Still, the red light burns steadily. Nothing is steady but the red
light.
All through the night the wind blows, and abates not. But early in
the morning, when there is barely enough light in the east to dim
the stars, it begins to lull. From that time, with occasional wild
charges, like a wounded monster dying, it drops and sinks; and at
full daylight it is dead.
It is then seen that the hands of the Cathedral clock are torn off;
that lead from the roof has been stripped away, rolled up, and
blown into the Close; and that some stones have been displaced upon
the summit of the great tower. Christmas morning though it be, it
is necessary to send up workmen, to ascertain the extent of the
damage done. These, led by Durdles, go aloft; while Mr. Tope and a
crowd of early idlers gather down in Minor Canon Corner, shading
their eyes and watching for their appearance up there.
This cluster is suddenly broken and put aside by the hands of Mr.
Jasper; all the gazing eyes are brought down to the earth by his
loudly inquiring of Mr. Crisparkle, at an open window:
'Where is my nephew?'
'He has not been here. Is he not with you?'
'No. He went down to the river last night, with Mr. Neville, to
look at the storm, and has not been back. Call Mr. Neville!'
'He left this morning, early.'
'Left this morning early? Let me in! let me in!'
There is no more looking up at the tower, now.
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