'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!