The Chimes: A Goblin Story of Some Bells That Rang an Old Year out and a New Year InDickens, Charles
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The Chimes: A Goblin Story of Some Bells That Rang an Old Year out and a New Year In
Dickens, Charles
Christmas stories; Holidays -- Fiction
It was swift, and fell upon its knees before her: clinging to her dress.
‘Up, dear! Up! Lilian! My own dearest!’
‘Never more, Meg; never more! Here! Here! Close to you, holding to
you, feeling your dear breath upon my face!’
‘Sweet Lilian! Darling Lilian! Child of my heart—no mother’s love can
be more tender—lay your head upon my breast!’
‘Never more, Meg. Never more! When I first looked into your face, you
knelt before me. On my knees before you, let me die. Let it be here!’
‘You have come back. My Treasure! We will live together, work together,
hope together, die together!’
‘Ah! Kiss my lips, Meg; fold your arms about me; press me to your bosom;
look kindly on me; but don’t raise me. Let it be here. Let me see the
last of your dear face upon my knees!’
O Youth and Beauty, happy as ye should be, look at this! O Youth and
Beauty, working out the ends of your Beneficent Creator, look at this!
‘Forgive me, Meg! So dear, so dear! Forgive me! I know you do, I see
you do, but say so, Meg!’
She said so, with her lips on Lilian’s cheek. And with her arms twined
round—she knew it now—a broken heart.
‘His blessing on you, dearest love. Kiss me once more! He suffered her
to sit beside His feet, and dry them with her hair. O Meg, what Mercy
and Compassion!’
As she died, the Spirit of the child returning, innocent and radiant,
touched the old man with its hand, and beckoned him away.
CHAPTER IV—Fourth Quarter.
Some new remembrance of the ghostly figures in the Bells; some faint
impression of the ringing of the Chimes; some giddy consciousness of
having seen the swarm of phantoms reproduced and reproduced until the
recollection of them lost itself in the confusion of their numbers; some
hurried knowledge, how conveyed to him he knew not, that more years had
passed; and Trotty, with the Spirit of the child attending him, stood
looking on at mortal company.
Fat company, rosy-cheeked company, comfortable company. They were but
two, but they were red enough for ten. They sat before a bright fire,
with a small low table between them; and unless the fragrance of hot tea
and muffins lingered longer in that room than in most others, the table
had seen service very lately. But all the cups and saucers being clean,
and in their proper places in the corner-cupboard; and the brass
toasting-fork hanging in its usual nook and spreading its four idle
fingers out as if it wanted to be measured for a glove; there remained no
other visible tokens of the meal just finished, than such as purred and
washed their whiskers in the person of the basking cat, and glistened in
the gracious, not to say the greasy, faces of her patrons.
This cosy couple (married, evidently) had made a fair division of the
fire between them, and sat looking at the glowing sparks that dropped
into the grate; now nodding off into a doze; now waking up again when
some hot fragment, larger than the rest, came rattling down, as if the
fire were coming with it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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