owncareer too well, to array any such before you. But from the day onwhich I made my first step downward, in dealing falsely by you, Ihave gone down with a certain, steady, doomed progression. That, Isay. "

Redlaw, keeping her close at his side, turned his face towards thespeaker, and there was sorrow in it. Something like mournfulrecognition too. 

"I might have been another man, my life might have been anotherlife, if I had avoided that first fatal step. I don't know that itwould have been. I claim nothing for the possibility. Your sisteris at rest, and better than she could have been with me, if I hadcontinued even what you thought me: even what I once supposedmyself to be. "

Redlaw made a hasty motion with his hand, as if he would have putthat subject on one side. 

"I speak, " the other went on, "like a man taken from the grave. Ishould have made my own grave, last night, had it not been for thisblessed hand. "

"Oh dear, he likes me too!" sobbed Milly, under her breath. "That's another!"

"I could not have put myself in your way, last night, even forbread. But, to-day, my recollection of what has been is sostrongly stirred, and is presented to me, I don't know how, sovividly, that I have dared to come at her suggestion, and to takeyour bounty, and to thank you for it, and to beg you, Redlaw, inyour dying hour, to be as merciful to me in your thoughts, as youare in your deeds. "

He turned towards the door, and stopped a moment on his way forth. 

"I hope my son may interest you, for his mother's sake. I hope hemay deserve to do so. Unless my life should be preserved a longtime, and I should know that I have not misused your aid, I shallnever look upon him more. "

Going out, he raised his eyes to Redlaw for the first time. Redlaw, whose steadfast gaze was fixed upon him, dreamily held outhis hand. He returned and touched it--little more--with both hisown; and bending down his head, went slowly out. 

In the few moments that elapsed, while Milly silently took him tothe gate, the Chemist dropped into his chair, and covered his facewith his hands. Seeing him thus, when she came back, accompaniedby her husband and his father (who were both greatly concerned forhim), she avoided disturbing him, or permitting him to bedisturbed; and kneeled down near the chair to put some warmclothing on the boy. 

"That's exactly where it is. That's what I always say, father!"exclaimed her admiring husband. "There's a motherly feeling inMrs. William's breast that must and will have went!"

"Ay, ay, " said the old man; "you're right. My son William'sright!"

"It happens all for the best, Milly dear, no doubt, " said Mr. William, tenderly, "that we have no children of our own; and yet Isometimes wish you had one to love and cherish. Our little deadchild that you built such hopes upon, and that never breathed thebreath of life--it has made you quiet-like, Milly. "

"I am very happy in the recollection of it, William dear, " sheanswered. "I think of it every day. "

"I was afraid you thought of it a good deal. "

"Don't say, afraid; it is a comfort to me; it speaks to me in somany ways. The innocent thing that never lived on earth, is likean angel to me, William. "

"You are like an angel to father and me, " said Mr. William, softly. "I know that. "

"When I think of all those hopes I built upon it, and the manytimes I sat and pictured to myself the little smiling face upon mybosom that never lay there, and the sweet eyes turned up to minethat never opened to the light, " said Milly, "I can feel a greatertenderness, I think, for all the disappointed hopes in which thereis no harm. When I see a beautiful child in its fond mother'sarms, I love it all the better, thinking that my child might havebeen like that, and might have made my heart as proud and happy. "

Redlaw raised his head, and looked towards her. 

"All through life, it seems by me, " she continued, "to tell mesomething. For poor neglected children, my little child pleads asif it were alive, and had a voice I knew, with which to speak tome. When I hear of youth in suffering or shame, I think that mychild might have come to that, perhaps, and that God took it fromme in His mercy. Even in age and grey hair, such as father's, itis present: saying that it too might have lived to be old, longand long after you and I were gone, and to have needed the respectand love of younger people. "

Her quiet voice was quieter than ever, as she took her husband'sarm, and laid her head against it. 

"Children love me so, that sometimes I half fancy--it's a sillyfancy, William--they have some way I don't know of, of feeling formy little child, and me, and understanding why their love isprecious to me. If I have been quiet since, I have been morehappy, William, in a hundred ways. Not least happy, dear, in this--that even when my little child was born and dead but a few days, and I was weak and sorrowful, and could not help grieving a little, the thought arose, that if I tried to lead a good life, I shouldmeet in Heaven a bright creature, who would call me, Mother!"

Redlaw fell upon his knees, with a loud cry. 

"O Thou, he said, "who through the teaching of pure love, hastgraciously restored me to the memory which was the memory of Christupon the Cross, and of all the good who perished in His cause, receive my thanks, and bless her!"

Then, he folded her to his heart; and Milly, sobbing more thanever, cried, as she laughed, "He is come back to himself! He likesme very much indeed, too! Oh, dear, dear, dear me, here'sanother!"

Then, the student entered, leading by the hand a lovely girl, whowas afraid to come. And Redlaw so changed towards him, seeing inhim and his youthful choice, the softened shadow of that chasteningpassage in his own life, to which, as to a shady tree, the dove solong imprisoned in his solitary ark might fly for rest and company, fell upon his neck, entreating them to be his children. 

Then, as Christmas is a time in which, of all times in the year, the memory of every remediable sorrow, wrong, and trouble in theworld around us, should be active with us, not less than our ownexperiences, for all good, he laid his hand upon the boy, and, silently calling Him to witness who laid His hand on children inold time, rebuking, in the majesty of His prophetic knowledge, those who kept them from Him, vowed to protect him, teach him, andreclaim him. 

Then, he gave his right hand cheerily to Philip, and said that theywould that day hold a Christmas dinner in what used to be, beforethe ten poor gentlemen commuted, their great Dinner Hall; and thatthey would bid to it as many of that Swidger family, who, his sonhad told him, were so numerous that they might join hands and makea ring round England, as could be brought together on so short anotice. 

And it was that day done. There were so many Swidgers there, grownup and children, that an attempt to state them in round numbersmight engender doubts, in the distrustful, of the veracity of thishistory. Therefore the attempt shall not be made. But there theywere, by dozens and scores--and there was good news and good hopethere, ready for them, of George, who had been visited again by hisfather and brother, and by Milly, and again left in a quiet sleep. There, present at the dinner, too, were the Tetterbys, includingyoung Adolphus, who arrived in his prismatic comforter, in goodtime for the beef. Johnny and the baby were too late, of course, and came in all on one side, the one exhausted, the other in asupposed state of double-tooth; but that was customary, and notalarming. 

It was sad to see the child who had no name or lineage, watchingthe other children as they played, not knowing how to talk withthem, or sport with them, and more strange to the ways of childhoodthan a rough dog. It was sad, though in a different way, to seewhat an instinctive knowledge the youngest children there had ofhis being different from all the rest, and how they made timidapproaches to him with soft words and touches, and with littlepresents, that he might not be unhappy. But he kept by Milly, andbegan to love her--that was another, as she said!--and, as they allliked her dearly, they were glad of that, and when they saw himpeeping at them from behind her chair, they were pleased that hewas so close to it. 

All this, the Chemist, sitting with the student and his bride thatwas to be, Philip, and the rest, saw. 

Some people have said since, that he only thought what has beenherein set down; others, that he read it in the fire, one winternight about the twilight time; others, that the Ghost was but therepresentation of his gloomy thoughts, and Milly the embodiment ofhis better wisdom. _I_ say nothing. 

- Except this. That as they were assembled in the old Hall, by noother light than that of a great fire (having dined early), theshadows once more stole out of their hiding-places, and dancedabout the room, showing the children marvellous shapes and faces onthe walls, and gradually changing what was real and familiar there, to what was wild and magical. But that there was one thing in theHall, to which the eyes of Redlaw, and of Milly and her husband, and of the old man, and of the student, and his bride that was tobe, were often turned, which the shadows did not obscure or change. Deepened in its gravity by the fire-light, and gazing from thedarkness of the panelled wall like life, the sedate face in theportrait, with the beard and ruff, looked down at them from underits verdant wreath of holly, as they looked up at it; and, clearand plain below, as if a voice had uttered them, were the words. 

Lord keep my Memory green.