Page 34 - The English Carnival 7

divided between me and the fire. He threw in the word, “Sir,” from time to time, and
especially when he referred to his youth,—as though to request me to understand that
he claimed to be nothing but what I found him. He was several times interrupted by

the little bell, and had to read off the messages, and send replies.
Once he had to stand without the door, and display a flag as a train passed, and make

some verbal communication to the driver. In discharge of his duties, I observed him to
be remarkably exact and vigilant, breaking off his discourse at a syllable, and remaining
silent until what he had to do was done. In a word, I should have set this man down
as one of the safest men to be employed in that capacity, but for the circumstance that
while he was speaking to me he twice broke off with a fallen colour, turned his face

towards the little bell when it did NOT ring, opened the door of the hut (which was
kept shut to exclude the unhealthy damp), and looked out towards the red light near
the mouth of the tunnel. On both of those occasions, he came back to the fire with the
inexplicable air upon him which I had remarked, without being able to define, when
we were so far as under.

Said I, when I rose to leave him, “You almost make me think that I have met with a

contented man.”
(I am afraid I must acknowledge that I said it to lead him on.)

“I believe I used to be so,” he rejoined, in the low voice in which he had first spoken;

“but I am troubled, sir, I am troubled.”

He would have recalled the words if he could. He had said them, however, and I took
them up quickly.

“With what? What is your trouble?”

“It is very difficult to impart, sir. It is very, very difficult to speak of. If ever you make
me another visit, I will try to tell you.”

“But I expressly intend to make you another visit. Say, when shall it be?”

“I go off early in the morning, and I shall be on again at ten tomorrow night, sir.”

“I will come at eleven.”

He thanked me, and went out at the door with me. “I’ll show my white light, sir,” he
said, in his peculiar low voice, “till you have found the way up. When you have found
it, don’t call out! And when you are at the top, don’t call out!”

His manner seemed to make the place strike colder to me, but I said no more than,
“Very well.”

“And when you come down tomorrow night, don’t call out! Let me ask you a parting
question. What made you cry, ‘Halloa! Below there!’ to-night?”

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