‘I ha’ fell into th’ pit, my dear, as have cost wi’in the knowledge o’ old fok now livin, hundreds and hundreds o’ men’s lives — fathers, sons, brothers, dear to thousands an thousands, an keeping ’em fro’ want and hunger. I ha’ fell into a pit that ha’ been wi’ th’ Fire-damp crueller than battle. I ha’ read on ’t in the public petition, as onny one may read, fro’ the men that works in pits, in which they ha’ pray’n and pray’n the lawmakers for Christ’s sake not to let their work be murder to ’em, but to spare ’em for th’ wives and children that they loves as well as gentlefok loves theirs. When it were in work, it killed wi’out need; when ’tis let alone, it kills wi’out need. See how we die an no need, one way an another — in a muddle — every day!’

He faintly said it, without any anger against any one. Merely as the truth.

‘Thy little sister, Rachael, thou hast not forgot her. Thou’rt not like to forget her now, and me so nigh her. Thou know’st — poor, patient, suff’rin, dear — how thou didst work for her, seet’n all day long in her little chair at thy winder, and how she died, young and misshapen, awlung o’ sickly air as had’n no need to be, an awlung o’ working people’s miserable homes. A muddle! Aw a muddle!’

Louisa approached him; but he could not see her, lying with his face turned up to the night sky.

‘If aw th’ things that tooches us, my dear, was not so muddled, I should’n ha’ had’n need to coom heer. If we was not in a muddle among ourseln, I should’n ha’ been, by my own fellow weavers and workin’ brothers, so mistook. If Mr Bounderby had ever know’d me right — if he’d ever know’d me at aw — he would’n ha’ took’n offence wi’ me. He would’n ha’ suspect’n me. But look up yonder, Rachael! Look aboove!’

Following his eyes, she saw that he was gazing at a star.

‘It ha’ shined upon me,’ he said reverently, ‘in my pain and trouble down below. It ha’ shined into my mind. I ha’ look’n at ’t and thowt o’ thee, Rachael, till the muddle in my mind have cleared awa, above a bit, I hope. If soom ha’ been wantin’ in unnerstan’in me better, I, too, ha’ been wantin’ in unnerstan’in them better. When I got thy letter, I easily believen that what the yoong ledy sen and done to me, and what her brother sen and done to me, was one, and that there were a wicked plot betwixt ’em. When I fell, I were in anger wi’ her, an hurryin’ on t’ be as onjust t’ her as oothers was t’ me. But in our judgments, like as in our doins, we mun bear and forbear. In my pain an trouble, lookin up yonder, — wi’ it shinin’ on me — I ha’ seen more clear, and ha’ made it my dyin prayer that aw th’ world may on’y coom toogether more, an get a better unnerstan’in o’ one another, than when I were in’t my own weak seln.’

Louisa hearing what he said, bent over him on the opposite side to Rachael, so that he could see her.

‘You ha’ heard?’ he said, after a few moment’s silence. ‘I ha’ not forgot you, ledy.’

‘Yes, Stephen, I have heard you. And your prayer is mine.’

‘You ha’ a father. Will yo’ tak’ a message to him?’

‘He is here,’ said Louisa, with dread. ‘Shall I bring him to you?’

‘If yo please.’

Louisa returned with her father. Standing hand in hand, they both looked down upon the solemn countenance.

‘Sir, yo will clear me an mak my name good wi’ aw men. This I leave to yo.’

Mr Gradgrind was troubled and asked how?