doors, the stairs of solid stone; until the tower
walls were insufficient to contain it, and it soared into the sky.

No wonder that an old man's breast could not contain a sound so vast and
mighty. It broke from that weak prison in a rush of tears; and Trotty
put his hands before his face.

"Listen!" said the Shadow.

"Listen!" said the other Shadows.

"Listen!" said the child's voice.

A solemn strain of blended voices rose into the tower.

It was a very low and mournful strain--a Dirge--and as he listened,
Trotty heard his child among the singers.

"She is dead!" exclaimed the old man. "Meg is dead. Her spirit calls to
me. I hear it!"

"The Spirit of your child bewails the dead, and mingles with the
dead--dead hopes, dead fancies, dead imaginings of youth," returned the
Bell, "but she is living. Learn from her life, a living truth. Learn
from the creature dearest to your heart, how bad the bad are born. See
every bud and leaf plucked one by one from off the fairest stem, and
know how bare and wretched it may be. Follow her! To desperation!"

Each of the shadowy figures stretched its right arm forth, and pointed
downward.

"The Spirit of the Chimes is your companion," said the figure. "Go! It
stands behind you!"

Trotty turned, and saw--the child! The child Will Fern had carried in
the street; the child whom Meg had watched, but now, asleep!

"I carried her myself, to-night," said Trotty. "In these arms!"

"Show him what he calls himself," said the dark figures, one and all.

The tower opened at his feet. He looked down, and beheld his own form,
lying at the bottom, on the outside: crushed and motionless.

"No more a living man!" cried Trotty. "Dead!"

"Dead!" said the figures altogether.

"Gracious Heaven! And the New Year--'

"Past," said the figures.

"What!" he cried, shuddering, "I missed my way, and coming on the
outside of this tower in the dark, fell down--a year ago?"

"Nine years ago!" replied the figures.

As they gave the answer, they recalled their outstretched hands; and
where their figures had been, there the Bells were.

"What are these?" he asked his guide. "If I am not mad, what are these?"

"Spirits of the Bells. Their sound upon the air," returned the child.
"They take such shapes and occupations as the hopes and thoughts of
mortals, and the recollections they have stored up, give them."

"And you," said Trotty, wildly. "What are you?"

"Hush, hush!" returned the chi