When Scrooge awoke, it was so dark, that
looking out of bed, he could scarcely distinguish the
transparent window from the opaque walls of his
chamber. He was endeavouring to pierce the
darkness with his ferret eyes, when the chimes of a
neighbouring church struck the four quarters. So he
listened for the hour.
To his great astonishment the heavy bell went on
from six to seven, and from seven to eight, and
regularly up to twelve; then stopped. Twelve! It
was past two when he went to bed. The clock was
wrong. An icicle must have got into the works.
Twelve!
He touched the spring of his repeater, to correct
this most preposterous clock. Its rapid little pulse
beat twelve: and stopped.
"Why, it isn't possible," said Scrooge, "that I can
have slept through a whole day and far into another
night. It isn't possible that anything has happened
to the sun, and this is twelve at noon!"
The idea being an alarming one, he scrambled out
of bed, and groped his way to the window. He was
obliged to rub the frost off with the sleeve of his
dressing-gown before he could see anything; and
could see very little then. All he could make out
was, that it was still very foggy and extremely cold,
and that there was no noise of people running to
and fro, and making a great stir, as there
unquestionably would have been if night had beaten
off bright day, and taken possession of the world.
This was a great relief, because "three days after
sight of this First of Exchange pay to Mr. Ebenezer
Scrooge or his order," and so forth, would have
become a mere United States' security if there were
no days to count by.
Scrooge went to be again, and thought, and 1
thought, and thought it over and over, and could
make nothing of it. The more he thought, the more
perplexed he was; and the more he endeavoured not
to think, the more he thought Marley's Ghost
bothered him exceedingly. Every time he resolved
within himself, after mature inquiry, that it was all a
dream, his mind flew back, like a strong spring
released, to its first position, and presented the
same problem to be worked all through, "Was it a
dream or not?"
Scrooge lay in this state until the chime had gone
three quarters more, when he remembered, on a
sudden, that the Ghost had warned him of a
visitation when the bell tolled one. He resolved to lie
awake until the hour was past; and, considering
that he could no more go to sleep than go to
Heaven, this was perhaps the wisest resolution in
his power.
The quarter was so long, that he was more than
once convinced he must have sunk into a doze
unconsciously, and missed the clock. At length it
broke upon his listening ear.
"Ding, dong!"
"A quarter past," said Scrooge, counting.
"Ding, dong!"
"Half past!" said Scrooge.
"Ding, dong!"
"A quarter to it," said Scrooge.
"Ding, dong!"
"The hour itself," said Scrooge, triumphantly, "and
nothing else!"
He spoke before the hour bell sounded, which it
now did with a deep, dull, hollow, melancholy ONE.
Light flashed up in the room upon the instant, and
the curtains of his bed were drawn.
The curtains of his bed were drawn aside, I tell
you, by a hand. Not the curtains at his feet, nor the
curtains at his back, but those to which his face
was addressed. The curtains of his bed were drawn
aside; and Scrooge, starting up into a
half-recumbent attitude, found himself face to face
with the unearthly visitor who drew them: as close
to it as I am now to you, and I am standing in the
spirit at your elbow.
It was a strange figure -- like a child: yet not so
like a child as like an old man, viewed through some
supernatural medium, which gave him the
appearance of having receded from the view, and
being diminished to a child's proportions. Its hair,
which hung about its neck and down its back, was
white as if with age; and yet the face had not a
wrinkle in it, and the tenderest bloom was on the
skin. The arms were very long and muscular; the
hands the same, as if its hold were of uncommon
strength. Its legs and feet, most delicately formed,
were, like those upper members, bare. It wore a
tunic of the purest white and round its waist was
bound a lustrous belt, the sheen of which was
beautiful. It held a branch of fresh green holly in its
hand; and, in singular contradiction of that wintry
emblem, had its dress trimmed with summer flowers.
But the strangest thing about it was, that from the
crown of its head there sprung a bright clear jet of
light, by which all this was visible; and which was
doubtless the occasion of its using, in its duller
moments, a great extinguisher for a cap, which it
now held under its arm.