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to keep with their pure hands a garden in the stony ways of this
world； wherein it were better for all the children of Adam that they
should oftener sun themselves； simple and trustful； and not
worldly…wise—what had she to do with these？ Remembrances of
how she had journeyed to the little that she knew； by the
enchanted roads of what she and millions of innocent creatures
had hoped and imagined； of how； first coming upon Reason
through the tender light of Fancy； she had seen it a beneficent
god； deferring to gods as great as itself： not a grim Idol； cruel and
cold； with its victims bound hand to foot； and its big dumb shape
set up with a sightless stare； never to be moved by anything but so
many calculated tons of leverage—what had she to do with these？
Her remembrances of home and childhood were remembrances of
the drying up of every spring and fountain in her young heart as it
gushed out。 The golden waters were not there。 They were flowing
for the fertilisation of the land where grapes are gathered from
thorns； and figs from thistles。
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She went； with a heavy； hardened kind of sorrow upon her； into
the house and into her mother’s room。 Since the time of her
leaving home； Sissy had lived with the rest of the family on equal
terms。 Sissy was at her mother’s side； and Jane； her sister； now
ten or twelve years old； was in the room。
There was great trouble before it could be made known to Mrs
Gradgrind that her eldest child was there。 She reclined； propped
up； from mere habit； on a couch： as nearly in her old usual
attitude； as anything so helpless could be kept in。 She had
positively refused to take to her bed； on the ground that if she did；
she would never hear the last of it。
Her feeble voice sounded so far away in her bundle of shawls；
and the sound of another voice addressing her seemed to take
such a long time in getting down to her ears； that she might have
been lying at the bottom of a well。 The old lady was nearer Truth
than she ever had been： which had much to do with it。
On being told that Mrs Bounderby was there； she replied； at
cross…purposes； that she had never called him by that name； since
he married Louisa； that pending her choice of an objectionable
name； she had called him J； and that she could not at present
depart from that regulation； not being yet provided with a
permanent substitute。 Louisa had sat by her for some minutes；
and had spoken to her often； before she arrived at a clear
understanding who it was。 She then seemed to come to it all at
once。
“Well； my dear；” said Mrs Gradgrind； “and I hope you are going
on satisfactorily to yourself。 It was all your father’s doing。 He set
his heart upon it。 And he ought to know。”
“I want to hear of you； mother； not of myself。”
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“You want to hear of me； my dear？ That’s something new； I am
sure； when anybody wants to hear of me。 Not at all well； Louisa。
Very faint and giddy。”
“Are you in pain； dear mother？”
“I think there’s a pain somewhere in the room；” said Mrs
Gradgrind； “but I couldn’t positively say that I have got it。”
After this strange speech； she lay silent for some time。 Louisa；
holding her hand； could feel no pulse； but kissing it； could see a
slight thin thread of life in fluttering motion。
“You very seldom see your sister；” said Mrs Gradgrind。 “She
grows like you。 I wish you would look at her。 Sissy； bring her
here。”
She was brought； and stood with her hand in her sister’s。
Louisa had observed her with her arm round Sissy’s neck； and she
felt the difference of this approach。
“Do you see the likeness； Louisa？”
“Yes； mother。 I should think her like me。 But—”
“Eh？ Yes； I always say so；” Mrs Gradgrind cried； with
unexpected quickness。 “And that reminds me。 I—I want to speak
to you； my dear。 Sissy my good girl； leave us alone a minute。”
Louisa had relinquished the hand： had thought that her sister’s
was a better and brighter face than hers had ever been； had seen
in it； not without a rising feeling of resentment； even in that place
and at that time； something of the gentleness of the other face in
the room： the sweet face with the trusting eyes； made paler than
watching and sympathy made it； by the rich dark hair。
Left alone with her mother； Louisa saw her lying with an awful
lull upon her face； like one who was floating away upon some great
water； all resistance over； content to be carried down the stream。
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She put the shadow of a hand to her lips again； and recalled her。
“You were going to speak to me； mother。”
“Eh？ Yes； to be sure； my dear。 You know that your father is
almost always away now； and therefore I must write to him about
it。”
“About what； mother？ Don’t be troubled。 About what！”
“You must remember； my dear； that whenever I have said
anything； on any subject； I have never heard the last of it： and
consequently； that I have long left off saying anything。”
“I can hear you； mother。” But it was only by dint of bending
down her ear； and at the same time attentively watching the lips as
they moved； that she could link such faint and broken sounds into
any chain of connection。
“You learnt a great deal； Louisa； and so did your brother。
Ologies of all kinds from morning to night。 If there is any Ology
left； of any description； that has not been worn to rags in this
house； all I can say is； I hope I shall never hear its name。”
“I can hear you； mother； when you have strength to go on。”
This； to keep her from floating away。
“But there is something—not an Ology at all—that your father
has missed； or forgotten； Louisa。 I don’t know what it is。 I have
often sat with Sissy near me； and thought about it。 I shall never get
its name now。 But your father may。 It makes me restless。 I want to
write to him； to find out for God’s sake what it is。 Give me a pen；
give me a pen。”
Even the power of restlessness was gone； except from the poor
head； which could just turn from side to side。
She fancied； however； that her request had been complied with；
and that the pen she could not have held was in her hand。 It
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matters little what figures of wonderful no…meaning she began to
trace upon her wrappers。 The hand soon stopped in the midst of
them； the light that had always been feeble and dim behind the
weak transparency； went out； and even Mrs Gradgrind； emerged
from the shadow in which man walketh and disquieteth himself in
vain； took upon her the dread solemnity of the sages； and
patriarchs。
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Chapter 10
Mrs Sparsit’s Staircase
rs Sparsit’s nerves being slow to recover their tone； the
worthy woman made a stay of some weeks in duration
M
at Mr Bounderby’s retreat； where； notwithstanding her
anchorite turn of mind based upon her becoming consciousness of
her altered station； she resigned herself with