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supposing that its master is at home and will be charmed to
receive me？”
“No！”
“Your cruel commands are implicitly to be obeyed； though I am
the most unfortunate fellow in the world； I believe； to have been
insensible to all other women； and to have fallen prostrate at last
under the foot of the most beautiful； and the most engaging； and
the most imperious。 My dearest Louisa； I cannot go myself； or let
you go； in this hard abuse of your power。”
Mrs Sparsit saw him detain her with his encircling arm； and
heard him then and there； within her （Mrs Sparsit’s） greedy
hearing； tell her how he loved her； and how she was the stake for
which he ardently desired to play away all that he had in life。 The
objects he had lately pursued； turned worthless beside her； such
success as was almost in his grasp； he flung away from him like
the dirt it was； compared with her。 Its pursuit； nevertheless； if it
kept him near her； or its renunciation if it took him from her； or
flight if she shared it； or secrecy if she commanded it or any fate；
or every fate； all was alike to him； so that she was true to him；—the
man who had seen how cast away she was； whom she had inspired
at their first meeting with an admiration； an interest； of which he
had thought himself incapable； whom she had received into her
confidence； who was devoted to her and adored her。 All this； and
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more； in his hurry； and in hers； in the whirl of her own gratified
malice； in the dread of being discovered； in the rapidly increasing
noise of heavy rain among the leaves； and a thunder…storm rolling
up—Mrs Sparsit received into her mind； set off with such an
unavoidable halo of confusion and indistinctness； that when at
length he climbed the fence and led his horse away； she was not
sure where they were to meet； or when； except that they had said
it was to be that night。
But one of them yet remained in the darkness before her； and
while she tracked that one she must be right。 “Oh； my dearest
love；” thought Mrs Sparsit； “you little think how well attended you
are！”
Mrs Sparsit saw her out of the wood； and saw her enter the
house。 What to do next？ It rained now； in a sheet of water。 Mrs
Sparsit’s white stockings were of many colours； green
predominating； prickly things were in her shoes； caterpillars slung
themselves in hammocks of their own making； from various parts
of her dress； rills ran from her bonnet； and her Roman nose。 In
such condition； Mrs Sparsit stood hidden in the density of the
shrubbery； considering what next？
Lo； Louisa coming out of the house！ Hastily cloaked and
muffled； and stealing away。 She elopes！ She falls from the
lowermost stair； and is swallowed up in the gulf！
Indifferent to the rain； and moving with a quick determined
step； she struck into a side…path parallel with the ride。 Mrs Sparsit
followed in the shadow of the trees； at but a short distance； for it
was not easy to keep a figure in view going quickly through the
umbrageous darkness。
When she stopped to close the side…gate without noise； Mrs
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Hard Times 271
Sparsit stopped。 When she went on； Mrs Sparsit went on。 She
went by the way Mrs Sparsit had come； emerged from the green
lane； crossed the stony road； and ascended the wooden steps to
the railroad。 A train for Coketown would come through presently；
Mrs Sparsit knew； so she understood Coketown to be her first
place of destination。
In Mrs Sparsit’s limp and streaming state； no extensive
precautions were necessary to change her usual appearance； but；
she stopped under the lee of the station wall； tumbled her shawl
into a new shape； and put it on over her bonnet。 So disguised； she
had no fear of being recognised when she followed up the railroad
steps； and paid her money in the small office。 Louisa sat waiting in
a corner。 Mrs Sparsit sat waiting in another corner。 Both listened
to the thunder； which was loud； and to the rain； as it washed off
the roof； and pattered on the parapets of the arches。 Two or three
lamps were rained out and blown out； so； both saw the lightning to
advantage as it quivered and zig…zagged on the iron tracks。
The seizure of the station with a fit of trembling； gradually
deepening to a complaint of the heart； announced the train。 Fire
and steam； and smoke； and red light； a hiss； a crash； a bell； and a
shriek； Louisa put into one carriage； Mrs Sparsit put into another：
the little station a desert speck in the thunder…storm。
Though her teeth chattered in her head from wet and cold； Mrs
Sparsit exulted hugely。 The figure had plunged down the
precipice； and she felt herself； as it were； attending on the body。
Could she； who had been so active in the getting up of the funeral
triumph； do less than exult？ “She will be at Coketown long before
him；” thought Mrs Sparsit； “though his horse is never so good。
Where will she wait for him？ And where will they go together？
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Hard Times 272
Patience。 We shall see。”
The tremendous rain occasioned infinite confusion； when the
train stopped at its destination。 Gutters and pipes had burst；
drains had overflowed； and streets were under water。 In the first
instant of alighting； Mrs Sparsit turned her distracted eyes
towards the waiting coaches； which were in great request。 “She
will get into one；” she considered； “and will be away before I can
follow in another。 At all risks of being run over； I must see the
number； and hear the order given to the coachman。”
But； Mrs Sparsit was wrong in her calculation。 Louisa got into
no coach； and was already gone。 The black eyes kept upon the
railroad…carriage in which she had travelled； settled upon it a
moment too late。 The door not being opened after several minutes；
Mrs Sparsit passed it and repassed it； saw nothing； looked in； and
found it empty。 Wet through and through： with her feet squelching
and squashing in her shoes whenever she moved； with a rash of
rain upon her classical visage； with a bonnet like an overripe fig；
with all her clothes spoiled； with damp impressions of every
button； string； and hook…and…eye she wore； printed off upon her
highly connected back； with a stagnant verdure on her general
exterior； such as accumulates on an old park fence in a mouldy
lane； Mrs Sparsit had no resource but to burst into tears of
bitterness and say； “I have lost her！”
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Chapter 12
Down
he national dustmen； after entertaining one another with a
great many noisy little fights among themselves； had
T
dispersed for the present； and Mr Gradgrind was at home
for the vacation。
He sat writing in the room with the deadly statistical clock；
proving something no doubt—probably； in the main； that the Good
Samaritan was a Bad Economist。 The noise of the rain did not
disturb him much； but it attracted his attention sufficiently to
make him raise his head sometimes； as if he were rather
remonstrating w