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ghostly voices in the Bells repeat their words as he ascended. “Learn it from the creature dearest to your heart!”

It was over. It was over. And this was she, her father’s pride and joy! This haggard, wretched woman, weeping by the bed, if it deserved that name, and pressing to her breast, and hanging down her head upon, an infant. Who can tell how spare, how sickly, and how poor an infant! Who can tell how dear!

“Thank God!” cried Trotty, holding up his folded hands. “O, God be thanked! She loves her child!”

The gentleman, not otherwise hard-hearted or indifferent to such scenes, than that he saw them every day, and knew that they were figures of no moment in the Filer sums—mere scratches in the working of these calculations—laid his hand upon the heart that beat no more, and likened for the breath, and said, “His pain is over. It’s better as it is!” Mrs. Tugby tried to comfort her with kindness. Mr. Tugby tried philo­sophy.

“Come, come!” he said, with his bands in his pockets, “you mustn’t give way, you know. That won’t do. You must fight up. What would have become of me if I had given way when I was porter, and we had as many as six runaway carriage­ doubles at our door in one night! But I fell back upon my strength of mind, and didn’t open it!”

Again Trotty heard the voices saying, “Follow her!” He turned towards his guide, and saw it rising from him, passing through the air. “Follow her!” it said. And vanished.