The Old Woman — Hard Times

Stephen leaves Bounderby's house still carrying the morning's no way out, and an old country woman touches his arm. She is plainly dressed, muddy from travel, and fluttering in the street noise. She asks whether he has seen the gentleman inside and how he looked. Was he portly, bold, outspoken, hearty, healthy as the fresh wind? Stephen says yes, eating and drinking like a Hummobee. She thanks him with infinite content.

She has come forty miles by train, walked nine to the station, and may walk nine back tonight. Once a year she spends her savings to tramp Coketown streets and see the gentlemen. She missed Bounderby this time but will make Stephen's report do. When she learns where Stephen works, she asks if he is happy. He answers evasively. Troubles at home, she guesses; but surely they do not follow you to the factory under such a gentleman? Stephen says all is correct there.

At the mill gate she delights in the bell, asks how long he has worked, and insists on kissing the hand that has served the fine factory a dozen years. Later he sees her still gazing up at the building in smoke and rain as if the thrum were proud music. The day ends. Stephen waits for Rachael, but she eludes him on the one night he most needs her patient face. Alone in the chill rain he thinks of the home he might have shared with her, the honor and peace he lost, and his life bound to a dead marriage and a demon in human shape. He sets Rachael's gentle image beside last night's shame and walks home for shelter.