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coom back； she coom back。 What could I do t’ hinder her？ I ha’
walked the streets nights long； ere ever I’d go home。 I ha’ gone t’
th’ brigg； minded to fling myseln ower； and ha’ no more on’t。 I ha’
bore that much； that I were owd when I were young。”
Mrs Sparsit； easily ambling along with her netting…needles；
raised the Coriolanian eyebrows and shook her head； as much as
to say； “The great know trouble as well as the small。 Please to turn
your humble eye in My direction。”
“I ha’ paid her to keep awa’ fra’ me。 These five year I ha’ paid
her。 I ha’ gotten decent fewtrils about me agen。 I ha’ lived hard
and sad； but not ashamed and fearfo’ a’ the minnits o’ my life。 Last
night； I went home。 There she lay upon my har…stone！ There she
is！”
In the strength of his misfortune； and the energy of his distress；
he fired for the moment like a proud man。 In another moment； he
stood as he had stood all the time—his usual stoop upon him； his
pondering face addressed to Mr Bounderby； with a curious
expression on it； half shrewd； half perplexed； as if his mind were
set upon unravelling something very difficult； his hat held tight in
his left hand； which rested on his hip； his right arm； with a rugged
propriety and force of action； very earnestly emphasising what he
said： not least so when it always paused； a little bent； but not
withdrawn； as he paused。
“I was acquainted with all this； you know；” said Mr Bounderby；
“except the last clause； long ago。 It’s a bad job； that’s what it is。
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You had better have been satisfied as you were； and not have got
married。 However； it’s too late to say that。”
“Was it an unequal marriage； sir； in point of years？” asked Mrs
Sparsit。
“You hear what this lady asks。 Was it an unequal marriage in
point of years； this unlucky job of yours？” said Mr Bounderby。
“Not e’en so。 I were one…and…twenty myseln； she were twenty
nighbut。”
“Indeed； sir？” said Mrs Sparsit to her Chief； with great
placidity。 “I inferred； from its being so miserable a marriage； that
it was probably an unequal one in point of years。”
Mr Bounderby looked very hard at the good lady in a sidelong
way that had an odd sheepishness about it。 He fortified himself
with a little more sherry。
“Well？ Why don’t you go on？” he then asked； turning rather
irritably on Stephen Blackpool。
“I ha’ coom to ask yo； sir； how I am to be ridded o’ this woman。”
Stephen infused a yet deeper gravity into the mixed expression of
his attentive face。 Mrs Sparsit uttered a gentle ejaculation； as
having received a moral shock。
“What do you mean？” said Bounderby； getting up to lean his
back against the chimney…piece。 “What are you talking about？ You
took her for better for worse。”
“I mun’ be ridden o’ her。 I cannot bear ’t nommore。 I ha’ lived
under ’t so long； for that I ha’ had’n the pity and comforting words
o’ th’ best lass living or dead。 Haply； but for her； I should ha’ gone
hottering mad。”
“He wishes to be free； to marry the female of whom he speaks； I
fear； sir；” observed Mrs Sparsit in an undertone； and much
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dejected by the immorality of the people。
“I do。 The lady says what’s right。 I do。 I were a coming to ’t。 I
ha’ read i’ th’ papers that great fok （fair faw ’em a’！ I wishes ’em no
hurt！） are not bonded together for better for worse so fast； but that
they can be set free fro’ their misfortnet marriages； an marry ower
agen。 When they dunnot agree； for that their tempers is ill…sorted；
they has rooms o’ one kind an another in their houses； above a bit；
and they can live asunders。 We fok ha’ only one room； an we can’t。
When that won’t do； they ha’ gowd an other cash； an they can say；
’This for yo’； an that for me；’ an they can go their separate ways。
We can’t。 Spite o’ all that； they can be set free for smaller wrongs
than mine。 So； I mun be ridden o’ this woman； and I want t’ know
how？”
“No how；” returned Mr Bounderby。
“If I do her any hurt； sir； there’s a law to punish me？”
“Of course there is。”
“If I flee from her； there’s a law to punish me？”
“Of course there is。”
“If I marry t’oother dear lass； there’s a law to punish me？”
“Of course there is。”
“If I was to live wi’ her an not marry her—saying such a thing
could be； which it never could or would； an her so good—there’s a
law to punish me； in every innocent child belonging to me？”
“Of course there is。”
“Now； a’ God’s name；” said Stephen Blackpool； “show me the
law to help me！”
“Hem！ There’s a sanctity in this relation of life；” said Mr
Bounderby； “and—and—it must be kept up。”
“No no； dunnot say that； sir。 ’Tan’t kep’ up that way。 Not that
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way。 ’Tis kep’ down that way。 I’m a weaver； I were in a fact’ry
when a chilt； but I ha’ gotten een to see wi’ and eern to year wi’。 I
read in th’ papers every ‘Sizes； every Sessions—and you read
too—I know it！—with dismay—how th’ supposed unpossibility o’
ever getting unchained from one another； at any price； on any
terms； brings blood upon this land； and brings many common
married fok to battle； murder； and sudden death。 Let us ha’ this；
right understood。 Mine’s a grievous case； an I want—if yo will be
so good—t’knaw the law that helps me。”
“Now； I tell you what！” said Mr Bounderby； putting his hands
in his pockets。 “There is such a law。”
Stephen； subsiding into his quiet manner； and never wandering
in his attention gave a nod。
“But it’s not for you at all。 It costs money。 It costs a mint of
money。”
“How much might that be？” Stephen calmly asked。
“Why； you’d have to go to Doctors’ Commons with a suit； and
you’d have to go to a court of Common Law with a suit； and you’d
have to go to the House of Lords with a suit； and you’d have to get
an Act of Parliament to enable you to marry again； and it would
cost you （if it was a case of very plain …sailing）； I suppose from a
thousand to fifteen hundred pounds；” said Mr Bounderby。
“Perhaps twice the money。”
“There’s no other law？”
“Certainly not。”
“Why then； sir；” said Stephen； turning white； and motioning
with that right hand of his； as if he gave everything to the four
winds； “’tis a muddle。 ’Tis just a muddle a’toogether； an the sooner
I am dead； the better。”
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（Mrs Sparsit again dejected by the impiety of the people。）
“Pooh； pooh！ Don’t you talk nonsense； my good fellow；” said Mr
Bounderby； “about things you don’t understand； and don’t you
call the Institutions of your country a muddle； or you’ll get yourself
into a real muddle one of these fine mornings。 The institutions of
your country are not your piece…work； and the only thing you have
got to do； is； to mind your piece…work。 You didn’t take your wife
for fast and for loose； but for better for worse。 If she has turned out
worse—why； all we have got to say is； she might have turned out
better。”
“’Tis a muddle；” said Stephen； shaking his head as he moved to
the door。 “’Tis a’ a muddle！”
“Now； I’ll tell you what！” Mr Bounderby resumed； as a
valedictory address。 “With what I shall call your unhallowed
opinions； you have been quite shocking this lady： who； as I have
already told you； is a born lady； and wh