leaving it, I shall not leave its lesson, trust me. Let us go!’
Still the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger to the head.
‘I understand you,’ Scrooge returned, ‘and I would do it if I could. But I have not the power, Spirit. I have not the power.’
Again it seemed to look upon him.
‘If there is any person in the town who feels emotion caused by this man’s death,’ said Scrooge, quite agonised, ‘show that person to me. Spirit, I beseech you!’
The Phantom spread its dark robe before him for a moment, like a wing; and, withdrawing it, revealed a room by daylight, where a mother and her children were.
She was expecting some one, and with anxious eagerness; for she walked up and down the room, started at every sound, looked out from the window, glanced at the clock, tried, but in vain, to work with her needle, and could hardly bear the voices of her children in their play.
At length the long-expected knock was heard. She hurried to the door, and met her husband; a man whose face was careworn and depressed, though he was young. There was a remarkable expression in it now, a kind of serious delight of which he felt ashamed, and which he struggled to repress.
