A Budget of Christmas Tales by Charles Dickens and Others by Charles Dickens

suffering dog. Strangely enough, within the withered bosom of this most wretched creature there had welled up, from some hidden source of womanly feeling, a passionate self-pity, a no less passionate self-loathing. This was what a moment's contact with all that she had so long abjured--purity, order, gentleness--had brought to pass.
    That fair young girl-tall, pale, sweet as an Easter lily--stood before her like an incarnate memory, pointing toward the past, the far-distant past, when she, too, was young, and pretty, and innocent, and gay--too pretty and too gay for a poor working girl! That was where the trouble began.
    "I was light haired, too," moaned old Marg, twisting her withered fingers restlessly. "Light-haired, and light-complected! A pretty girl, an' a good girl, too! Not like
her
. No! How could I be? Little the likes o' her knows what the likes o' me has to face! Lord!"
    The bit of candle guttered and went out. The cold increased. It had ceased snowing, and a keen wind had arisen, tearing the clouds into shreds through which the stars gleamed. And presently the moon climbed up behind the belfry of the old church across the square, and sent one broad white ray through the dingy window and across the floor. All at once the great bell began to strike the midnight hour, its mingled vibrations filling the garret with tumultuous sounds. The vision of the fair girl faded, and old Marg was herself again, a hard, bitter, rebellious old woman, with a burning care where her heart had been, and only one thought, one desire, left in her desperate mind--the thought and the desire of death.
    In young and passionate days she had often thought of seeking that way out of life's agonies, but at its worst there is always some sweetness left in the cup--when one is young! It was not so now. The dregs only had been hers for many a year, and she had enough. Death--yes, that was best.
    Her eyes glittered as she cast a look about the silent room. Bare, even of the means to this end! Ah, the window!
    With an inarticulate cry the woman arose and hobbled along the shining moon-ray to the window, and threw open the sash. Awed by the stern beauty of the heavens, the splendor of the moon tangled in the lace-like carvings of the belfry as in a net, she leaned some moments against the sill, looking out and down. Far below lay the deserted square, its white bosom traced with the sharp shadow of the tower. With a keen eye old Marg measured the distance, a sheer descent of fifty feet. Nothing to break the fall--nothing!
    One movement, a swift fall, and that white surface would be broken by a black shapeless heap. A policeman would find it on his next round, or some drunken reveler would stumble over it, or the good people on their way to early mass--ah! The seamed countenance lit up suddenly with a malignant joy.
    Why not wait until they began to pass--those pious, respectable people in their comfortable furs and wools--and cast herself into their midst, a ghastly Christmas offering from Poverty to Riches, from Sin to Virtue? This suggestion commended itself highly to her sense of humor. With a hoarse chuckle she was about to close the window when a portion of the shadow that lay alongside the chimney showed signs of life, and, rising on four long and skinny legs, became a cat--a lean, black cat, which crept meekly toward the window, its phosphorescent eyes gleaming, its lank jaws parted in a vain effort to mew. Startled, old Marg drew back for an instant; then, glancing from the animal to the pavement below, a brutal cunning, a malicious pleasure, lit up the witch-like features. Reaching out one skinny arm, she called coaxingly: "Puss! Puss!"
    The cat dragged herself up to the outstretched arm, rubbing her lank body caressingly against it.
    The cruel, cunning old face softened suddenly. "Lord!" muttered old Marg, "if she ain't a-tryin' to
purr
! Wall, that beats me!"
    The poor beast continued its piteous appeal for aid, arching its starved frame,