w, must
I repair to Crimsworth's mill? All that night did I ask myself these
questions, and all that night fiercely demanded of my soul an answer. I
got no sleep; my head burned, my feet froze; at last the factory bells
rang, and I sprang from my bed with other slaves.

CHAPTER V.

THERE is a climax to everything, to every state of feeling as well as to
every position in life. I turned this truism over in my mind as, in the
frosty dawn of a January morning, I hurried down the steep and now
icy street which descended from Mrs. King's to the Close. The factory
workpeople had preceded me by nearly an hour, and the mill was all
lighted up and in full operation when I reached it. I repaired to my
post in the counting-house as usual; the fire there, but just lit, as
yet only smoked; Steighton had not yet arrived. I shut the door and sat
down at the desk; my hands, recently washed in half-frozen water, were
still numb; I could not write till they had regained vitality, so I
went on thinking, and still the theme of my thoughts was the "climax."
Self-dissatisfaction troubled exceedingly the current of my meditations.

"Come, William Crimsworth," said my conscience, or whatever it is that
within ourselves takes ourselves to task--"come, get a clear notion of
what you would have, or what you would not have. You talk of a climax;
pray has your endurance reached its climax? It is not four months old.
What a fine resolute fellow you imagined yourself to be when you told
Tynedale you would tread in your father's steps, and a pretty treading
you are likely to make of it! How well you like X----! Just at this
moment how redolent of pleasant associations are its streets, its shops,
its warehouses, its factories! How the prospect of this day cheers
you! Letter-copying till noon, solitary dinner at your lodgings,
letter-copying till evening, solitude; for you neither find pleasure
in Brown's, nor Smith's, nor Nicholl's, nor Eccle's company; and as
to Hunsden, you fancied there was pleasure to be derived from his
society--he! he! how did you like the taste you had of him last night?
was it sweet? Yet he is a talented, an original-minded man, and even
he does not like you; your self-respect defies you to like him; he has
always seen you to disadvantage; he always will see you to disadvantage;
your positions are unequal, and were they on the same level your
minds could not; assimilate; never hope, then, to gather the honey of
friends