The Old Curiosity Shop by Charles Dickens (online e book reader .TXT) đ
- Author: Charles Dickens
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He hurried back, moved by what he had heard, though more by the childâs manner than by anything he had said, as his meaning was hidden from him. They took the path indicated by the sexton, and soon arrived before the parsonage wall. Turning round to look about them when they had got thus far, they saw, among some ruined buildings at a distance, one single solitary light.
It shone from what appeared to be an old oriel window, and being surrounded by the deep shadows of overhanging walls, sparkled like a star. Bright and glimmering as the stars above their heads, lonely and motionless as they, it seemed to claim some kindred with the eternal lamps of Heaven, and to burn in fellowship with them.
âWhat light is that!â said the younger brother.
âIt is surely,â said Mr Garland, âin the ruin where they live. I see no other ruin hereabouts.â
âThey cannot,â returned the brother hastily, âbe waking at this late hourââ
Kit interposed directly, and begged that, while they rang and waited at the gate, they would let him make his way to where this light was shining, and try to ascertain if any people were about. Obtaining the permission he desired, he darted off with breathless eagerness, and, still carrying the birdcage in his hand, made straight towards the spot.
It was not easy to hold that pace among the graves, and at another time he might have gone more slowly, or round by the path. Unmindful of all obstacles, however, he pressed forward without slackening his speed, and soon arrived within a few yards of the window. He approached as softly as he could, and advancing so near the wall as to brush the whitened ivy with his dress, listened. There was no sound inside. The church itself was not more quiet. Touching the glass with his cheek, he listened again. No. And yet there was such a silence all around, that he felt sure he could have heard even the breathing of a sleeper, if there had been one there.
A strange circumstance, a light in such a place at that time of night, with no one near it.
A curtain was drawn across the lower portion of the window, and he could not see into the room. But there was no shadow thrown upon it from within. To have gained a footing on the wall and tried to look in from above, would have been attended with some dangerâ certainly with some noise, and the chance of terrifying the child, if that really were her habitation. Again and again he listened; again and again the same wearisome blank.
Leaving the spot with slow and cautious steps, and skirting the ruin for a few paces, he came at length to a door. He knocked. No answer. But there was a curious noise inside. It was difficult to determine what it was. It bore a resemblance to the low moaning of one in pain, but it was not that, being far too regular and constant. Now it seemed a kind of song, now a wailâseemed, that is, to his changing fancy, for the sound itself was never changed or checked. It was unlike anything he had ever heard; and in its tone there was something fearful, chilling, and unearthly.
The listenerâs blood ran colder now than ever it had done in frost and snow, but he knocked again. There was no answer, and the sound went on without any interruption. He laid his hand softly upon the latch, and put his knee against the door. It was secured on the inside, but yielded to the pressure, and turned upon its hinges. He saw the glimmering of a fire upon the old walls, and entered.
The dull, red glow of a wood fireâfor no lamp or candle burnt within the roomâshowed him a figure, seated on the hearth with its back towards him, bending over the fitful light. The attitude was that of one who sought the heat. It was, and yet was not. The stooping posture and the cowering form were there, but no hands were stretched out to meet the grateful warmth, no shrug or shiver compared its luxury with the piercing cold outside. With limbs huddled together, head bowed down, arms crossed upon the breast, and fingers tightly clenched, it rocked to and fro upon its seat without a momentâs pause, accompanying the action with the mournful sound he had heard.
The heavy door had closed behind him on his entrance, with a crash that made him start. The figure neither spoke, nor turned to look, nor gave in any other way the faintest sign of having heard the noise. The form was that of an old man, his white head akin in colour to the mouldering embers upon which he gazed. He, and the failing light and dying fire, the time-worn room, the solitude, the wasted life, and gloom, were all in fellowship. Ashes, and dust, and ruin!
Kit tried to speak, and did pronounce some words, though what they were he scarcely knew. Still the same terrible low cry went onâ still the same rocking in the chairâthe same stricken figure was there, unchanged and heedless of his presence.
He had his hand upon the latch, when something in the formâ distinctly seen as one log broke and fell, and, as it fell, blazed upâarrested it. He returned to where he had stood beforeâ advanced a paceâanotherâanother still. Another, and he saw the face. Yes! Changed as it was, he knew it well.
âMaster!â he cried, stooping on one knee and catching at his hand. âDear master. Speak to me!â
The old man turned slowly towards him; and muttered in a hollow voice,
âThis is another!âHow many of these spirits there have been tonight!â
âNo spirit, master. No one but your old servant. You know me now, I am sure? Miss Nellâwhere is sheâwhere is she?â
âThey all say that!â cried the old man. âThey all ask the same question. A spirit!â
âWhere is she?â demanded Kit. âOh tell me but that,âbut that, dear master!â
âShe is asleepâyonderâin there.â
âThank God!â
âAye! Thank God!â returned the old man. âI have prayed to Him, many, and many, and many a livelong night, when she has been asleep, He knows. Hark! Did she call?â
âI heard no voice.â
âYou did. You hear her now. Do you tell me that you donât hear THAT?â
He started up, and listened again.
âNor that?â he cried, with a triumphant smile, âCan any body know that voice so well as I? Hush! Hush!â Motioning to him to be silent, he stole away into another chamber. After a short absence (during which he could be heard to speak in a softened soothing tone) he returned, bearing in his hand a lamp.
âShe is still asleep,â he whispered. âYou were right. She did not callâunless she did so in her slumber. She has called to me in her sleep before now, sir; as I have sat by, watching, I have seen her lips move, and have known, though no sound came from them, that she spoke of me. I feared the light might dazzle her eyes and wake her, so I brought it here.â
He spoke rather to himself than to the visitor, but when he had put the lamp upon the table, he took it up, as if impelled by some momentary recollection or curiosity, and held it near his face. Then, as if forgetting his motive in the very action, he turned away and put it down again.
âShe is sleeping soundly,â he said; âbut no wonder. Angel hands have strewn the ground deep with snow, that the lightest footstep may be lighter yet; and the very birds are dead, that they may not wake her. She used to feed them, Sir. Though never so cold and hungry, the timid things would fly from us. They never flew from her!â
Again he stopped to listen, and scarcely drawing breath, listened for a long, long time. That fancy past, he opened an old chest, took out some clothes as fondly as if they had been living things, and began to smooth and brush them with his hand.
âWhy dost thou lie so idle there, dear Nell,â he murmured, âwhen there are bright red berries out of doors waiting for thee to pluck them! Why dost thou lie so idle there, when thy little friends come creeping to the door, crying âwhere is Nellâsweet Nell?ââ and sob, and weep, because they do not see thee. She was always gentle with children. The wildest would do her biddingâshe had a tender way with them, indeed she had!â
Kit had no power to speak. His eyes were filled with tears.
âHer little homely dress,âher favourite!â cried the old man, pressing it to his breast, and patting it with his shrivelled hand. âShe will miss it when she wakes. They have hid it here in sport, but she shall have itâshe shall have it. I would not vex my darling, for the wide worldâs riches. See hereâthese shoesâhow worn they areâshe kept them to remind her of our last long journey. You see where the little feet went bare upon the ground. They told me, afterwards, that the stones had cut and bruised them. She never told me that. No, no, God bless her! and, I have remembered since, she walked behind me, sir, that I might not see how lame she wasâbut yet she had my hand in hers, and seemed to lead me still.â
He pressed them to his lips, and having carefully put them back again, went on communing with himselfâlooking wistfully from time to time towards the chamber he had lately visited.
âShe was not wont to be a lie-abed; but she was well then. We must have patience. When she is well again, she will rise early, as she used to do, and ramble abroad in the healthy morning time. I often tried to track the way she had gone, but her small footstep left no print upon the dewy ground, to guide me. Who is that? Shut the door. Quick!âHave we not enough to do to drive away that marble cold, and keep her warm!â
The door was indeed opened, for the entrance of Mr Garland and his friend, accompanied by two other persons. These were the schoolmaster, and the bachelor. The former held a light in his hand. He had, it seemed, but gone to his own cottage to replenish the exhausted lamp, at the moment when Kit came up and found the old man alone.
He softened again at sight of these two friends, and, laying aside the angry mannerâif to anything so feeble and so sad the term can be appliedâin which he had spoken when the door opened, resumed his former seat, and subsided, by little and little into the old action, and the old, dull, wandering sound.
Of the strangers, he took no heed whatever. He had seen them, but appeared quite incapable of interest or curiosity. The younger brother stood apart. The bachelor drew a chair towards the old man, and sat down close beside him. After a long silence, he ventured to speak.
âAnother night, and not in bed!â he said softly; âI hoped you would be more mindful of your promise to me. Why do you not take some rest?â
âSleep has left me,â returned the old man. âIt is all with her!â
âIt would pain her very much to know that you were watching thus,â said the bachelor. âYou would not give her pain?â
âI am not so sure of that, if it would only rouse her. She has slept so very long. And yet I am rash to say so. It is a good and happy sleepâeh?â
âIndeed it is,â returned the bachelor. âIndeed, indeed, it is!â
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