“Ha! ha! ha! she’s all right. You see you didn’t make a will, Asher.”
“How do you know?” cried the old man, now growing quite alarmed. “Who says I didn’t make a will?”
“I do,” said the little figure. “But don’t waste time, man. Only fifty minutes; and time’s precious.”
“But who are you?” cried Asher, excitedly.
“Me?” said the little thing. “Oh, I’m only a second, like those climbing about the clock; and I’m the last one in your hour. There’s one beat off by the pendulum every moment. Don’t you see fresh ones keep going down?”
“No!” growled Asher, savagely, “I don’t.” But he did though, for all that, though he would not own to it. There they were, clinging to the great round ball of the pendulum, and one dropping off at every beat, while fresh ones kept gliding down the long shaft into their places. What became of the others he could not tell, for, as they fell off, they seemed to dissolve in the glow which lit up the old clock’s works.
It was of no use to struggle, for the efforts only made the ropes cut into his wrists and legs; and if it had not been that the rope which went round his neck was the part covered with worsted to save the ringers’ hands, it seemed to him that he would have been strangled. He was horribly frightened, but he would not own to it, and, in spite of the fierce cold, he felt wet with perspiration.
“How slow the time goes,” said the little figure. “I want to be off. You’re about ready, I suppose.”
“No I’m not,” cried Asher furiously, “I’ve no end to do.”
“Turn out Widow Bond for one thing,” said the figure with a mocking leer. “Never mind about that. Only forty-five more minutes now.”