such an immaculate chap. It’s considered a little suspicious in Courts of Justice, I believe, when an Innocent happens to have many names.”

“What,” said Rachael, with the tears in her eyes again, “what, young lady, in the name of Mercy, was left the poor lad to do! The masters against him on one hand, the men against him on the other, he only wantin’ to work hard in peace, and do what he felt right. Can a man have no soul of his own, no mind of his own? Must he go wrong all through wi’ this side, or must he go wrong all through wi’ that, or else be hunted like a hare?”

“Indeed, indeed, I pity him from my heart,” returned Louisa, “and I hope that he will clear himself.”

“You need have no fear of that, young lady. He is sure!”

“All the surer, I suppose,” said Mr. Bounderby, “for your refusing to tell me where he is? Eh?”

“He shall not, through any act of mine, come back wi’ the unmerited reproach of being brought back. He shall come back of his own accord to clear himself, and put all those that have injured his good character, and he not here for its defence, to shame. I have told him what has been done against him,” said Rachael, throwing off all distrust as a rock throws off the sea, “and he will be here, at furthest, in two days.”

“Notwithstanding which,” added Mr. Bounderby, “if he can be laid hold of any sooner, he shall have an earlier opportunity of clearing himself. As to you, I have nothing against you; what you came and told me turns out to be true, and I have given you the means of proving it to be true, and there’s an end of it. I wish you good night all! I must be off to look a little further into this.”

Tom came out of his corner when Mr. Bounderby moved, moved with him, kept close to him, and went away with him. The only parting salutation of which he delivered himself was a sulky “Good night, Father!” With a brief speech, and a scowl at his sister, he left the house.

Since his sheet-anchor had come home, Mr. Gradgrind had been sparing of speech. He still sat silent, when Louisa mildly said:

“Rachael, you will not distrust me one day, when you know me better.”

“It goes against me,” Rachael answered, in a gentler manner, “to mistrust anyone, but when I am so mistrusted—when we all are—I cannot keep such things quite out of my mind. I ask your pardon for having done you an injury. I don’t think what I said now. Yet I might come to think it again, wi’ the poor lad so wronged.”

“Did you tell him in your letter,” inquired Sissy, “that suspicion seemed to have fallen upon him because he had been seen about the Bank at night? He would then know what he would have to explain on coming back, and would be ready.”

“Yes, dear,” she returned, “but I can’t guess what can have ever taken him there. He never used to go there. It was never in his way. His way was the same as mine, and not near it.”

Sissy had already been at her side asking her where she lived, and whether she might come tomorrow night to inquire if there were news of him.

“I doubt,” said Rachael, “if he can be here till next day.”

“Then I will come next night, too,” said Sissy.

When Rachael, assenting to this, was gone, Mr. Gradgrind lifted up his head and said to his daughter:

“Louisa, my dear, I have never, that I know of, seen this man. Do you believe him to be implicated?”

“I think I have believed it, Father, though with great difficulty. I do not believe it now.”

“That is to say, you once persuaded yourself to believe it, from knowing him to be suspected. His appearance and manner—are they so honest?”

“Very honest.”

“And her confidence not to be shaken! I ask myself,” said Mr. Gradgrind, musing, “does the real culprit know of these accusations? Where is he? Who is he?”

His hair had latterly began to change its colour. As he leaned upon his hand again, looking grey and old, Louisa, with a face of fear and pity, hurriedly went over to him, and sat close at his side. Her eyes by accident met Sissy’s at the moment. Sissy flushed and started, and Louisa put her finger on her lip.

Next night, when Sissy returned