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      "body": "\n<div class=\"body\">\n<div class=\"chapter\" id=\"chapter_88292\">\n<h2><span class=\"chapterHeader\"><span class=\"translation\">Chapter</span><span class=\"count\">2</span></span>\r\nThe Gift Diffused</h2>\n<div class=\"text\">\n<p>A small man sat in a small parlour, partitioned off from a small\r\nshop by a small screen, pasted all over with small scraps of\r\nnewspapers. In company with the small man, was almost any amount of\r\nsmall children you may please to name — at least it seemed so; they\r\nmade, in that very limited sphere of action, such an imposing\r\neffect, in point of numbers.</p>\n<p>Of these small fry, two had, by some strong machinery, been got\r\ninto bed in a corner, where they might have reposed snugly enough\r\nin the sleep of innocence, but for a constitutional propensity to\r\nkeep awake, and also to scuffle in and out of bed. The immediate\r\noccasion of these predatory dashes at the waking world, was the\r\nconstruction of an oyster-shell wall in a corner, by two other\r\nyouths of tender age; on which fortification the two in bed made\r\nharassing descents (like those accursed Picts and Scots who\r\nbeleaguer the early historical studies of most young Britons), and\r\nthen withdrew to their own territory.</p>\n<p>In addition to the stir attendant on these inroads, and the\r\nretorts of the invaded, who pursued hotly, and made lunges at the\r\nbed-clothes under which the marauders took refuge, another little\r\nboy, in another little bed, contributed his mite of confusion to\r\nthe family stock, by casting his boots upon the waters; in other\r\nwords, by launching these and several small objects, inoffensive in\r\nthemselves, though of a hard substance considered as missiles, at\r\nthe disturbers of his repose, — who were not slow to return these\r\ncompliments.</p>\n<p>Besides which, another little boy — the biggest there, but still\r\nlittle — was tottering to and fro, bent on one side, and\r\nconsiderably affected in his knees by the weight of a large baby,\r\nwhich he was supposed by a fiction that obtains sometimes in\r\nsanguine families, to be hushing to sleep. But oh! the\r\ninexhaustible regions of contemplation and watchfulness into which\r\nthis baby’s eyes were then only beginning to compose themselves to\r\nstare, over his unconscious shoulder!</p>\n<p>It was a very Moloch of a baby, on whose insatiate altar the\r\nwhole existence of this particular young brother was offered up a\r\ndaily sacrifice. Its personality may be said to have consisted in\r\nits never being quiet, in any one place, for five consecutive\r\nminutes, and never going to sleep when required. “Tetterby’s baby”\r\nwas as well known in the neighbourhood as the postman or the\r\npot-boy. It roved from door-step to door-step, in the arms of\r\nlittle Johnny Tetterby, and lagged heavily at the rear of troops of\r\njuveniles who followed the Tumblers or the Monkey, and came up, all\r\non one side, a little too late for everything that was attractive,\r\nfrom Monday morning until Saturday night. Wherever childhood\r\ncongregated to play, there was little Moloch making Johnny fag and\r\ntoil. Wherever Johnny desired to stay, little Moloch became\r\nfractious, and would not remain. Whenever Johnny wanted to go out,\r\nMoloch was asleep, and must be watched. Whenever Johnny wanted to\r\nstay at home, Moloch was awake, and must be taken out. Yet Johnny\r\nwas verily persuaded that it was a faultless baby, without its peer\r\nin the realm of England, and was quite content to catch meek\r\nglimpses of things in general from behind its skirts, or over its\r\nlimp flapping bonnet, and to go staggering about with it like a\r\nvery little porter with a very large parcel, which was not directed\r\nto anybody, and could never be delivered anywhere.</p>\n<p>The small man who sat in the small parlour, making fruitless\r\nattempts to read his newspaper peaceably in the midst of this\r\ndisturbance, was the father of the family, and the chief of the\r\nfirm described in the inscription over the little shop front, by\r\nthe name and title of A. TETTERBY AND CO., NEWSMEN. Indeed,\r\nstrictly speaking, he was the only personage answering to that\r\ndesignation, as Co. was a mere poetical abstraction, altogether\r\nbaseless and impersonal.</p>\n<p>Tetterby’s was the corner shop in Jerusalem Buildings. There was\r\na good show of literature in the window, chiefly consisting of\r\npicture-newspapers out of date, and serial pirates, and footpads.\r\nWalking-sticks, likewise, and marbles, were included in the stock\r\nin trade. </p></div></div></div>",
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      "body": "Come to the light!” When,\r\nas he held the curtain with one hand, and with the other raised the\r\nlamp and tried to pierce the gloom that filled the place, something\r\nrushed past him into the room like a wild-cat, and crouched down in\r\na corner.\n<p>“What is it?” he said, hastily.</p>\n<p>He might have asked “What is it?” even had he seen it well, as\r\npresently he did when he stood looking at it gathered up in its\r\ncorner.</p>\n<p>A bundle of tatters, held together by a hand, in size and form\r\nalmost an infant’s, but in its greedy, desperate little clutch, a\r\nbad old man’s. A face rounded and smoothed by some half-dozen\r\nyears, but pinched and twisted by the experiences of a life. Bright\r\neyes, but not youthful. Naked feet, beautiful in their childish\r\ndelicacy, — ugly in the blood and dirt that cracked upon them. A\r\nbaby savage, a young monster, a child who had never been a child, a\r\ncreature who might live to take the outward form of man, but who,\r\nwithin, would live and perish a mere beast.</p>\n<p>Used, already, to be worried and hunted like a beast, the boy\r\ncrouched down as he was looked at, and looked back again, and\r\ninterposed his arm to ward off the expected blow.</p>\n<p>“I’ll bite,” he said, “if you hit me!”</p>\n<p>The time had been, and not many minutes since, when such a sight\r\nas this would have wrung the Chemist’s heart. He looked upon it\r\nnow, coldly; but with a heavy effort to remember something — he did\r\nnot know what — he asked the boy what he did there, and whence he\r\ncame.</p>\n<p>“Where’s the woman?” he replied. “I want to find the woman.”</p>\n<p>“Who?”</p>\n<p>“The woman. Her that brought me here, and set me by the large\r\nfire. She was so long gone, that I went to look for her, and lost\r\nmyself. I don’t want you. I want the woman.”</p>\n<p>He made a spring, so suddenly, to get away, that the dull sound\r\nof his naked feet upon the floor was near the curtain, when Redlaw\r\ncaught him by his rags.</p>\n<p>“Come! you let me go!” muttered the boy, struggling, and\r\nclenching his teeth. “I’ve done nothing to you. Let me go, will\r\nyou, to the woman!”</p>\n<p>“That is not the way. There is a nearer one,” said Redlaw,\r\ndetaining him, in the same blank effort to remember some\r\nassociation that ought, of right, to bear upon this monstrous\r\nobject. “What is your name?”</p>\n<p>“Got none.”</p>\n<p>“Where do you live?</p>\n<p>“Live! What’s that?”</p>\n<p>The boy shook his hair from his eyes to look at him for a\r\nmoment, and then, twisting round his legs and wrestling with him,\r\nbroke again into his repetition of “You let me go, will you? I want\r\nto find the woman.”</p>\n<p>The Chemist led him to the door. “This way,” he said, looking at\r\nhim still confusedly, but with repugnance and avoidance, growing\r\nout of his coldness. “I’ll take you to her.”</p>\n<p>The sharp eyes in the child’s head, wandering round the room,\r\nlighted on the table where the remnants of the dinner were.</p>\n<p>“Give me some of that!” he said, covetously.</p>\n<p>“Has she not fed you?”</p>\n<p>“I shall be hungry again to-morrow, sha’n’t I? Ain’t I hungry\r\nevery day?”</p>\n<p>Finding himself released, he bounded at the table like some\r\nsmall animal of prey, and hugging to his breast bread and meat, and\r\nhis own rags, all together, said:</p>\n<p>“There! Now take me to the woman!”</p>\n<p>As the Chemist, with a new-born dislike to touch him, sternly\r\nmotioned him to follow, and was going out of the door, he trembled\r\nand stopped.</p>\n<p>“The gift that I have given, you shall give again, go where you\r\nwill!”</p>\n<p>The Phantom’s words were blowing in the wind, and the wind blew\r\nchill upon him.</p>\n<p>“I’ll not go there, to-night,” he murmured faintly. “I’ll go\r\nnowhere to-night. Boy! straight down this long-arched passage, and\r\npast the great dark door into the yard, — you see the fire shining\r\non the window there.”</p>\n<p>“The woman’s fire?” inquired the boy.</p>\n<p>He nodded, and the naked feet had sprung away. He came back with\r\nhis lamp, locked his door hastily, and sat down in his chair,\r\ncovering his face like one who was frightened at himself.</p>\n<p>For now he was, indeed, alone. Alone, alone.</p>\n\n\n\n",
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      "body": "“I tremble with distrust and doubt of you; and\r\nthe dim fear you cast upon me deepens into a nameless horror I can\r\nhardly bear. — I would not deprive myself of any kindly\r\nrecollection, or any sympathy that is good for me, or others. What\r\nshall I lose, if I assent to this? What else will pass from my\r\nremembrance?”\n<p>“No knowledge; no result of study; nothing but the intertwisted\r\nchain of feelings and associations, each in its turn dependent on,\r\nand nourished by, the banished recollections. Those will go.”</p>\n<p>“Are they so many?” said the haunted man, reflecting in\r\nalarm.</p>\n<p>“They have been wont to show themselves in the fire, in music,\r\nin the wind, in the dead stillness of the night, in the revolving\r\nyears,” returned the Phantom scornfully.</p>\n<p>“In nothing else?”</p>\n<p>The Phantom held its peace.</p>\n<p>But having stood before him, silent, for a little while, it\r\nmoved towards the fire; then stopped.</p>\n<p>“Decide!” it said, “before the opportunity is lost!”</p>\n<p>“A moment! I call Heaven to witness,” said the agitated man,\r\n“that I have never been a hater of any kind, — never morose,\r\nindifferent, or hard, to anything around me. If, living here alone,\r\nI have made too much of all that was and might have been, and too\r\nlittle of what is, the evil, I believe, has fallen on me, and not\r\non others. But, if there were poison in my body, should I not,\r\npossessed of antidotes and knowledge how to use them, use them? If\r\nthere be poison in my mind, and through this fearful shadow I can\r\ncast it out, shall I not cast it out?”</p>\n<p>“Say,” said the Spectre, “is it done?”</p>\n<p>“A moment longer!” he answered hurriedly. “I would forget it if\r\nI could! Have I thought that, alone, or has it been the thought of\r\nthousands upon thousands, generation after generation? All human\r\nmemory is fraught with sorrow and trouble. My memory is as the\r\nmemory of other men, but other men have not this choice. Yes, I\r\nclose the bargain. Yes! I WILL forget my sorrow, wrong, and\r\ntrouble!”</p>\n<p>“Say,” said the Spectre, “is it done?”</p>\n<p>“It is!”</p>\n<p>“IT IS. And take this with you, man whom I here renounce! The\r\ngift that I have given, you shall give again, go where you will.\r\nWithout recovering yourself the power that you have yielded up, you\r\nshall henceforth destroy its like in all whom you approach. Your\r\nwisdom has discovered that the memory of sorrow, wrong, and trouble\r\nis the lot of all mankind, and that mankind would be the happier,\r\nin its other memories, without it. Go! Be its benefactor! Freed\r\nfrom such remembrance, from this hour, carry involuntarily the\r\nblessing of such freedom with you. Its diffusion is inseparable and\r\ninalienable from you. Go! Be happy in the good you have won, and in\r\nthe good you do!”</p>\n<p>The Phantom, which had held its bloodless hand above him while\r\nit spoke, as if in some unholy invocation, or some ban; and which\r\nhad gradually advanced its eyes so close to his, that he could see\r\nhow they did not participate in the terrible smile upon its face,\r\nbut were a fixed, unalterable, steady horror melted before him and\r\nwas gone.</p>\n<p>As he stood rooted to the spot, possessed by fear and wonder,\r\nand imagining he heard repeated in melancholy echoes, dying away\r\nfainter and fainter, the words, “Destroy its like in all whom you\r\napproach!” a shrill cry reached his ears. It came, not from the\r\npassages beyond the door, but from another part of the old\r\nbuilding, and sounded like the cry of some one in the dark who had\r\nlost the way.</p>\n<p>He looked confusedly upon his hands and limbs, as if to be\r\nassured of his identity, and then shouted in reply, loudly and\r\nwildly; for there was a strangeness and terror upon him, as if he\r\ntoo were lost.</p>\n<p>The cry responding, and being nearer, he caught up the lamp, and\r\nraised a heavy curtain in the wall, by which he was accustomed to\r\npass into and out of the theatre where he lectured, — which\r\nadjoined his room. Associated with youth and animation, and a high\r\namphitheatre of faces which his entrance charmed to interest in a\r\nmoment, it was a ghostly place when all this life was faded out of\r\nit, and stared upon him like an emblem of Death.</p>\n<p>“Halloa!” he cried. “Halloa! This way! </p>",
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      "body": "“They come back\r\nto me in music, in the wind, in the dead stillness of the night, in\r\nthe revolving years.”\n<p>“ — Pictures of my own domestic life, in aftertime, with her who\r\nwas the inspiration of my toil. Pictures of my sister, made the\r\nwife of my dear friend, on equal terms — for he had some\r\ninheritance, we none — pictures of our sobered age and mellowed\r\nhappiness, and of the golden links, extending back so far, that\r\nshould bind us, and our children, in a radiant garland,” said the\r\nPhantom.</p>\n<p>“Pictures,” said the haunted man, “that were delusions. Why is\r\nit my doom to remember them too well!”</p>\n<p>“Delusions,” echoed the Phantom in its changeless voice, and\r\nglaring on him with its changeless eyes. “For my friend (in whose\r\nbreast my confidence was locked as in my own), passing between me\r\nand the centre of the system of my hopes and struggles, won her to\r\nhimself, and shattered my frail universe. My sister, doubly dear,\r\ndoubly devoted, doubly cheerful in my home, lived on to see me\r\nfamous, and my old ambition so rewarded when its spring was broken,\r\nand then — ”</p>\n<p>“Then died,” he interposed. “Died, gentle as ever; happy; and\r\nwith no concern but for her brother. Peace!”</p>\n<p>The Phantom watched him silently.</p>\n<p>“Remembered!” said the haunted man, after a pause. “Yes. So well\r\nremembered, that even now, when years have passed, and nothing is\r\nmore idle or more visionary to me than the boyish love so long\r\noutlived, I think of it with sympathy, as if it were a younger\r\nbrother’s or a son’s. Sometimes I even wonder when her heart first\r\ninclined to him, and how it had been affected towards me. — Not\r\nlightly, once, I think. — But that is nothing. Early unhappiness, a\r\nwound from a hand I loved and trusted, and a loss that nothing can\r\nreplace, outlive such fancies.”</p>\n<p>“Thus,” said the Phantom, “I bear within me a Sorrow and a\r\nWrong. Thus I prey upon myself. Thus, memory is my curse; and, if I\r\ncould forget my sorrow and my wrong, I would!”</p>\n<p>“Mocker!” said the Chemist, leaping up, and making, with a\r\nwrathful hand, at the throat of his other self. “Why have I always\r\nthat taunt in my ears?”</p>\n<p>“Forbear!” exclaimed the Spectre in an awful voice. “Lay a hand\r\non Me, and die!”</p>\n<p>He stopped midway, as if its words had paralysed him, and stood\r\nlooking on it. It had glided from him; it had its arm raised high\r\nin warning; and a smile passed over its unearthly features, as it\r\nreared its dark figure in triumph.</p>\n<p>“If I could forget my sorrow and wrong, I would,” the Ghost\r\nrepeated. “If I could forget my sorrow and my wrong, I would!”</p>\n<p>“Evil spirit of myself,” returned the haunted man, in a low,\r\ntrembling tone, “my life is darkened by that incessant\r\nwhisper.”</p>\n<p>“It is an echo,” said the Phantom.</p>\n<p>“If it be an echo of my thoughts — as now, indeed, I know it\r\nis,” rejoined the haunted man, “why should I, therefore, be\r\ntormented? It is not a selfish thought. I suffer it to range beyond\r\nmyself. All men and women have their sorrows, — most of them their\r\nwrongs; ingratitude, and sordid jealousy, and interest, besetting\r\nall degrees of life. Who would not forget their sorrows and their\r\nwrongs?”</p>\n<p>“Who would not, truly, and be happier and better for it?” said\r\nthe Phantom.</p>\n<p>“These revolutions of years, which we commemorate,” proceeded\r\nRedlaw, “what do they recall! Are there any minds in which they do\r\nnot re-awaken some sorrow, or some trouble? What is the remembrance\r\nof the old man who was here to-night? A tissue of sorrow and\r\ntrouble.”</p>\n<p>“But common natures,” said the Phantom, with its evil smile upon\r\nits glassy face, “unenlightened minds and ordinary spirits, do not\r\nfeel or reason on these things like men of higher cultivation and\r\nprofounder thought.”</p>\n<p>“Tempter,” answered Redlaw, “whose hollow look and voice I dread\r\nmore than words can express, and from whom some dim foreshadowing\r\nof greater fear is stealing over me while I speak, I hear again an\r\necho of my own mind.”</p>\n<p>“Receive it as a proof that I am powerful,” returned the Ghost.\r\n“Hear what I offer! Forget the sorrow, wrong, and trouble you have\r\nknown!”</p>\n<p>“Forget them!” he repeated.</p>\n<p>“I have the power to cancel their remembrance — to leave but\r\nvery faint, confused traces of them, that will die out soon,”\r\nreturned the Spectre. “Say! Is it done?”</p>\n<p>“Stay!” cried the haunted man, arresting by a terrified gesture\r\nthe uplifted hand. </p>",
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      "body": "\n<p>“Why do you come, to haunt me thus?”</p>\n<p>“I come as I am called,” replied the Ghost.</p>\n<p>“No. Unbidden,” exclaimed the Chemist.</p>\n<p>“Unbidden be it,” said the Spectre. “It is enough. I am\r\nhere.”</p>\n<p>Hitherto the light of the fire had shone on the two faces — if\r\nthe dread lineaments behind the chair might be called a face — both\r\naddressed towards it, as at first, and neither looking at the\r\nother. But, now, the haunted man turned, suddenly, and stared upon\r\nthe Ghost. The Ghost, as sudden in its motion, passed to before the\r\nchair, and stared on him.</p>\n<p>The living man, and the animated image of himself dead, might so\r\nhave looked, the one upon the other. An awful survey, in a lonely\r\nand remote part of an empty old pile of building, on a winter\r\nnight, with the loud wind going by upon its journey of mystery —\r\nwhence or whither, no man knowing since the world began — and the\r\nstars, in unimaginable millions, glittering through it, from\r\neternal space, where the world’s bulk is as a grain, and its hoary\r\nage is infancy.</p>\n<p>“Look upon me!” said the Spectre. “I am he, neglected in my\r\nyouth, and miserably poor, who strove and suffered, and still\r\nstrove and suffered, until I hewed out knowledge from the mine\r\nwhere it was buried, and made rugged steps thereof, for my worn\r\nfeet to rest and rise on.”</p>\n<p>“I am that man,” returned the Chemist.</p>\n<p>“No mother’s self-denying love,” pursued the Phantom, “no\r\nfather’s counsel, aided me. A stranger came into my father’s place\r\nwhen I was but a child, and I was easily an alien from my mother’s\r\nheart. My parents, at the best, were of that sort whose care soon\r\nends, and whose duty is soon done; who cast their offspring loose,\r\nearly, as birds do theirs; and, if they do well, claim the merit;\r\nand, if ill, the pity.”</p>\n<p>It paused, and seemed to tempt and goad him with its look, and\r\nwith the manner of its speech, and with its smile.</p>\n<p>“I am he,” pursued the Phantom, “who, in this struggle upward,\r\nfound a friend. I made him — won him — bound him to me! We worked\r\ntogether, side by side. All the love and confidence that in my\r\nearlier youth had had no outlet, and found no expression, I\r\nbestowed on him.”</p>\n<p>“Not all,” said Redlaw, hoarsely.</p>\n<p>“No, not all,” returned the Phantom. “I had a sister.”</p>\n<p>The haunted man, with his head resting on his hands, replied “I\r\nhad!” The Phantom, with an evil smile, drew closer to the chair,\r\nand resting its chin upon its folded hands, its folded hands upon\r\nthe back, and looking down into his face with searching eyes, that\r\nseemed instinct with fire, went on:</p>\n<p>“Such glimpses of the light of home as I had ever known, had\r\nstreamed from her. How young she was, how fair, how loving! I took\r\nher to the first poor roof that I was master of, and made it rich.\r\nShe came into the darkness of my life, and made it bright. — She is\r\nbefore me!”</p>\n<p>“I saw her, in the fire, but now. I hear her in music, in the\r\nwind, in the dead stillness of the night,” returned the haunted\r\nman.</p>\n<p>“Did he love her?” said the Phantom, echoing his contemplative\r\ntone. “I think he did, once. I am sure he did. Better had she loved\r\nhim less — less secretly, less dearly, from the shallower depths of\r\na more divided heart!”</p>\n<p>“Let me forget it!” said the Chemist, with an angry motion of\r\nhis hand. “Let me blot it from my memory!”</p>\n<p>The Spectre, without stirring, and with its unwinking, cruel\r\neyes still fixed upon his face, went on:</p>\n<p>“A dream, like hers, stole upon my own life.”</p>\n<p>“It did,” said Redlaw.</p>\n<p>“A love, as like hers,” pursued the Phantom, “as my inferior\r\nnature might cherish, arose in my own heart. I was too poor to bind\r\nits object to my fortune then, by any thread of promise or\r\nentreaty. I loved her far too well, to seek to do it. But, more\r\nthan ever I had striven in my life, I strove to climb! Only an inch\r\ngained, brought me something nearer to the height. I toiled up! In\r\nthe late pauses of my labour at that time, — my sister (sweet\r\ncompanion!) still sharing with me the expiring embers and the\r\ncooling hearth, — when day was breaking, what pictures of the\r\nfuture did I see!”</p>\n<p>“I saw them, in the fire, but now,” he murmured. </p>",
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      "body": "William, my boy, turn the lamp, and rouse the fire!”\n<p>Milly’s voice resumed, like quiet music very softly played:</p>\n<p>“He muttered in his broken sleep yesterday afternoon, after\r\ntalking to me” (this was to herself) “about some one dead, and some\r\ngreat wrong done that could never be forgotten; but whether to him\r\nor to another person, I don’t know. Not by him, I am sure.”</p>\n<p>“And, in short, Mrs. William, you see — which she wouldn’t say\r\nherself, Mr. Redlaw, if she was to stop here till the new year\r\nafter this next one — ” said Mr. William, coming up to him to speak\r\nin his ear, “has done him worlds of good! Bless you, worlds of\r\ngood! All at home just the same as ever — my father made as snug\r\nand comfortable — not a crumb of litter to be found in the house,\r\nif you were to offer fifty pound ready money for it — Mrs. William\r\napparently never out of the way — yet Mrs. William backwards and\r\nforwards, backwards and forwards, up and down, up and down, a\r\nmother to him!”</p>\n<p>The room turned darker and colder, and the gloom and shadow\r\ngathering behind the chair was heavier.</p>\n<p>“Not content with this, sir, Mrs. William goes and finds, this\r\nvery night, when she was coming home (why it’s not above a couple\r\nof hours ago), a creature more like a young wild beast than a young\r\nchild, shivering upon a door-step. What does Mrs. William do, but\r\nbrings it home to dry it, and feed it, and keep it till our old\r\nBounty of food and flannel is given away, on Christmas morning! If\r\nit ever felt a fire before, it’s as much as ever it did; for it’s\r\nsitting in the old Lodge chimney, staring at ours as if its\r\nravenous eyes would never shut again. It’s sitting there, at\r\nleast,” said Mr. William, correcting himself, on reflection,\r\n“unless it’s bolted!”</p>\n<p>“Heaven keep her happy!” said the Chemist aloud, “and you too,\r\nPhilip! and you, William! I must consider what to do in this. I may\r\ndesire to see this student, I’ll not detain you any longer now.\r\nGood-night!”</p>\n<p>“I thank’ee, sir, I thank’ee!” said the old man, “for Mouse, and\r\nfor my son William, and for myself. Where’s my son William?\r\nWilliam, you take the lantern and go on first, through them long\r\ndark passages, as you did last year and the year afore. Ha ha! I\r\nremember — though I’m eighty-seven! ‘Lord, keep my memory green!’\r\nIt’s a very good prayer, Mr. Redlaw, that of the learned gentleman\r\nin the peaked beard, with a ruff round his neck — hangs up, second\r\non the right above the panelling, in what used to be, afore our ten\r\npoor gentlemen commuted, our great Dinner Hall. ‘Lord, keep my\r\nmemory green!’ It’s very good and pious, sir. Amen! Amen!”</p>\n<p>As they passed out and shut the heavy door, which, however\r\ncarefully withheld, fired a long train of thundering reverberations\r\nwhen it shut at last, the room turned darker.</p>\n<p>As he fell a musing in his chair alone, the healthy holly\r\nwithered on the wall, and dropped — dead branches.</p>\n<p>As the gloom and shadow thickened behind him, in that place\r\nwhere it had been gathering so darkly, it took, by slow degrees, —\r\nor out of it there came, by some unreal, unsubstantial process —\r\nnot to be traced by any human sense, — an awful likeness of\r\nhimself!</p>\n<p>Ghastly and cold, colourless in its leaden face and hands, but\r\nwith his features, and his bright eyes, and his grizzled hair, and\r\ndressed in the gloomy shadow of his dress, it came into his\r\nterrible appearance of existence, motionless, without a sound. As\r\nhe leaned his arm upon the elbow of his chair, ruminating before\r\nthe fire, it leaned upon the chair-back, close above him, with its\r\nappalling copy of his face looking where his face looked, and\r\nbearing the expression his face bore.</p>\n<p>This, then, was the Something that had passed and gone already.\r\nThis was the dread companion of the haunted man!</p>\n<p>It took, for some moments, no more apparent heed of him, than he\r\nof it. The Christmas Waits were playing somewhere in the distance,\r\nand, through his thoughtfulness, he seemed to listen to the music.\r\nIt seemed to listen too.</p>\n<p>At length he spoke; without moving or lifting up his face.</p>\n<p>“Here again!” he said.</p>\n<p>“Here again,” replied the Phantom.</p>\n<p>“I see you in the fire,” said the haunted man; “I hear you in\r\nmusic, in the wind, in the dead stillness of the night.”</p>\n<p>The Phantom moved its head, assenting.</p>",
      "title": "[Literature] Charles Dickens:  The Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain #8/45",
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