HARD TIMES.

BY CHARLES DICKENS

(Continued.)

CHAPTER XXIII

MR.
R. JAMES HARTHOUSE, “going in" for
his adopted party, soon began to score. With
the aid of a little more coaching for the political
sages, a little more genteel listlessness for the
general society, and a tolerable management of the
assumed honesty in dishonesty, most effective and
most patronised of the polite deadly sins, he speedily
came to be considered of much promise. The not
being troubled with earnestness was a grand point
in his favor, enabling him to take to the hard Fact
fellows with as good a trace as if he had been born
one of the tribe, and to throw all other tribes over-
board, as conscious imposters.

out.

no more about them, and devoted his leisure chiefly When that man was a boy, he went to Westminster
to their house. He was very often in their house, School. Went to Westminster School as a King's
in his flittings and visitings about the Coketown dis- Scholar, when I was principally living on garbage,
trict; and was much encouraged by Mr. Bounderby. and sleeping in market baskets. Why, if I wanted
It was quite in Mr. Bounderby's gusty way to boast to keep a dozen horses-which I don't, for one's
to all his world that he didn't care about your highly enough for me--I couldn't bear to see 'em in their
connected people, but that if his wife Tom Grad- stalls here, and think what my own lodging used to
grind's daughter did, she was welcome to their be. I couldn't look at 'em, sir, and not order 'em
Yet so things come round. You see this
company.
place; you know what sort of a place it is; you are
aware that there's not a completer place of its size
in this kingdom or elsewhere-I don't care where-
and here, got into the middle of it, like a maggot
into a nut, is Josiah Bounderby. While Nickits (as
a man came into my office, and told me yesterday),
Nickits, who used to act in Latin, in the Westminster
School plays, with the chief-justices and nobility of
this country applauding him till they were black in
the face, is drivelling at this minute-drivelling,
sir!-in the fifth floor, up a narrow dark back strect
in Antwerp."

Mr. James Harthouse began to think it would be
a new sensation, if the face which changed so
beautifully for the whelp, would change for him.
He was quick enough to observe; he had a good
memory, and did not forget a word of the brother's
revelations. He interwove them with everything he
saw of the sister, and he began to understand her.
To be sure, the better and profounder part of her
character was not within his scope of perception;
for in natures, as in seas, depth answers unto depth;
but he soon began to read the rest with a student's
eye.

Mr. Bounderby had taken possession of a house

It was among the leafy shadows of this retirement, in the long sultry summer days, that Mr. Harthouse began to prove the face which had set him wondering when he first saw it, and to try if it would change for him.

and grounds, about fifteen miles from the town, and
accessible within a mile or two, by a railway striding
on many arches over a wild country, undermined by
deserted coalpits, and spotted at night by fires and
black shapes of engines. This country, gradually
"Mrs. Bounderby, I esteem it a most fortunate
softening towards the neighborhood of Mr. Boun- accident that I find you alone here. I have for some
derby's retreat, there mellowed into a rustic land-time had a particular wish to speak to you."
scape, golden with heath and snowy with hawthorn It was not by any wonderful accident that he
in the spring of the year, and tremulous with leaves found her, the time of day being that at which she
and their shadows all the summer time. The bank was alone, and the place being her favorite resort
had foreclosed a mortgage on the property thus It was an opening in a dark wood, where some
pleasantly situated: effected by one of the Coketown felled trees lay, and where she would sit watching
magnates: who, in his determination to make a the fallen leaves of last year, as she had watched the
shorter cut than usual to an enormous fortune, over-falling ashes at home.
speculated himself afterwards by about two hundred
thousand pounds. These accidents did sometimes
happen in the best-regulated families of Coketown,
though the bankrupts had no connexion whatever
with the improvident classes.

It afforded Mr. Bounderby supreme satisfaction to instal himself in this snug little estate, and with demonstrative humility to grow cabbages in the flowergarden.

among

46

He sat down beside her, with a glance at her face.
"Your brother. My young friend Tom-"
Her color brightened, and she turned to him with

a look of interest. "I never in my life," he thought,
"saw anything so remarkable and so captivating as
the lighting of those features!" His face betrayed
his thought-perhaps without betraying him, for it
might have been according to its instruction so

"Pardon me. The expression of your sisterly interest is so beautiful-Tom should be so proud of it-I know this is inexcusable, but I am so compelled admire."

It was even the worse for her at this pass, that in her mind-implanted there before her eminently practical father began to form it—a struggling disposition to believe in a wider and higher humanity than she had ever heard of, constantly strove with doubts and resentments, With doubts, because the aspiration had been so laid waste in her youth. With resentments, because of the wrong that had been done her, if it were indeed a whisper of the truth. Upon a nature long accustomed to self-supto do. He delighted to live, barrack fashion, pression, thus torn and divided, the Harthouse the elegant furniture, and he bullied the very philosophy came as a relief and justification. Every pictures with his origin. 'Why sir," he would say thing being hollow, and worthless, she had missed to a visitor, "I am told that Nickits, the late owner, nothing and sacrificed nothing. What did it matter, gave seven hundred pound for that Sea-beach. Now, to she had said to her father, when he proposed her to be plain with you, if I ever, in the whole course husband. What did it matter, she said still. With of my life, take seven looks at it, at a hundred pound a scornful self-reliance, she asked herself, What did a look, it will be as much as I shall do. No, by anything matter-and went on. George! I don't forget that I am Josiah Bounderby Towards what? Step by step, onward and down- of Coketown. For years upon years, the only ward, towards some end, yet so gradually that she pictures in my possession, or that I could have got believed herself to remain motionless. As to Mr. into my possession by any means, unless I stole 'em, Harthouse, whither he tended, he neither considered were the engravings of a man shaving himself in a nor cared. He had no particular design or plan be-boot, on the blacking bottles that I was overjoyed to fore him; no energetic wickedness ruffled his lassi-use in cleaning boots with, and that I sold when they tude. He was as much amused and interested, at were empty for a farthing a-piece, and glad to get present, as it became so fine a gentleman to be; perhaps even more than it would have been consistent with his reputation to confess. Soon after his arrival he languidly wrote to his brother, the honorable and jocular member, that the Bounderby's were "great fun;" and further, that the female Bounderby, instead of being the Gorgon he had expected, was young and remarkably pretty. After that, he wrote

it!"

Then he would address Mr. Harthouse in the same style.

66

Harthouse, you have a couple of horses down here. Bring half a dozen more if you like, and we'll find room for 'em. There's stabling in this place for a dozen horses; and unless Nickits is belied, he kept the full number. A round dozen of 'em, sir.

Being so impulsive," she said composedly. "Mrs. Bounderby, no; you know I make no pretence with you. You know I am a sordid piece of human nature, ready to sell myself at any time for any reasonable sum, and altogether incapable of any Arcadian proceeding whatever."

"I am waiting," she returned, "for your further reference to my brother."

"You are rigid with me, and I deserve it. I am as worthless a dog as you will find, except that I am not false-not false. But you surprised and started me from my subject, which was your brother. I have an interest in him."

"Have you an interest in anything, Mr. Harthouse?" she asked, half incredulously and half gratefully.

"If you had asked me when I first came here, I should have said no. I must say now-even at the

66

hazard of appearing to make a pretence, and of versation, and yet had in the main preserved her
justly awakening your incredulity-yes."
self-contained manner : 'you will understand that if
I tell you what you press to know, it is not by way
of complaint or regret. I would never complain of
anything, and what I have done I do not in the least
regret."

She made a slight movement, as if she were trying to speak, but could not find voice; at length she said, "Mr. Harthouse, I give you credit for being interested in my brother."

"Thank you. I claim to deserve it. You know how little I do claim, but I will go that length. You have done so much for him, you are so fond of him; your whole life, Mrs. Bounderby, expresses such charming self-forgetfulness on his account-pardon me again—I am running wide of the subject. I am interested in him for his own sake."

She had made the slightest action possible, as if she would have risen in a hurry and gone away. He had turned the course of what he said at that instant,

and she remained.

“Mrs. Bounderby,” he resumed in a lighter manner, and yet with a show of effort in assuming it, which was even more expressive than the manner he dismissed; "it is no irrevocable offence in a young fellow of your brother's years, if he is heedless, inconsiderate, and expensive—a little dissipated, in the common phrase. Is he?"

"Yes."

"Allow me to be frank. Do you think he games at all?"

"I think he makes bets." Mr. Harthouse waiting, as if that were not her whole answer, she added,

"I know he does."

"Of course he loses ?" "Yes."

"Everybody loses who bets. probability of your sometimes money for these purposes?"

May I hint at the supplying him with

She sat, looking down; but, at this question, raised her eyes searchingly and a little resentfully.

of it.

"So spirited, too!" thought James Harthouse.
"When I married, I found that my brother was
even at that time heavily in debt. Heavily for him
I mean. Heavily enough to oblige me to sell some
trinkets. They were no sacrifice. I sold them very
willingly. I attached no value to them. They were
quite worthless to me."

Either she saw in his face that he knew, or she
only feared in her conscience that he knew, that she
spoke of some of her husband's gifts. She stopped,
and reddened again. If he had not known it before
he would have known it then, though he had been a
much duller man than he was.

"Since then, I have given my brother, at various
times, what money I could spare: in short, what
money I have had. Confiding in you at all, on the
faith of the interest you profess for him, I will not do
so by halves.
Since you have been in the habit of
visiting here, he has wanted in one sum as much as
a hundred pounds. I have not been able to give it
to him. I have felt uneasy for the cousequences of
his being so involved, but I have kept these secrets
until now, when I trust them to your honor. I have
held no confidence with any one, because-you an-
ticipated my reason just now." She abruptly broke

off.

He was a ready man, and he saw, and seized an opportunity here of presenting her own image to her, slightly disguised as her brother.

"You alarm me, Mr. Harthouse. Pray let me know it."

To relieve you from needless apprehension-and as this confidence regarding your brother, which I prize I am sure above all possible things, has been established between us-I obey. I cannot forgive him for not being more sensible, in every word, look, and act of his life, of the affection of his best friend; of the devotion of his best friend; of her unselfishness; of her sacrifice. The return he makes her, within my observation, is a very poor one. What she has done for him demands his constant love and gratitude, not his ill humor and caprice. Careless fellow as I am, I am not so indifferent, Mrs. Bounderby, as to be regardless of this vice in your brother, or inclined to consider it a venial offence."

The wood floated before her, for her eyes were suffused with tears. They rose from a deep well, long concealed, and her heart was filled with acute pain that found no relief in them.

"In a word, it is to correct your brother in this, Mrs. Bounderby, that I most aspire. My better knowledge of his circumstances, and my direction and advice in extricating him-rather valuable, I hope, as coming from a scapegrace on a much larger scale-will give me some influence over him, and all I gain I shall certainly use towards this end. I have said enough and more than enough. I seem to be protesting that I am a sort of good fellow, when upon my honor, I have not the least intention to make any protestation to that effect, and openly announce that I am nothing of the sort. Yonder, among the trees," he added, having lifted up his eyes and looked about; for he had watched her closely until now; "is your brother himself; no doubt just come down. As he seems to be loitering in this direction, it may be as well, perhaps, to walk towards him, and throw ourselves in his way. He has been very silent and dole ful of late. Perhaps, his brotherly conscience is touched-if there are such things as consciences. Though, upon my honor, I hear of them much too often to believe in them."

"Mrs. Bounderby, though a graceless person of the world worldly, I feel the utmost interest, I assure "Acquit me of impertinent curiosity, my dear Mrs. you, in what you tell me. I cannot possibly be hard Bounderby. I think Tom may be gradually falling upon your brother. I understand and share the wise into trouble, and I wish to stretch out a helping hand consideration with which you regard his errors. to him from the depths of my wicked experience. With all possible respect both for Mr. Gradgrind and Shall I say again, for his sake? Is that neces- for Mr. Bounderby, I think I perceive that he has not been fortunate in his training. Bred at a disadvan- He assisted her to rise, and she took his arm, and sary!" She seemed to try to answer, but nothing came tage towards the society in which he has his part to they advanced to meet the whelp. He was idly play, he rushes into these extremes for himself, from beating the branches as he lounged along: or he opposite extremes that have long been forced-with stopped viciously to rip the moss from the trees with the very best intentions we have no doubt-upon his stick. He was startled when they came upon him. Mr. Bounderby's fine bluff English independ-him while engaged in this latter pastime, and his ence, though a most charming characteristic, does color changed. not-as we have agreed-invite confidence. If I might venture to remark that it is the least in the world deficient in that delicacy to which a youth mistaken, a character misconceived, and abilities misdirected, would turn for relief and guidance, I should express what it presents to my own view."

"Candidly to confess everything that has occurred to me," said James Harthouse, again gliding with the same appearance of effort into his more airy manner; "I will confide to you my doubt whether he has had many advantages. Whether-forgive my plainness-whether any great amount of confidence is likely to have been established between himself and his most worthy father."

"I do not," said Louisa, flushing with her own great remembrance in that wise, “think it likely.” Or, between himself, and—I may trust to your perfect understanding of my meaning I am sure-and his highly esteemed brother-in-law ?"

She flushed deeper and deeper, and was burning red when she replied in a fainter voice, "I do not think that likely, either."

"Mrs. Bounderby," said Harthouse, after a short silence," may there be a better confidence between yourself and me? Tom has borrowed a considerable sum of you?"

"You will understand, Mr. Harthouse," she reurned, after some indecision: she had been more or less uncertain, and troubled throughout the con

As she sat looking straight before her, across the changing lights upon the grass into the darkness of the wood beyond, he saw in her face her application of his very distinctly uttered words.

"All allowance," he continued, "must be made. I have one great fault to find with Tom, however, which I cannot forgive, and for which I take him heavily to account."

"Halloa!" he stammered, "I didn't know you were here."

"Whose name, Tom," said Mr. Harthouse, putting his hand upon his shoulder and turning him, so that all three walked towards the house together, "have you been carving on the trees?"

"Whose name?" returned Tom. "Oh! You mean what girl's name?"

"You have a suspicious appearance of inscribing some fair creature's on the bark, Tom."

"Not much of that, Mr. Harthouse, unless some fair creature, with a slashing fortune at her own disposal, would take a fancy to me. Or she might be as ugly as she was rich, without any fear of losing Louisa turned her eyes to his face, and asked him me. I'd carve her name as often as she liked." what fault was that?

"Perhaps," he returned, "I have said enough. Perhaps it would have been better, on the whole, if no allusion to it had escaped me."

"I'm afraid you are mercenary, Tom." 'Mercenary," repeated Tom. "Who is not mercenary? Ask my sister."

"Have you so proved it to be a failing of mine,

"Not got it, Mr. Harthouse? I don't say that she has got it. I may have wanted more than she was likely to have got. But then she ought to get it. She could get it. It's of no use pretending to make a secret of matters now, after what I have told you already; you know she didn't marry old Bounderby for her own sake, or for his sake, but for my sake. Then why doesn't she get what I want out of him for my sake? She is not obliged to say what she is going to do with it; she is sharp enough; she could manage to coax it out of him, if she chose. Then why doesn't she choose, when I tell her of what consequence it is? But no. There she sits in his company like a stone, instead of making herself agreeable and getting it easily. I don't know what you may call this, but I call it unnatural conduct."

But, my dear Tom, if your sister has not got creatures. I am desperately intent ;" the langour when he is aweary of vice, and aweary of virtue, of his desperation being quite tropical; on your used up as to brimstone, and used up as to bliss,

then, whether he take to the serving out of red tape, or to the kindling of red fire, he is the very Devil.

ing what it would have been, or wouldn't have been,
as it was, but for the fellows' being disturbed."
Louisa had come up now, and Mrs. Sparsit and
Bitzer.

66

something or other-being asleep-some fellows, somehow, whether previously concealed in the house or not remains to be seen, got to young Tom's safe, So, James Harthouse reclined in the window, forced it, and abstracted the contents. Being then indolently smoking, and reckoning up the steps he "Here's Tom Gradgrind's daughter knows pretty disturbed, they made off; letting themselves out at had taken on the road by which he happened to be well what it might have been, if you don't,” blus- the main door, and double-locking it again (it was travelling. The end to which it led was before him, tered Bounderby. Dropped, sir, as if she was double-locked, and the key under Mrs. Sparsit's pilpretty plainly; but he troubled himself with no cal-shot, when I told her! Never knew her to do such low) with a false key, which was picked up in the culations about it. What will be, will be. a thing before. Does her credit, under the circum- street near the Bank, about twelve o'clock to-day. stances, in my opinion!” No alarm takes place, till this chap, Bitzer, turns out this morning and begins to open and prepare the offices for business. Then, looking at Tom's safe, he sees the door ajar, and finds the locks forced, and the money gone."

As he had rather a long ride to take that dayfor there was a public occasion "to do" at some distance, which afforded a tolerable opportunity of going in for the Gradgrind men-he dressed early, and went down to breakfast. He was anxious to see if she had relapsed since the previous evening. No. He resumed where he had left off. There was a look of interest for him again.

He got through the day as much (or as little) to his own satisfaction, as was to be expected under the fatiguing circumstances; and came riding back at six o'clock. There was a sweep of some half mile between the lodge and the house, and he was riding along at a foot pace over the smooth gravel, once Nickits's, when Mr. Bounderby burst out of the shrubbery with such violence as to make his horse shy across the road.

"Harthouse!" cried Mr. Bounderby.

heard?"

66

Have you "Heard what?" said Harthouse, soothing his horse, and inwardly favoring Mr. Bounderby with no good wishes.

"Then you haven't heard!"

"I have heard you, and so has this brute. I have heard nothing else."

Mr. Bounderby, red and hot, planted himself in the centre of the path before the horse's head, to explode his bombshell with more effect.

“Oh! as a sum—if you stick to a sum-of not more than a hundred and fifty pounds," said Bounderby, with impatience. "But it's not the sum; it's the fact. It's the fact of the Bank being robbed, that's the important circumstance. I am surprised you don't see it."

"My dear Bounderby," said James, dismounting, and giving his bridle to his servant, "I do see it; and am as overcome as you can possibly desire me to be, by the spectacle afforded to my mental view. Nevertheless, I may be allowed, I hope, to congratulate you—which I do with all my soul, I assure you-on your not having sustained a greater loss." "Thank'ee,” replied Bounderby, in a short ungracious manner. "But I tell you what. It might have been twenty thousand pound." "I suppose it might." "Suppose it might? By the Lord, you may suppose so. By George!" said Mr. Bounderby, with sundry menacing nods and shakes of his head, "it might have been twice twenty. There's no know

She still looked faint and pale. James Harthouse
begged her to take his arm; and as they moved on
very slowly, asked how the robbery had been com-
mitted.

"Why, I am going to tell you," said Bounderby,
irritably giving his arm to Mrs. Sparsit. "If you
hadn't been so mighty particular about the sum, I
should have begun to tell you before. You know
this lady (for she is a lady), Mrs. Sparsit?"
"I have already had the honor"
"Very well. And this young man, Bitzer, you
saw him too on the same occasion ?" Mr. Harthouse
inclined his head in assent, and Bitzer knuckled his
forehead.

"Where is Tom, by the by ?" asked Harthouse, glancing round.

"He has been helping the police," said Bounderby, "and stays behind at the Bank. I wish

these fellows had tried to rob me when I was at his time of life. They would have been out of pocket, if they had invested eighteen pence in the job; I can tell 'em that."

"Is anybody suspected?"

"Suspected? I should think there was somebody "Very well. They live at the Bank. You know suspected. Egod!" said Bounderby, relinquishing they live at the Bank perhaps? Very well. Yes- Mrs. Sparsit's arm to wipe his heated head. terday afternoon, at the close of business hours," Josiah Bounderby of Coketown is not to be pluneverything was put away as usual. In the iron dered and nobody suspected. No, thank you!" room that this young fellow sleeps outside of, there Might Mr. Harthouse inquire Who was suswas never mind how much. In the little safe in pected? young Tom's closet, the safe used for petty purposes, there was a hundred and fifty odd pound." Hundred and fifty-four, seven, one," said Bit

zer.

tions.

"Come!" retorted Bounderby, stopping to wheel round upon him, "let's have none of your interrupIt's enough to be robbed while you're snoring, because you're too comfortable, without being put right with your four seven ones. I didn't snore myself when I was your age, let me tell you. I hadn't victuals enough to snore. And I didn't four

seven one. Not if I knew it."

Bitzer knuckled his forehead again, in a sneaking manner, and scemed at once particularly impressed and depressed by the instance last given of Mr. Bounderby's moral abstinence.

"A hundred and fifty odd pound," resumed Mr. Bounderby. "That sum of money, young Tom locked in his safe; not a very strong safe, but that's no matter now. Everything was left all right. Some time in the night, while this young fellow snored Mrs. Sparsit, ma'am, you say you have heard him

snore?"

"Sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, "I cannot say that I have heard him precisely snore, and therefore must not make that statement. But on winter evenings, when he has fallen asleep at his table, I have heard him, what I should prefer to describe as partially choke. I have heard him on such occasions produce sounds of a nature similar to what may be sometimes heard in Dutch clocks. Not," said Mrs. Sparsit, with a lofty sense of giving strict evidence, "that I would convey any imputation on his moral character. Far from it. I have always considered Bitzer a young man of the most upright principle; and to that I beg to bear my testimony."

"Well!" said the exasperated Bounderby, "while he was snoring, or choking, or Dutch-clocking, or

"Well," said Bounderby, stopping and facing about to confront them all, "I'll tell you. It's not to be mentioned everywhere; it's not to be mentioned anywhere; in order that the scoundrels concerned (there's a gang of 'em) may be thrown off their guard. So take this in confidence. Now wait a bit." Mr. Bounderby wiped his head again. "What should you say to;" here he violently exploded; "to a Hand being in it?"

"I hope," said Harthouse lazily, "not our friend Blackpot?"

Say Pool instead of Pot, sir," returned Bounderby, "and that's the man.”

Louisa faintly uttered some words of incredulity and surprise.

"O yes! I know!" said Bounderby, immediately catching at the sound. "I know! I am used to that. I know all about it. They are the finest people in the world, these fellows are. They have got the gift of the gab, they have. They only want to have their rights explained to them, they do. But I tell you what. Show me a dissatisfied Hand, and I'll show you a man that's fit for anything bad, I don't care what it is.”

Another of the popular fictions of Coketown, which some pains had been taken to disseminate— and which some people readily believed.

"But I am acquainted with these chaps," said Bounderby. "I can read 'em off, like books. Mrs. Sparsit, ma'am, I appeal to you. What warning did I give that fellow, the first time he set his foot in the house, when the express object of his visit was to know how he could knock Religion over, and floor the Established Church? Mrs. Sparsit, in point of high connexions, you are on a level with the aristocracy-did I say, or did I not say, to that fellow, you can't hide the truth from me; you are not the kind of fellow I like; you'll come to no good."?"

“Assuredly, sir,” returned Mrs. Sparsit, "you did, in a highly impressive manner, give him such an admonition."

husband, "here's Mrs. Sparsit to look after. Mrs. derby tried the case of the robbery, examined the Sparsit's nerves have been acted upon by this busi- witnesses, made notes of the evidence, found the ness, and she'll stay here a day or two. So, make suspected persons guilty, and sentenced them to the "When he shocked you, ma'am," said Bounderby; her comfortable." extreme punishment of the law. That done, Bitzer "when he shocked your feelings?" "Thank you very much, sir," that discreet lady was dismissed to town with instructions to recomobserved, "but pray do not let My comfort be a con-mend Tom to come home by the mail-train. sideration. Anything will do for Me."

“Yes, sir,” returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a meek shake of her head, “he certainly did so. Though I do not mean to say but that my feelings may be weaker on such points—more foolish, if the term is preferred-than they might have been, if I had always occupied my present position."

Mr. Bounderby stared with a bursting pride at Mr. Harthouse, as much as to say, "I am the proprietor of this female, and she's worth your attention, I think?" Then, resumed his discourse.

"You can recall for yourself, Harthouse, what I said to him when you saw him. I didn't mince the matter with him. I am never mealy with 'em. I KNOW 'em. Very well, sir. Three days after that, he bolted. Went off, nobody knows where as my mother did in my infancy-only with this difference, that he is a worse subject than my mother, if possible. What did he do before he went? What do you say;" Mr. Bounderby, with his hat in his hand, gave a beat upon the crown at every little division of his sentences, as if it were a tambourine; "to his being seen-night after night-watching the Bank? -To his lurking about there-after dark?-To its striking Mrs. Sparsit—that he could be lurking for no good-To her calling Bitzer's attention to him, and their both taking notice of him-And to its appearing on inquiry to-day--that he was also noticed by the neighbors?" Having come to the climax, Mr. Bounderby, like an oriental dancer, put his

tambourine on his head.

"Suspicious," said James Harthouse, " certainly." "I think so, sir," said Bounderby, with a defiant nod. "I think so. But there are more of 'em in it. There's an old woman. One never hears of these things till the mischief's done; all sorts of defects are found out in the stable door after the horse is stolen; there's an old woman turns up now. An old woman who seems to have been flying into town on a broomstick, every now and then. She watches the place a whole day before this fellow begins, and, on the night when you saw him, she steals away with him and holds a council with him—I suppose, to make her report on going off duty, and be damned to her."

There was such a person in the room that night, and she shrunk from observation, thought Louisa. "This is not all of 'em, even as we already know 'em," said Bounderby, with many nods of hidden meaning. "But I have said enough for the present. You'll have the goodness to keep it quiet, and menIt may take time, but we shall have 'em. It's policy to give 'em line enough, and there's no objection to that."

tion it to no one.

Of course, they will be punished with the utmost rigor of the law, as notice-boards observe," replied James Harthouse, "and serve them right. Fellows who go in for Banks must take the consequences. If there were no consequences, we should all go in for Banks." He had gently taken Louisa's parasol from her hand, and had put it up for her; and she walked under its shade, though the sun did not shine there.

"For the present, Loo Bounderby," said her

When candles were brought, Mrs, Sparsit murmured, "Don't be low, sir. Pray let me see you cheerful, sir, as I used to do." Mr. Bounderby, upon whom these consolations had begun to produce the effect of making him, in a bull-headed blundering way, sentimental, sighed like some large sea-animal. "I cannot bear to see you so, sir," said Mrs. Sparsit. "Try a hand at backgammon, sir, as you used to do when I had the honor of living under your roof." "I haven't played backgammon, ma'am,” said Mr. Bounderby, " since that time" No sir," said Mrs. Sparsit, soothingly, "I am aware that you have not. I remember that Miss Gradgrind takes no interest in the game. But I shall be happy, sir, if you will condescend."

It soon appeared that if Mrs. Sparsit had a failing
in her association with that domestic establishment,
it was that she was so excessively regardless of her-
self and regardful of others, as to be a nuisance. On
being shown her chamber, she was so dreadfully
sensible of its comforts as to suggest the inference
that she would have preferred to pass the night
on the mangle in the laundry. True, the Powlers
and the Scadgerses were accustomed to splendor,
"but it is my duty to remember," Mrs. Sparsit was
fond of observing with a lofty grace particularly
when any of the domestics were present, "that
what I was, I am no longer. Indeed," said she, "if
I could altogether cancel the remembrance that Mr.
Sparsit was a Powler, or that I myself am related to
the Scadgers family; or if I could even revoke the
fact, and make myself a person of common descent
and ordinary connexions; I would gladly do so.
should think it, nnder existing circumstances, right
to do so." The same Hermitical state of mind led
to her renunciation of made dishes and wines at
dinner, until fairly commanded by Mr. Bounderby to
take them; when she said, "Indeed, you are very
good, sir ;" and departed from a resolution of which
she had made rather public announcement, to "wait"I was
for the simple mutton." She was likewise deeply got to do with the dew, ma'am?" said Mr. Boun-
apologetic for wanting the salt; and, feeling amiably derby. "It's not myself, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit,
bound to bear out Mr Bounderby to the fullest" I am fearful of Miss Gradgrind's taking cold."
extent in the testimony he had borne to her nerves, "She never takes cold," said Mr. Bounderby.
occasionally sat back in her chair and silently wept;"Really, sir?" said Mrs. Sparsit. And was affected
at which periods a tear of large dimensions, like with a cough in her throat.
a crystal ear-ring, might be observed (or rather,
must be, for it insisted on public notice) sliding down
her Roman nose

I

They played near a window, opening on the garden. It was a fine night: not moonlight, but sultry and fragrant. Louisa and Mr. Harthouse strolled out into the garden, where their voices could be heard in the stillness, though not what they said. Mrs. Sparsit, from her place at the backgammon board, was constantly straining her eyes to pierce the shadows without. "What's the matter, ma'am?” said Mr. Bounderby; "you don't see a Fire, do "Oh dear no, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, thinking of the dew!" "What have you

you?"

When the time drew near for retiring, Mr. Bounderby took a glass of water. "Oh, sir?" said Mrs. Sparsit. "Not your sherry warm, with lemon-peel and nutmeg ?" Why, I have got out of the habit of taking it now, ma'am," said Mr. Bounderby. "The more's the pity, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit; "you If Miss Gradgrind will permit me, I will offer to are losing all your good old habits. Cheer up, sir! make it for you, as I have often done."

But Mrs. Sparsit's greatest point, first and last, was her determination to pity Mr. Bounderby. There were occasions when in looking at him she was involuntarily moved to shake her head, as who should say, "Alas poor Yorick!" After allowing herself to be betrayed into these evidences of emotion, she would force a lambent brightness, and would be fitfully cheerful, and would say, "You have still Miss Gradgrind readily permitting Mrs. Sparsit to good spirits, sir, I am thankful to find ;" and would do anything she pleased, that considerate lady made appear to hail it as a blessed dispensation that Mr. the beverage, and handed it to Mr. Bounderby. "It Bounderby bore up as he did. One idiosyncrasy for will do you good, sir. It will warm your heart. It which she often apologised, she found it excessively is the sort of thing you want, and ought to take, difficult to conquer. She had a curious propensity sir," And when Mr. Bounderby said, "Your health, to call Mrs. Bounderby "Miss Gradgrind," and ma'am !" she answered with great feeling. yielded to it some three or four score times in the you, sir. The same to you, and happiness also." course of the evening. Her repitition of this mis- Finally, she wished him good night, with great take covered Mrs. Sparsit with modest confusion; pathos; and Mr. Bounderby went to bed, with a but indeed, she said, it seemed so natural to say Miss maudlin persuasion that he had been crossed in Gradgrind: whereas, to persuade herself that the something tender, though he could not, for his life, young lady whom she had had the happiness of have mentioned what it was. knowing from a child could be really and truly Mrs. Bounderby, she thought almost impossible. It was a further singularity of this remarkable case, that the more she thought about it, the more impossible it appeared; "the differences," she observed, "being

such-"

"Thank

Long after Louisa had undressed and lain down, she watched and waited for her brother's coming home. That could hardly be, she knew, until an hour past midnight; but in the country silence, which did anything but calm the trouble of her thoughts, time lagged wearily. At last, when the

In the drawing-room after dinner, Mr. Boun- darkness and stillness had seemed for hours to