piece. "What are you talking about?
You took her, for better for worse."

"I mun' be ridden o' her. I connot bear't
nommore. I ha' lived under't so long, for
that I ha' had'n the pity and the 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 under-tone,
and much 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 fra' their misfortnet marriages, and
marry ower agen. When they dunnot agree,
for that their tempers is ill-sorted, they
have rooms of one kind an' another in their
houses, and they can live asunders. We
fok ha' only one room, and we can't. When
that won't do, they ha' gowd and other cash,
and they can say, 'This for yo, and that for
me,' and they can go their separate ways.
We can't. Spite o' all that, they can be set
free for smaller wrongs than is suffered by
hundreds an' hundreds of us— by women fur
more than men— they can be set free for
smaller wrongs than mine. So, I mun be
ridden o' this wife o' mine, 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
chilt belonging to me?"

"Of course there is."

"Now, a' God's name," said Stephen
Blackpool, "show me the law to help me!"

"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 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 hear wi'. I read in th'
papers, every 'Sizes, every Sessions—and
you read too—I know it!—with dismay—
how th' 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 (agen I say, women
fur of 'ener than men) 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' know 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
pound," 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."

(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 who, as I have not already told you, has
had her own marriage misfortunes to the
tune of tens of thousands of pounds—tens of
Thou-sands of Pounds!" (he repeated it with
great relish). "Now, you have always been
a steady Hand hitherto; but my opinion is,
and so I tell you plainly, that you are turning
into the wrong road. You have been listening
to some mischievous stranger or other—
they're always about—and the best thing you
can do is, to come out of that. Now, you
understand;" here his countenance expressed
marvellous acuteness; "I can see as far into a
grindstone as another man; farther than a