30 DICKENSIAN CHRISTMAS CLASSICS: Complete Christmas Novels & Tales (Illustrated Edition). Charles Dickens

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

      His guide came crawling forth from his place of refuge, and was ready 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 was more like a flight than a walk, and it was as much as his bare feet could do, to keep pace with the Chemist’s rapid strides. Shrinking from all who passed, shrouded in his cloak, and keeping it drawn closely about him, as though there were mortal contagion in any fluttering touch of his garments, he made no pause until they reached the door by which they had come out. He unlocked it with his key, went in, accompanied by the boy, and hastened through the dark passages to his own chamber.

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

      “Come!” he said. “Don’t you touch me! You’ve not brought me here to take my money away.”

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

      “And this,” said Redlaw, gazing on him with increased repugnance and fear, “is the only one companion I have left on earth!”

      How long it was before he was aroused from his contemplation of this creature, whom he dreaded so—whether half-an-hour, or half the night—he knew not. But the stillness of the room was broken by the boy (whom he had seen listening) starting up, and running towards 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 in or 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 will wake him from his terrible infatuation. William’s father has turned childish in a moment, William himself is changed. The shock has been too sudden for him; I cannot understand him; he is not like 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 your friend once, long ago; that he is the ruined father of a student here—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 be saved? Mr. Redlaw, pray, oh, pray, advise me! Help me!”

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

      “Phantoms! Punishers of impious thoughts!” cried Redlaw, gazing round in anguish, “Look upon me! From the darkness of my mind, let the glimmering of contrition that I know is there, shine up and show my misery! In the material world as I have long taught, nothing can be spared; no step or atom in the wondrous structure could be lost, without a blank being made in the great universe. I know, now, that it is the same with good and evil, happiness and sorrow, in the memories of men. Pity me! Relieve me!”

      There was no response, but her “Help me, help me, let me in!” and the boy’s struggling to get to her.

      “Shadow of myself! Spirit of my darker hours!” cried Redlaw, in distraction, “come back, and haunt me day and night, but take this gift away! Or, if it must still rest with me, deprive me of the dreadful power of giving it to others. Undo what I have done. Leave me benighted, but restore the day to those whom I have cursed. As I have spared this woman from the first, and as I never will 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, while he held him back; and the cry, increasing in its energy, “Help! let me in. He was your friend once, how shall he be followed, how shall he be saved? They are all changed, there is no one else to help me, pray, pray, let me in!”

CHAPTER III

      THE GIFT REVERSED

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

      The shadows upon Redlaw’s mind succeeded thick and fast to one another, and obscured its light as the night-clouds hovered between the moon and earth, and kept the latter veiled in darkness. Fitful and uncertain as the shadows which the night-clouds cast, were their concealments from him, and imperfect revelations to him; and, like the night-clouds still, if the clear light broke forth for a moment, it was only that they might sweep over it, and make the darkness deeper than before.

      Without, there was a profound and solemn hush upon the ancient pile of building, and its buttresses and angles made dark shapes of mystery upon the ground, which now seemed to retire into the smooth white snow and now seemed to come out of it, as the moon’s path was more or less beset. Within, the Chemist’s room was indistinct and murky, by the light of the expiring lamp; a ghostly silence had succeeded to the knocking and the voice outside; nothing was audible but, now and then, a low sound among the whitened ashes of the fire, as of its yielding up its last breath. Before it on the ground the boy lay fast asleep. In his chair, the Chemist sat, as he had sat there since the calling at his door had ceased—like a man turned to stone.

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