The Spirit looked at Darcy and grinned. She laid an emaciated hand on the child’s chest and the breathing ceased.

“No!” both Darcys cried in unison.

The future Darcy broke down. He couldn’t help it. Over the last several days he had watched his son die before his very eyes and felt totally helpless.

Darcy turned angrily on the Spirit and spoke through gritted teeth. “How could you? I did not want the child to die. Am I to blame for his passing now?”

The Spirit remained silent, as if his questions were of no account. Instead, she moved them into the study to witness another form of death.

His other self sat behind a desk. A pale Caroline, dressed in severe black, sat across from him and asked him faintly, “What is it that you wish of me?”

“I will make the funeral arrangements,” Darcy answered in a choked voice. “After it is over, I wish you to leave. I do not care where you go. You will be attended to, wherever it is you settle. If I never see you again it will be too soon, Caroline!”

“Then I will leave your life for good. Strange how it is only now that I realize how much time I have wasted on what might been.” And she walked out of the room.

“Spirit, I wish to leave here now.” She nodded in agreement. He was grateful when he and the Spirit left the scene and went into the small kitchen of some unknown house.

Sitting by a fireplace was a grey-haired man, nearly seventy years of age, smoking his pipe.

Darcy and the Phantom came into the presence of this man; a woman came into the room, carrying a bundle, but she had scarcely entered when another woman came in too and a man in black closely followed her.

“What is the world coming to, Joe?” Mrs. Dilber asked the old man. “The missus is dying and her brother won’t come, even though she asks and asks!”

“That’s true, indeed!” said Mrs. Launders. “No man is more stubborn than he. Disowned the missus when she married the master, God keep his soul. He wasn’t good enough for their fine bloodstock.”

“Nor was he rich enough neither,” said the man in black.

“No, indeed, Henry! Not good enough for the likes of him,” said Mrs. Dilber.

“He will be the worse for the loss of a sister,” Henry informed them.

“Indeed!” said Mrs. Dilber in complete agreement.

“He wanted to keep ’em apart, the master and the missus. He is a wicked old screw,” pursued the woman. “Why isn’t he more natural? If he was, he’d be here to look after his sister when she is struck with Death. Instead she is all alone, except for us.”

“It’s the truest word that ever was spoke,” said Mrs. Dilber. “It will be a judgment on him.”

“I hope he does get his just deserts,” said old Joe, stopping in his task and looking up at them.

“Me too,” returned the woman. “I ain’t so fond of his company that I’d loiter about looking for him, but if he does come my way, well then, I shall certainly give him what for.”

Mrs. Launders picked up the bundle and shook it out. “Ah, you may look through this dress till your eyes ache, but you won’t find a hole in it nor a threadbare place. It’s the best she had, and a fine one too.”

“So it is,” said old Joe.

“She is to be buried in it, to be sure,” replied the woman with a sob.

Recovering, Mrs. Launders spoke again. “This is not the end of it, you’ll see! He will frighten everyone away from him and then he will end up all alone. Serves him right, I say. I just wish I knew what is to become of young Freddy.”

“Spirit!” said Darcy, shuddering from head to foot. “Merciful Heaven, what is this about?” For Darcy was again in the drawing room of his London mansion. But now the room was made horrible by obvious neglect. The wallpaper was peeling, the furniture was undusted, the windows grimy, the curtains torn and tattered.

Darcy gasped as he saw the owner of the house sitting by a meager fire. It was himself; he knew it was himself, though he aged at least thirty years!

A young man came into the room. “A Merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you!” cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Darcy’s nephew, who came upon him so quickly that this was the first intimation he had of his approach.

“Bah!” said Darcy. “Humbug!”

This nephew-to-be of Darcy had a face that was ruddy and handsome. He had so heated himself with rapid walking in the fog and frost that his eyes sparkled from the exercise. He reminded Darcy of his cousin Fitzwilliam.

“Christmas a humbug, Uncle!” said Darcy’s nephew. “You do not mean that, I am sure.”

“I do mean it,” said Darcy. “Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason do you have to be merry? You’re poor enough.”

“Come now, I am not a pauper by any means. My mother saw that I was provided for; if not rich, I am certainly comfortable,” returned the nephew gaily. “I might ask what right have you to be so dismal and morose? You’re rich enough.”

Darcy, having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, “Bah!” again and followed it up with “Humbug.”

“Do not be cross, Uncle,” said the nephew.

“What else can I be,” returned the uncle, “when I live in such a world of fools who believe in a Merry Christmas? And I suppose you believe in Father Christmas too.”

“Oh, without a doubt, Uncle, I believe.”

“I say, out upon Merry Christmas. What is Christmas time to you but a time for frittering away money on needless things; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour wiser? If I could work my will,” said Darcy indignantly, “every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.”

“Uncle!” returned the nephew. “What a singularly unpleasant thought.”

“Nephew!” returned the uncle sternly. “Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.”

“Keep it!” repeated Darcy’s nephew. “But you do not keep it.”

“Let me leave it alone then,” said Darcy. “Much good may it do you. Much good it has ever done you!”

“There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say,” returned the nephew, “Christmas among the rest. But I am sure I have always thought that, apart from the veneration due to its sacred name and origin, Christmas Time is a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time. The only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, Uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!”

A servant in the hall involuntarily applauded. Becoming immediately sensible of the impropriety, he entered the room with a wine decanter and one glass.

“Let me hear another sound from you,” said Darcy addressing the servant, “and you’ll keep your Christmas by losing your situation.” Turning to his nephew, he said, “You’re quite a powerful speaker, sir. I wonder you do not go into Parliament.”

“Politicians certainly put believing to the test. Please do not be angry, Uncle. Come! Dine with us tomorrow.”

“Why did you get married?” said Darcy.

“Because I fell in love.”

“Because you fell in love!” growled the elder Darcy. “There is only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a Merry Christmas and it is love. And you are fool if you believe otherwise. Why should I subject myself and ruin my digestion to view the mockery that is a love match.”

Darcy was astonished to hear these words come from his mouth. In fact, every word he heard spoken from the time he entered the room with the Spirit shocked him greatly. He could not believe the sentiments he was expressing as they were so far from those he felt now, as to be totally alien.

“But, Uncle, you never came to see me before that happened. Why give it as a reason for not coming now? I can assure the meals are much better than when I was a bachelor, so there really is no need to worry about your tender stomach,” his nephew offered cheekily.

“Good afternoon,” said Darcy, creakily getting up from his chair.

“I want nothing from you; I ask nothing of you; why cannot we be friends?”

“Good afternoon,” repeated Darcy, as he walked over to the door.

“I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel to which I have been a party. But I have made the offer in homage to Christmas, and I’ll keep my Christmas humor to the last. So a Merry Christmas, Uncle!”

“Good afternoon!” said Darcy, opening the door.

“And a Happy New Year!”

“Good afternoon, Frederick!” said Darcy as he left the room.

The young man waited behind in the cold room. “I tried, Mother,” he said looking up at the ceiling. “I will try again next year and the next until that foolish old man accepts my invitation, just as I promised so long ago. Why you were so concerned for him, when he showed no care for you, I will never know.” Placing his hat on head, he left so his uncle could leave Christmas alone.

Frederick! Darcy thought. He turned to the Spirit. “This is my future? This is my fate? I turn into a man so heartless that I would leave my sister alone to die?” The Spirit looked at him but gave no answer.

“So far the future you have shown is bleak and awful. Let me see some happiness connected to the future,” demanded Darcy.

The Ghost conducted him through several streets familiar to his feet. They entered the Bingleys’ house and found Jane and her children seated round the fire.

The room was very large and handsome, and full of comfort. Near to the winter fire sat a beautiful young girl, so like Jane that Darcy believed it was the same, until he saw her, now a comely matron, sitting opposite her daughter. The noise in this room was perfectly tumultuous, for there were children all about and they were failing to conduct themselves in a civilized manner. But no one seemed to care; on the contrary, the mother and daughter laughed heartily.

A knocking at the door was heard and a rush towards it immediately ensued. Jane made her way toward the center of the boisterous group just in time to greet Bingley, who came home attended by a footman laden with Christmas toys and presents. The shouts of wonder and delight with which the development of every package was received!

Now Darcy looked on more attentively than ever, when the master of the house, having his daughter leaning fondly on him, sat down with her and Jane at his own fireside.

“Jane,” said Bingley, turning to his wife with a smile, “I thought I saw an old friend this afternoon.”

“Who was it?”

“Guess!”

“How can I? You know I fare poorly at such games. I do not know.” Then she added in the same breath, laughing as he laughed. “Mr. Darcy.”

“Darcy it was. I passed his window; and, as it was not shut up and he had a candle inside, I could scarcely help seeing him. There he sat alone. Quite alone in the world, I do believe. I hesitated to called upon him, as my efforts would have been rebuffed as they have been so many times in the past.”

“Poor Mr. Darcy,” said Jane.

Bingley was pensive for a moment, the loss of friendship still keenly felt even after many years. “He saw me, he looked out the window and saw me, and there was an expression on his face and in his eyes for a few seconds, and I saw the friend that I had lost. I made a step towards the door, but he turned away.”

“The death of their child affected both him and Caroline greatly,” Jane comforted.

“Caroline has found contentment in Bath. She derives much satisfaction from being a big fish in a small pond. Darcy has never been consolable.”

Bingley’s nature was such that soon he was cheerful again and spoke pleasantly to all the family. He looked at the work upon the table and praised the industry and speed of Jane and his daughters.

Bingley told them of the meeting General Fitzwilliam in the street that day.

“‘Merry Christmas, Mr. Bingley,’ he said, ‘and the same for your good wife.’ By-the-by, how he ever knew that, I do not know.”

“Knew what, my dear?”

“Why, that you are a good wife,” replied Bingley.

“Everybody knows that,” said Peter.