He could not plunge down wildly through the opening in the floor; for, all power of motion had deserted him. Otherwise he would have done so—ay, would have thrown himself, head-foremost, from the steeple-top, rather than have seen them watching him with eyes that would have waked and watched, although the pupils had been taken out.
A blast of air—how cold and shrill!—came moaning through the tower. As it died away, the Great Bell, or the Goblin of the Great Bell, spoke.
"What visitor is this?" it said. The voice was low and deep, and Trotty fancied that it sounded in the other figures as well.
"I thought my name was called by the Chimes!" said Trotty, raising his hands in an attitude of supplication. "I hardly know why I am here, or how I came. I have listened to the Chimes these many years. They have cheered me often."
"And you have thanked them?" said the bell.
"A thousand times!" cried Trotty.
"How?"
"I am a poor man," faltered Trotty, "and could only thank them in words."
"And always so?" inquired the Goblin of the Bell. "Have you never done us wrong in words?"
"No!" cried Trotty, eagerly.