Stave Oxe（第5/8页）

The sound resounded through the house like thunder. Every room above，and every cask in the wine-merchant’s cellars below，appeared to have a separate peal of echoes of its own. Scrooge was not a man to be frightened by echoes. He fastened the door，and walked across the hall，and up the stairs；slowly，too；trimming his candle as he went.

You may talk vaguely about driving a coach' and-six up a good old flight of stairs，or through a bad young Act of Parliament；but I mean to say you might have got a hearse up that staircase，and taken it broadwise，with the splinter-bar towards the wall and the door towards the balustrades；and done it easy. There was plenty of width for that，and room to spare；which is perhaps the reason why Scrooge thought he saw a locomotive hearse going on before him in the gloom. Half a dozen gas-lamps out of the street wouldn’t have lighted the entry too well，so you may suppose that it was pretty dark with Scrooge’s dip.

Up Scrooge went，not caring a button for that. Darkness is cheap，and Scrooge liked it. But before he shut his heavy door，he walked through his rooms to see that all was right. He had just enough recollection of the face to desire to do that.

Sitting-room，bedroom，lumber-room. All as they should be. Nobody under the table，nobody under the sofa；a small fire in the grate；spoon and basin ready；and the little saucepan of gruel （Scrooge had a cold in his head） upon the hob. Nobody under the bed；nobody in the closet；nobody in his dressing-gown，which was hanging up in a suspicious attitude against the wall. Lumber-room as usual. Old fire-guard，old shoes，two fish-baskets，washing-stand on three legs，and a poker.

Quite satisfied，he closed his door，and locked himself in—double-locked himself in，which was not his custom. Thus secured against surprise，he took off his cravat；put on his dressing-gown and slippers，and his night-cap；and sat down before the fire to take his gruel.

It was a very low fire indeed；nothing on such a bitter night. He was obliged to sit close to it，and brood over it，before he could extract the least sensation of warmth from such a handful of fuel. The fireplace was an old one，built by some Dutch merchant long ago，and paved all round with quaint Dutch tiles，designed to illustrate the Scriptures. There were Cains and Abels，Pharaoh’s daughters，Queens of Sheba，angelic messengers descending through the air on clouds like feather-beds，Abrahams，Belshazzars，Apostles putting off to sea in butter-boats，hundreds of figures to attract his thoughts；and yet that face of Marlcy，seven years dead，came like the ancient prophet's rod，and swallowed up the whole. If cach smooth tile had been a blank at first，with power to shape some picture on its surface from the disjointed fragment of his thoughts，there would have been a copy of old Marley’s head on every one.

“ Humbug！” said Scrooge；and walked across the room.

After several turns，he sat down again. As he threw his head back in the chair，his glance happened to rest upon a bell，a disused bell，that hung in the room，and communicated，for some purpose now forgotten，with a chamber in the highest storey of the building. It was with great astonishment，and with a strange，inexplicable dread，that as he looked he saw this bell begin to swing. It swung so softly in the outset that it scarcely made a sound；but soon it rang out loudly，and so did every bell in the house.

This might have lasted half a minute，or a minute，but it seemed an hour. The bells ceased as they had begun，together. They were succeeded by a clanking noise，deep down below；as if some person were dragging a heavy chain over the casks in the wine-merchant’s cellar. Scrooge then remembered to have heard that ghosts in haunted houses were described as dragging chains.

The cellar door flew open with a booming sound，and then he heard the noise much louder，on the floors below；then coming up the stairs；then coming straight towards his door.

“ It’s humbug still！” said Scrooge. “ I won’t believe it.”

His colour changed，though，when，without a pause，it came on through the heavy door，and passed into the room before his eyes. Upon its coming in，the dying flame leaped up，as though it cried，“ I know him！Marley’s ghost！” and fell again.

The same face：the very same. Marley in his pigtail，usual waistcoat，tights，and boots；the tassels on the latter bristling，like his pigtail，and his coat-skirts，and the hair upon his head. The chain he drew was clasped about his middle. It was long，and wound about him like a tail；and it was made （for Scrooge observed it closely） of cash-boxes，keys，padlocks，ledgers，deeds，and heavy purses wrought in steel. His body was transparent；so that Scrooge，observing him，and looking through bis waistcoat，could see the two buttons on his coat behind.

Scrooge had often heard it said that Marley had no bowels，but he had never believed it until now.