a whisper, and her stately frame so racked by continual sneezes that it seemed in danger of dismemberment, gave chase to her patron until she found him in the metropolis, and there, majestically sweeping in upon him at his hotel in St. James’s Street, exploded the combustibles with which she was charged, and blew up. Having executed her mission with infinite relish, this high-minded woman then fainted away on Mr. Bounderby’s coat-collar.

Mr. Bounderby’s first procedure was to shake Mrs. Sparsit off, and leave her to progress as she might through various stages of suffering on the floor. He next had recourse to the administration of potent restoratives, such as screwing the patient’s thumbs, smiting her hands, abundantly watering her face, and inserting salt in her mouth. When these attentions had recovered her (which they speedily did), he hustled her into a fast train without offering any other refreshment, and carried her back to Coketown more dead than alive.

Regarded as a classical ruin, Mrs. Sparsit was an interesting spectacle on her arrival at her journey’s end, but considered in any other light the amount of damage she had by that time sustained was excessive, and impaired her claims to admiration. Utterly heedless of the wear and tear of her clothes and constitution, and adamant to her pathetic sneezes, Mr. Bounderby immediately crammed her into a coach, and bore her off to Stone Lodge.

“Now, Tom Gradgrind,” said Bounderby, bursting into his father-in-law’s room late at night, “here’s a lady here—Mrs. Sparsit—you know Mrs. Sparsit—who has something to say to you that will strike you dumb.”

“You have missed my letter!” exclaimed Mr. Gradgrind, surprised by the apparition.

“Missed your letter, sir!” bawled Bounderby. “The present time is no time for letters. No man shall talk to Josiah Bounderby of Coketown about letters, with his mind in the state it’s in now.”

“Bounderby,” said Mr. Gradgrind, in a tone of temperate remonstrance, “I speak of a very special letter I have written to you, in reference to Louisa.”

“Tom Gradgrind,” replied Bounderby, knocking the flat of his hand several times with great vehemence on the table, “I speak of a very special messenger that has come to me, in reference to Louisa. Mrs. Sparsit, ma’am, stand forward!”

That unfortunate lady hereupon essaying to offer testimony, without any voice and with painful gestures expressive of an inflamed throat, became so aggravating and underwent so many facial contortions, that Mr. Bounderby, unable to bear it, seized her by the arm and shook her.

“If you can’t get it out, ma’am,” said Bounderby, “leave me to get it out. This is not a time for a lady, however highly connected, to be totally inaudible, and seemingly swallowing marbles. Tom Gradgrind, Mrs. Sparsit latterly found herself, by accident, in a situation to overhear a conversation out of doors between your daughter and your precious gentleman-friend, Mr. James Harthouse.”

“Indeed!” said Mr. Gradgrind.

“Ah! Indeed!” cried Bounderby. “And in that conversation——”

“It is not necessary to repeat its tenor, Bounderby. I know what passed.”

“You do? Perhaps,” said Bounderby, staring with all his might at his so quiet and assuasive father-in-law, “you know where your daughter is at the present time?”

“Undoubtedly. She is here.”

“Here?”

“My dear Bounderby, let me beg you to restrain these loud outbreaks, on all accounts. Louisa is here. The moment she could detach herself from that interview with the person of whom you speak, and whom I deeply regret to have been the means of introducing to you, Louisa hurried here, for protection. I myself had not been at home many hours when I received her—here, in this room. She hurried by the train to town, she ran from town to this house through a raging storm, and presented herself before me in a state of distraction. Of course, she has remained here ever since. Let me entreat you, for your own sake and for hers, to be more quiet.”

Mr. Bounderby silently gazed about him for some moments, in every direction except Mrs. Sparsit’s direction; and then, abruptly turning upon the niece of Lady Scadgers, said to that wretched woman:

“Now, ma’am! We shall be happy to hear any little apology you may think proper to offer for going about the country at express pace, with no other luggage than a cock-and-a-bull, ma’am!”

“Sir,” whispered Mrs. Sparsit, “my nerves are at present too much shaken, and my health is at present too much impaired, in your service, to admit of my doing more than taking refuge in tears.”

(Which she did.)

“Well, ma’am,” said Bounderby, “without making any observation