hard times(艰难时世)-第86章
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pedigree； he cut a most ridiculous figure。 With the people filing off
at the door he held； who he knew would carry what had passed to
the whole town； to be given to the four winds； he could not have
looked a Bully more shorn and forlorn； if he had had his ears
cropped。 Even that unlucky female； Mrs Sparsit； fallen from her
pinnacle of exultation into the Slough of Despond； was not in so
bad a plight as that remarkable man and self…made Humbug；
Josiah Bounderby of Coketown。
Rachael and Sissy； leaving Mrs Pegler to occupy a bed at her
son’s for that night； walked together to the gate of Stone Lodge
and there parted。 Mr Gradgrind joined them before they had gone
very far； and spoke with much interest of Stephen Blackpool； for
whom he thought this signal failure of the suspicions against Mrs
Pegler was likely to work well。
As to the whelp； throughout this scene as on all other late
occasions； he had stuck close to Bounderby。 He seemed to feel that
as long as Bounderby could make no discovery without his
knowledge； he was so far safe。 He never visited his sister； and had
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Hard Times 333
only seen her once since she went home： that is to say； on the
night when he still stuck close to Bounderby； as already related。
There was one dim unformed fear lingering about his sister’s
mind； to which she never gave utterance； which surrounded the
graceless and ungrateful boy with a dreadful mystery。 The same
dark possibility had presented itself in the same shapeless guise；
this very day； to Sissy； when Rachael spoke of some one who
would be confounded by Stephen’s return； having put him out of
the way。 Louisa had never spoken of harbouring any suspicion of
her brother in connection with the robbery； she and Sissy had
held no confidence on the subject； save in that one interchange of
looks when the unconscious father rested his grey head on his
hand； but it was understood between them； and they both knew it。
This other fear was so awful； that it hovered about each of them
like a ghostly shadow； neither daring to think of its being near
herself； far less of its being near the other。
And still the forced spirit which the whelp had plucked up；
throve with him。 If Stephen Blackpool was not the thief； let him
show himself。 Why didn’t he？
Another night。 Another day and night。 No Stephen Blackpool。
Where was the man； and why did he not come back？
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Chapter 6
The Starlight
he Sunday was a bright Sunday in autumn； clear and cool；
when early in the morning Sissy and Rachael met； to walk
T
in the country。
As Coketown cast ashes not only on its own head but on the
neighbourhood’s too—after the manner of those pious persons
who do penance for their own sins by putting other people into
sackcloth—it was customary for those who now and then thirsted
for a draught of pure air； which is not absolutely the most wicked
among the vanities of life； to get a few miles away by the railroad；
and then begin their walk； or their lounge in the fields。 Sissy and
Rachael helped themselves out of the smoke by the usual means；
and were put down at a station about midway between the town
and Mr Bounderby’s retreat。
Though the green landscape was blotted here and there with
heaps of coal； it was green elsewhere； and there were trees to see；
and there were larks singing （though it was Sunday）； and there
were pleasant scents in the air； and all was overarched by a bright
blue sky。 In the distance one way； Coketown showed as a black
mist； in another distance； hills began to rise； in a third； there was a
faint change in the light of the horizon； where it shone upon the
far…off sea。 Under their feet； the grass was fresh； beautiful shadows
of branches flickered upon it； and speckled it； hedgerows were
luxuriant； everything was at peace。 Engines at pits’ mouths； and
lean old horses that had worn the circle of their daily labour into
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the ground； were alike quiet； wheels had ceased for a short space
to turn； and the great wheel of earth seemed to revolve without the
shocks and noises of another time。
They walked on across the fields and down the shady lanes；
sometimes getting over a fragment of a fence so rotten that it
dropped at a touch of the foot； sometimes passing near a wreck of
bricks and beams overgrown with grass； marking the site of
deserted works。 They followed paths and tracks； however slight。
Mounds where the grass was rank and high； and where brambles；
dock…weed； and such…like vegetation； were confusedly heaped
together； they always avoided； for dismal stories were told in that
country of the old pits hidden beneath such indications。
The sun was high when they sat down to rest。 They had seen no
one； near or distant； for a long time； and the solitude remained
unbroken。 “It is so still here； Rachael； and the way is so
untrodden； that I think we must be the first who have been here
all the summer。”
As Sissy said it her eyes were attracted by another of those
rotten fragments of fence upon the ground。 She got up to look at it。
“And yet I don’t know。 This has not been broken very long。 The
wood is quite fresh where it gave way。 Here are footsteps too。—O
Rachael！”
She ran back and caught her round the neck。 Rachael had
already started up。
“What is the matter？”
“I don’t know。 There is a hat lying in the grass。”
They went forward together。 Rachael took it up； shaking from
head to foot。 She broke into a passion of tears and lamentations：
Stephen Blackpool was written in his own hand on the inside。
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“O the poor lad； the poor lad！ He had been made away with。 He
is lying murdered here！”
“Is there—has the hat any blood upon it？” Sissy faltered。
They were afraid to look； but they did examine it； and found no
mark of violence； inside or out。 It had been lying there for some
days； for rain and dew had stained it； and the mark of its shape
was on the grass where it had fallen。 They looked fearfully about
them； without moving； but could see nothing more。 “Rachael；”
Sissy whispered； “I will go on a little by myself。”
She had unclasped her hand； and was in
