“Have you left his work, Stephen?” asked Rachael, anxiously and quickly.

“Why, Rachael,” he replied, “whether I ha lef’n his work, or whether his work ha lef’n me, cooms t’ th’ same. His work and me are parted. ’Tis as weel so⁠—better, I were thinkin when yo coom up wi’ me. It would ha brought’n trouble upon trouble if I had stayed theer. Haply ’tis a kindness to monny that I go; haply ’tis a kindness to myseln; anyways it mun be done. I mun turn my face fro Coketown fur th’ time, and seek a fort’n, dear, by beginnin fresh.”

“Where will you go, Stephen?”

“I donno t’night,” said he, lifting off his hat, and smoothing his thin hair with the flat of his hand. “But I’m not goin t’night, Rachael, nor yet t’morrow. ’Tan’t easy overmuch t’ know wheer t’ turn, but a good heart will coom to me.”