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“My brothers；” said Stephen； whose low voice was distinctly
heard； “and my fellow…workmen—for that yo are to me； though
not； as I knows on； to this delegate heer—I ha but a word to sen；
and I could sen nommore if I was to speak till Strike o’ day。 I know
weel； aw what’s afore me。 I know weel that yo are aw resolved to
ha nommore ado wi’ a man who is not wi’ yo in this matther。 I
know weel that if I was a lyin’ parisht i’ th’ road； yo’d feel it right to
pass me by； as a forrenner and stranger。 What I ha getn； I mun
mak th’ best on。”
“Stephen Blackpool；” said the chairman； rising； “think on’t
agen。 Think on’t once agen； lad； afore thour’t shunned by aw owd
friends。”
There was an universal murmur to the same effect； though no
man articulated a word。 Every eye was fixed on Stephen’s face。 To
repent of his determination； would be to take a load from all their
minds。 He looked around him； and knew that it was so。 Not a grain
of anger with them was in his heart； he knew them； far below their
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surface weaknesses and misconceptions； as no one but their
fellow…labourer could。
“I ha thowt on’t； above a bit； sir。 I simply canna comm in。 I mun
go th’ way as lays afore me。 I mun tak my leave o’ aw heer。”
He made a sort of reverence to them by holding up his arms；
and stood for the moment in that attitude： not speaking until they
slowly dropped at his sides。
“Monny’s the pleasant word as soom heer has spoke’n wi’ me；
monny’s the face I see heer； as I first seen when I were yoong and
lighter heart’n than now。 I ha never had no fratch afore； sin ever I
were born； wi’ any o’ my like； Gonnows I ha’ none now that’s o’ my
makin’。 Yo’ll ca’ me traitor and that yo I mean t’ say；” addressing
Slackbridge； “but ’tis easier to ca’ than mak’ out。 So let be。”
He had moved away a pace or two to come down from the
platform； when he remembered something he had not said； and
returned again。
“Haply；” he said； turning his furrowed face slowly about that he
might as it were individually address the whole audience； those
both near and distant； “haply； when this question has been tak’n
up and discoosed； there’ll be a threat to turn out if I’m let to work
among yo。 I hope I shall die ere ever such a time cooms； and I shall
work solitary among yo unless it cooms—truly； I mun do ’t； my
friends； not to brave yo； but to live。 I ha nobbut work to live by；
and wheerever can I go； I who ha worked sin I were no heighth at
aw； in Coketown heer？ I mak’ no complaints o’ bein turned to the
wa’； o’ being outcasten and overlooken fro this time forrard； but I
hope I shall be let to work。 If there is any right for me at aw； my
friends； I think ’tis that。”
Not a word was spoken。 Not a sound was audible in the
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building； but the slight rustle of men moving a little apart； all
along the centre of the room； to open a means of passing out； to
the man with whom they had all bound themselves to renounce
companionship。 Looking at no one； and going his way with a lowly
steadiness upon him that asserted nothing and sought nothing；
Old Stephen； with all his troubles on his head； left the scene。
Then Slackbridge； who had kept his oratorical arm extended
during the going out； as if he were repressing with infinite
solicitude and by a wonderful moral power the vehement passions
of the multitude； applied himself to raising their spirits。 Had not
the Roman Brutus； oh my British countrymen； condemned his son
to death； and had not the Spartan mothers； oh my soon to be
victorious friends； driven their flying children on the points of
their enemies’ swords？ Then was it not the sacred duty of the men
of Coketown； with forefathers before them； an admiring world in
company with them； and a posterity to come after them； to hurl
out traitors from the tents they had pitched in a sacred and a
Godlike cause？ The winds of Heaven answered Yes； and bore Yes；
east； west； north； and south。 And consequently three cheers for the
United Aggregate Tribunal！
Slackbridge acted as fugleman； and gave the time。 The
multitude of doubtful faces （a little conscience…stricken）
brightened at the sound； and took it up。 Private feeling must yield
to the common cause。 Hurrah！ The roof yet vibrated with the
cheering； when the assembly dispersed。
Thus easily did Stephen Blackpool fall into the loneliest of lives；
the life of solitude among a familiar crowd。 The stranger in the
land who looks into ten thousand faces for some answering look
and never finds it； is in cheering society as compared with him
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who passes ten averted faces daily； that were once the
countenances of friends。 Such experience was to be Stephen’s
now； in every waking moment of his life； at his work； on his way to
it and from it； at his door； at his window； everywhere。 By general
consent； they even avoided that side of the street on which he
habitually walked； and left it； of all the working men； to him only。
He had been for many years； a quiet silent man； associating but
little with other men； and used to companionship with his own
thoughts。 He had never known before； the strength of the want in
his heart for the frequent recognition of a nod； a look； a word； or
the immense amount of relief that had been poured into it by
drops； through such small means。 It was even harder than he
could have believed possible； to separate in his own conscience his
abandonment by all his fellows； from a baseless sense of shame
and disgrace。
The first four days of his endurance were days so long and
heavy； that he began to be appalled by the prospect before him。
Not only did he see no Rachael all the time； but he avoided every
chance of seeing her； for； although he knew that the prohibition
did not yet formally extend to the women working in the factories；
he found that some of them with whom he was acquainted were
changed to him； and he feared to try others； and dreaded that
Rachael might be even singled out from the rest if she were seen
in his company。 So； he had been quite alone during the four days；
and had spoken to no one； when； as he was leaving his work at
night； a young man of a very light complexion accosted him in the
street。
“Your name’s Blackpool； an’t it？” said the young man。
Stephen coloured to find himself with his hat in his hand； in his
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gratitude for being spoken to； or in the suddenness of it； or both。
He made a feint of adjusting the lining； and said； “Yes。”
“You are the Hand they have sent to Coventry； I mean？” said
Bitzer； the very light young man in question。
Stephen answered “Yes；” again。
“I supposed so； from their all appearing to keep away from you。
Mr Bounderby wants to speak to you。 You know his house； don’t
you？”
Stephen said “Yes；” again。
“Then go straight up there； will you？” said Bitzer。 “You’re
expected； and have only to tell the servant it’s you。 I belong to the
Bank； so； if you go straight up without me （I was sent to fetch you）；
you’ll save me a walk。”
Stephen； whose way