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 very low fire to take his
gruel.

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 story 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.
Soon it rang out loudly, and so did every bell in the house.

This was 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.

Then he heard the noise much louder, on the floors below; then coming up
the stairs; then coming straight towards his door.

It came on through the heavy door, and a spectre passed into the room
before his eyes. And upon its coming in, the dying flame leaped up, as
though it cried, "I know him! Marley's ghost!"

The same face, the very same. Marley in his pigtail, usual waistcoat,
tights, and boots. His body was transparent; so that Scrooge, observing
him, and looking through his 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.

No, nor did he believe it even now. Though he looked the phantom through
and through, and saw it standing before him,--though he felt the
chilling influence of its death-cold eyes, and noticed the very texture
of the folded kerchief bound about its head and chin,--he was still
incredulous.

"How now!" said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever. "What do you want
with me?"

"Much!"--Marley's voice, no doubt about it.

"Who are you?"

"Ask me who I _was_."

"Who _were_ you, then?"

"In life I was your partner, Jacob Marley