ATaleofTwoCitiesVol.I

ByCharlesDickens

ATaleofTwoCities

BooktheFirstRecalledtoLife

I.

ThePeriod

Itwasthebestoftimes,

itwastheworstoftimes,

itwastheageofwisdom,

itwastheageoffoolishness,

itwastheepochofbelief,

itwastheepochofincredulity,

itwastheseasonofLight,

itwastheseasonofDarkness,

itwasthespringofhope,

itwasthewinterofdespair,

we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, wewere all goingdirect toHeaven,wewereallgoingdirect theotherwayinshort, theperiodwassofarlikethepresentperiod,thatsomeofitsnoisiestauthoritiesinsistedon its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree ofcomparisononly.

Therewereakingwithalargejawandaqueenwithaplainface,onthethroneofEngland;therewereakingwithalargejawandaqueenwithafairface,onthethroneofFrance.InbothcountriesitwasclearerthancrystaltothelordsoftheStatepreservesofloavesandfishes,thatthingsingeneralweresettledforever.

It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventyfive.Spiritual revelationswereconcededtoEnglandat that favouredperiod,asatthis. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her fiveandtwentieth blessedbirthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had heralded thesublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were made for theswallowingupofLondonandWestminster.EventheCocklaneghosthadbeenlaidonlyarounddozenofyears,afterrappingoutitsmessages,asthespiritsof thisveryyear lastpast (supernaturallydeficient inoriginality) rappedouttheirs.Meremessages in the earthly order of events had lately come to theEnglishCrown andPeople, from a congress ofBritish subjects inAmerica:which,strangetorelate,haveprovedmoreimportanttothehumanracethananycommunicationsyetreceivedthroughanyofthechickensoftheCocklanebrood.

France,lessfavouredonthewholeastomattersspiritualthanhersisteroftheshieldandtrident,rolledwithexceedingsmoothnessdownhill,makingpapermoney and spending it. Under the guidance of her Christian pastors, sheentertainedherself,besides,withsuchhumaneachievementsassentencingayouthtohavehishandscutoff,histonguetornoutwithpincers,andhisbodyburnedalive,becausehehadnotkneeleddownintheraintodohonourtoadirtyprocessionofmonkswhichpassedwithinhisview,atadistanceofsomefiftyorsixtyyards.Itislikelyenoughthat,rootedinthewoodsofFranceandNorway,thereweregrowingtrees,whenthatsuffererwasputtodeath,already

marked by theWoodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into boards, tomake a certainmovable frameworkwith a sack and a knife in it, terrible inhistory. It is likelyenough that in the roughouthousesof some tillersof theheavylandsadjacenttoParis,therewereshelteredfromtheweatherthatveryday, rude carts, bespattered with rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, androostedinbypoultry,whichtheFarmer,Death,hadalreadysetaparttobehistumbrilsof theRevolution.But thatWoodmanand thatFarmer, though theyworkunceasingly,work silently, and no one heard themas theywent aboutwithmuffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion thattheywereawake,wastobeatheisticalandtraitorous.

InEngland, therewas scarcely an amount of order and protection to justifymuch national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and highwayrobberies, tookplace in the capital itself everynight; familieswerepubliclycautioned not to go out of town without removing their furniture toupholsterers'warehousesforsecurity;thehighwaymaninthedarkwasaCitytradesman in the light, and, being recognised and challenged by hisfellowtradesmanwhomhestoppedinhischaracterof"theCaptain,"gallantlyshot him through the head and rode away; the mail was waylaid by sevenrobbers,andtheguardshotthreedead,andthengotshotdeadhimselfbytheotherfour,"inconsequenceofthefailureofhisammunition:"afterwhichthemail was robbed in peace; that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor ofLondon, was made to stand and deliver on Turnham Green, by onehighwayman,whodespoiledtheillustriouscreatureinsightofallhisretinue;prisonersinLondongaolsfoughtbattleswiththeirturnkeys,andthemajestyofthelawfiredblunderbussesinamongthem,loadedwithroundsofshotandball; thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords atCourt drawingrooms; musketeers went into St. Giles's, to search forcontrabandgoods, and themob firedon themusketeers, and themusketeersfiredon themob,andnobodythoughtanyof theseoccurrencesmuchoutofthe common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy and everworsethanuseless,wasinconstantrequisition;now,stringinguplongrowsofmiscellaneouscriminals;now,hangingahousebreakeronSaturdaywhohadbeen takenonTuesday;now,burningpeople in thehandatNewgateby thedozen, and now burning pamphlets at the door ofWestminster Hall; today,takingthelifeofanatrociousmurderer,andtomorrowofawretchedpilfererwhohadrobbedafarmer'sboyofsixpence.

Allthesethings,andathousandlikethem,cametopassinandcloseuponthedear old year one thousand seven hundred and seventyfive. Environed bythem,whiletheWoodmanandtheFarmerworkedunheeded,thosetwoofthelarge jaws,and thoseother twoof theplainand the fair faces, trodwithstirenough,andcarriedtheirdivinerightswithahighhand.Thusdidtheyearone

thousand seven hundred and seventyfive conduct their Greatnesses, andmyriadsofsmallcreaturesthecreaturesofthischronicleamongtherestalongtheroadsthatlaybeforethem.

II.

TheMail

ItwastheDoverroadthatlay,onaFridaynightlateinNovember,beforethefirstofthepersonswithwhomthishistoryhasbusiness.TheDoverroadlay,astohim,beyondtheDovermail,asitlumberedupShooter'sHill.Hewalkeduphillinthemirebythesideofthemail,astherestofthepassengersdid;notbecause they had the least relish for walking exercise, under thecircumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, and the mud, and themail,wereallsoheavy,thatthehorseshadthreetimesalreadycometoastop,besidesoncedrawing thecoachacross the road,with themutinous intentoftaking it back to Blackheath. Reins and whip and coachman and guard,however,incombination,hadreadthatarticleofwarwhichforbadeapurposeotherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute animals areenduedwithReason;andtheteamhadcapitulatedandreturnedtotheirduty.

Withdroopingheadsandtremuloustails, theymashedtheirwaythroughthethickmud,flounderingandstumblingbetweenwhiles,asiftheywerefallingtopiecesat the larger joints.Asoftenas thedriver rested themandbroughtthem to a stand, with a wary "Woho! sohothen!" the near leader violentlyshook his head and everything upon itlike an unusually emphatic horse,denyingthatthecoachcouldbegotupthehill.Whenevertheleadermadethisrattle,thepassengerstarted,asanervouspassengermight,andwasdisturbedinmind.

There was a steaming mist in all the hollows, and it had roamed in itsforlornness up the hill, like an evil spirit, seeking rest and finding none. Aclammyandintenselycoldmist,itmadeitsslowwaythroughtheairinripplesthat visibly followed and overspread one another, as the waves of anunwholesomeseamightdo.Itwasdenseenoughtoshutouteverythingfromthe light of the coachlamps but these its ownworkings, and a few yards ofroad;andthereekofthelabouringhorsessteamedintoit,asiftheyhadmadeitall.

Twootherpassengers,besidestheone,wereploddingupthehillbythesideof

themail. All threewerewrapped to the cheekbones and over the ears, andworejackboots.Notoneof thethreecouldhavesaid,fromanythinghesaw,whateitherof theother twowas like; andeachwashiddenunderalmost asmanywrappersfromtheeyesofthemind,asfromtheeyesofthebody,ofhistwocompanions.Inthosedays,travellerswereveryshyofbeingconfidentialonashortnotice,foranybodyontheroadmightbearobberorinleaguewithrobbers.Astothelatter,wheneverypostinghouseandalehousecouldproducesomebody in "the Captain's" pay, ranging from the landlord to the loweststablenondescript,itwasthelikeliestthinguponthecards.SotheguardoftheDovermail thought tohimself, thatFridaynight inNovember,one thousandsevenhundredandseventyfive,lumberingupShooter'sHill,ashestoodonhisownparticularperchbehindthemail,beatinghisfeet,andkeepinganeyeandahandonthearmchestbeforehim,wherealoadedblunderbusslayatthetopofsixoreightloadedhorsepistols,depositedonasubstratumofcutlass.

TheDovermailwas in itsusualgenialposition that theguardsuspected thepassengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they allsuspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but thehorses;astowhichcattlehecouldwithaclearconsciencehavetakenhisoathonthetwoTestamentsthattheywerenotfitforthejourney.

"Woho!" said thecoachman. "So, then!Onemorepull andyou're at the topandbedamnedtoyou,forIhavehadtroubleenoughtogetyoutoit!Joe!"

"Halloa!"theguardreplied.

"Whato'clockdoyoumakeit,Joe?"

"Tenminutes,good,pasteleven."

"Myblood!"ejaculated thevexedcoachman,"andnotatopofShooter'syet!Tst!Yah!Getonwithyou!"

Theemphatichorse,cutshortbythewhipinamostdecidednegative,madeadecidedscrambleforit,andthethreeotherhorsesfollowedsuit.Oncemore,theDovermail struggledon,with the jackboots of its passengers squashingalong by its side.They had stoppedwhen the coach stopped, and they keptclose company with it. If any one of the three had had the hardihood topropose to another to walk on a little ahead into themist and darkness, hewould have put himself in a fair way of getting shot instantly as ahighwayman.

Thelastburstcarriedthemailtothesummitofthehill.Thehorsesstoppedtobreatheagain,andtheguardgotdowntoskidthewheelforthedescent,andopenthecoachdoortoletthepassengersin.

"Tst!Joe!"criedthecoachmaninawarningvoice,lookingdownfromhisbox.

"Whatdoyousay,Tom?"

Theybothlistened.

"Isayahorseatacantercomingup,Joe."

"I sayahorse at agallop,Tom," returned theguard, leavinghisholdof thedoor,andmountingnimblytohisplace."Gentlemen!Intheking'sname,allofyou!"

With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on theoffensive.

The passenger booked by this history,was on the coachstep, getting in; thetwootherpassengerswereclosebehindhim,andabouttofollow.Heremainedonthestep,halfinthecoachandhalfoutof;theyremainedintheroadbelowhim.Theyalllookedfromthecoachmantotheguard,andfromtheguardtothecoachman,andlistened.Thecoachmanlookedbackandtheguardlookedback, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears and looked back,withoutcontradicting.

Thestillnessconsequentonthecessationoftherumblingandlabouringofthecoach, added to the stillness of the night, made it very quiet indeed. Thepantingofthehorsescommunicatedatremulousmotiontothecoach,asifitwere in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers beat loud enoughperhapstobeheard;butatanyrate,thequietpausewasaudiblyexpressiveofpeopleoutofbreath,andholdingthebreath,andhavingthepulsesquickenedbyexpectation.

Thesoundofahorseatagallopcamefastandfuriouslyupthehill.

"Soho!"theguardsangout,asloudashecouldroar."Yothere!Stand!Ishallfire!"

Thepacewassuddenlychecked,and,withmuchsplashingandfloundering,aman'svoicecalledfromthemist,"IsthattheDovermail?"

"Neveryoumindwhatitis!"theguardretorted."Whatareyou?"

"IsthattheDovermail?"

"Whydoyouwanttoknow?"

"Iwantapassenger,ifitis."

"Whatpassenger?"

"Mr.JarvisLorry."

Ourbookedpassengershowedinamomentthatitwashisname.Theguard,thecoachman,andthetwootherpassengerseyedhimdistrustfully.

"Keepwhereyouare,"theguardcalledtothevoiceinthemist,"because,ifIshouldmakeamistake,itcouldneverbesetrightinyourlifetime.GentlemanofthenameofLorryanswerstraight."

"Whatisthematter?"askedthepassenger,then,withmildlyquaveringspeech."Whowantsme?IsitJerry?"

("Idon't likeJerry'svoice, if it isJerry,"growledtheguardtohimself."He'shoarserthansuitsme,isJerry.")

"Yes,Mr.Lorry."

"Whatisthematter?"

"Adespatchsentafteryoufromoveryonder.T.andCo."

"I know this messenger, guard," said Mr. Lorry, getting down into theroadassisted from behind more swiftly than politely by the other twopassengers, who immediately scrambled into the coach, shut the door, andpulledupthewindow."Hemaycomeclose;there'snothingwrong."

"Ihopethereain't,butIcan'tmakeso'Nationsureofthat,"saidtheguard,ingruffsoliloquy."Halloyou!"

"Well!Andhalloyou!"saidJerry,morehoarselythanbefore.

"Come on at a footpace! d'ye mind me? And if you've got holsters to thatsaddleo'yourn,don't letmeseeyourhandgonigh 'em.ForI'madevilataquickmistake,andwhenImakeone it takes theformofLead.Sonowlet'slookatyou."

The figuresof ahorseand rider cameslowly through theeddyingmist, andcame to the side of themail,where the passenger stood.The rider stooped,and, casting up his eyes at the guard, handed the passenger a small foldedpaper. The rider's horsewas blown, and both horse and riderwere coveredwithmud,fromthehoofsofthehorsetothehatoftheman.

"Guard!"saidthepassenger,inatoneofquietbusinessconfidence.

Thewatchfulguard,withhisrighthandatthestockofhisraisedblunderbuss,

hisleftatthebarrel,andhiseyeonthehorseman,answeredcurtly,"Sir."

"There is nothing to apprehend. I belong toTellson'sBank.YoumustknowTellson'sBankinLondon.IamgoingtoParisonbusiness.Acrowntodrink.Imayreadthis?"

"Ifsobeasyou'requick,sir."

Heopeneditinthelightofthecoachlamponthatside,andreadfirsttohimselfand thenaloud:"'WaitatDoverforMam'selle.' It'snot long,yousee,guard.Jerry,saythatmyanswerwas,RECALLEDTOLIFE."

Jerrystartedinhissaddle."That'saBlazingstrangeanswer, too,"saidhe,athishoarsest.

"Takethatmessageback,andtheywillknowthatIreceivedthis,aswellasifIwrote.Makethebestofyourway.Goodnight."

With thosewords thepassengeropened the coachdoor andgot in; not at allassistedbyhisfellowpassengers,whohadexpeditiouslysecretedtheirwatchesandpurses in theirboots,andwerenowmakingageneralpretenceofbeingasleep.Withnomoredefinitepurposethantoescapethehazardoforiginatinganyotherkindofaction.

Thecoachlumberedonagain,withheavierwreathsofmistclosingrounditasitbeganthedescent.Theguardsoonreplacedhisblunderbussinhisarmchest,and, having looked to the rest of its contents, and having looked to thesupplementary pistols that he wore in his belt, looked to a smaller chestbeneathhisseat,inwhichtherewereafewsmith'stools,acoupleoftorches,and a tinderbox. For he was furnished with that completeness that if thecoachlampshadbeenblownandstormedout,whichdidoccasionallyhappen,hehadonlytoshuthimselfupinside,keeptheflintandsteelsparkswelloffthestraw,andgeta lightwithtolerablesafetyandease(ifhewerelucky)infiveminutes.

"Tom!"softlyoverthecoachroof.

"Hallo,Joe."

"Didyouhearthemessage?"

"Idid,Joe."

"Whatdidyoumakeofit,Tom?"

"Nothingatall,Joe."

"That's a coincidence, too," the guard mused, "for I made the same of itmyself."

Jerry,leftaloneinthemistanddarkness,dismountedmeanwhile,notonlytoeasehisspenthorse,buttowipethemudfromhisface,andshakethewetoutofhishatbrim,whichmightbecapableofholdingabouthalfagallon.Afterstandingwiththebridleoverhisheavilysplashedarm,untilthewheelsofthemail were no longer within hearing and the night was quite still again, heturnedtowalkdownthehill.

"AfterthattheregallopfromTempleBar,oldlady,Iwon'ttrustyourforelegstill Igetyouon the level,"said thishoarsemessenger,glancingathismare."'Recalledtolife.'That'saBlazingstrangemessage.Muchofthatwouldn'tdoforyou,Jerry!Isay,Jerry!You'dbeinaBlazingbadway,ifrecallingtolifewastocomeintofashion,Jerry!"

III.

TheNightShadows

Awonderfulfacttoreflectupon,thateveryhumancreatureisconstitutedtobethatprofoundsecretandmysterytoeveryother.Asolemnconsideration,whenIenteragreatcitybynight, thateveryoneof thosedarklyclusteredhousesenclosesitsownsecret;thateveryroomineveryoneofthemenclosesitsownsecret;thateverybeatingheartinthehundredsofthousandsofbreaststhere,is,insomeofitsimaginings,asecrettotheheartnearestit!Somethingoftheawfulness, even ofDeath itself, is referable to this.Nomore can I turn theleavesofthisdearbookthatIloved,andvainlyhopeintimetoreaditall.Nomore can I look into the depths of this unfathomable water, wherein, asmomentarylightsglancedintoit, Ihavehadglimpsesofburiedtreasureandother things submerged. It was appointed that the book should shut with aspring,foreverandforever,whenIhadreadbutapage.Itwasappointedthatthewatershouldbelockedinaneternalfrost,whenthelightwasplayingonits surface, and I stood in ignorance on the shore. My friend is dead, myneighbourisdead,mylove,thedarlingofmysoul,isdead;itistheinexorableconsolidation and perpetuation of the secret that was always in thatindividuality,andwhich I shallcarry inmine tomy life'send. Inanyof theburialplaces of this city through which I pass, is there a sleeper moreinscrutablethanitsbusyinhabitantsare,intheirinnermostpersonality,tome,orthanIamtothem?

As to this, his natural andnot tobe alienated inheritance, themessengeronhorsebackhadexactlythesamepossessionsastheKing,thefirstMinisterofState,ortherichestmerchantinLondon.Sowiththethreepassengersshutupinthenarrowcompassofonelumberingoldmailcoach;theyweremysteriestooneanother,ascompleteasifeachhadbeeninhisowncoachandsix,orhis owncoach and sixty,with thebreadthof a countybetweenhimand thenext.

Themessengerrodebackataneasytrot,stoppingprettyoftenatalehousesbythewaytodrink,butevincingatendencytokeephisowncounsel,andtokeephis hat cocked over his eyes.He had eyes that assorted verywellwith thatdecoration,beingofasurfaceblack,withnodepthinthecolourorform,andmuchtooneartogetherasiftheywereafraidofbeingfoundoutinsomething,singly,iftheykepttoofarapart.Theyhadasinisterexpression,underanoldcockedhatlikeathreecorneredspittoon,andoveragreatmufflerforthechinandthroat,whichdescendednearlytothewearer'sknees.Whenhestoppedfordrink, he moved this muffler with his left hand, only while he poured hisliquorinwithhisright;assoonasthatwasdone,hemuffledagain.

"No, Jerry, no!" said the messenger, harping on one theme as he rode. "Itwouldn'tdoforyou,Jerry.Jerry,youhonest tradesman, itwouldn'tsuityourlineofbusiness!Recalled!BustmeifIdon'tthinkhe'dbeenadrinking!"

Hismessageperplexedhismindtothatdegreethathewasfain,severaltimes,to take off his hat to scratch his head. Except on the crown, which wasraggedly bald, he had stiff, black hair, standing jaggedly all over it, andgrowingdownhillalmosttohisbroad,bluntnose.ItwassolikeSmith'swork,somuchmorelikethetopofastronglyspikedwall thanaheadofhair, thatthebestofplayersatleapfrogmighthavedeclinedhim,asthemostdangerousmanintheworldtogoover.

While he trotted back with the message he was to deliver to the nightwatchmaninhisboxatthedoorofTellson'sBank,byTempleBar,whowastodeliver it to greater authorities within, the shadows of the night took suchshapestohimasaroseoutofthemessage,andtooksuchshapestothemareasaroseoutofherprivatetopicsofuneasiness.Theyseemedtobenumerous,forsheshiedateveryshadowontheroad.

What time, the mailcoach lumbered, jolted, rattled, and bumped upon itstediousway,with its three fellowinscrutables inside.Towhom, likewise, theshadowsofthenightrevealedthemselves,intheformstheirdozingeyesandwanderingthoughtssuggested.

Tellson'sBankhad a runupon it in themail.As thebankpassengerwith an

armdrawn through the leathern strap,which didwhat lay in it to keep himfrom pounding against the next passenger, and driving him into his corner,wheneverthecoachgotaspecial joltnoddedinhisplace,withhalfshuteyes,thelittlecoachwindows,andthecoachlampdimlygleamingthroughthem,andthe bulky bundle of opposite passenger, became the bank, and did a greatstrokeofbusiness.Therattleoftheharnesswasthechinkofmoney,andmoredraftswerehonouredinfiveminutes thanevenTellson's,withall itsforeignand home connection, ever paid in thrice the time. Then the strongroomsunderground, at Tellson's, with such of their valuable stores and secrets aswereknowntothepassenger(anditwasnotalittlethatheknewaboutthem),openedbeforehim,andhewent inamong themwith thegreatkeysand thefeeblyburningcandle, and found themsafe, and strong, and sound, and still,justashehadlastseenthem.

But,thoughthebankwasalmostalwayswithhim,andthoughthecoach(inaconfusedway,likethepresenceofpainunderanopiate)wasalwayswithhim,therewasanothercurrentof impressionthatneverceasedtorun,all throughthenight.Hewasonhiswaytodigsomeoneoutofagrave.

Now,whichofthemultitudeoffacesthatshowedthemselvesbeforehimwasthe truefaceof theburiedperson, theshadowsof thenightdidnot indicate;buttheywereallthefacesofamanoffiveandfortybyyears,andtheydifferedprincipallyinthepassionstheyexpressed,andintheghastlinessoftheirwornand wasted state. Pride, contempt, defiance, stubbornness, submission,lamentation, succeeded one another; so did varieties of sunken cheek,cadaverouscolour,emaciatedhandsandfigures.Butthefacewasinthemainoneface,andeveryheadwasprematurelywhite.Ahundredtimesthedozingpassengerinquiredofthisspectre:

"Buriedhowlong?"

Theanswerwasalwaysthesame:"Almosteighteenyears."

"Youhadabandonedallhopeofbeingdugout?"

"Longago."

"Youknowthatyouarerecalledtolife?"

"Theytellmeso."

"Ihopeyoucaretolive?"

"Ican'tsay."

"ShallIshowhertoyou?Willyoucomeandseeher?"

Theanswers to thisquestionwerevarious andcontradictory.Sometimes thebrokenreplywas,"Wait!ItwouldkillmeifIsawhertoosoon."Sometimes,itwas given in a tender rain of tears, and then it was, "Take me to her."Sometimesitwasstaringandbewildered,andthenitwas,"Idon'tknowher.Idon'tunderstand."

Aftersuchimaginarydiscourse,thepassengerinhisfancywoulddig,anddig,dignowwith a spade, nowwith a great key, nowwith his handsto dig thiswretchedcreatureout.Gotoutat last,withearthhangingabouthis faceandhair,hewouldsuddenlyfanawaytodust.Thepassengerwouldthenstart tohimself,andlowerthewindow,togettherealityofmistandrainonhischeek.

Yetevenwhenhiseyeswereopenedonthemistandrain,onthemovingpatchoflightfromthelamps,andthehedgeattheroadsideretreatingbyjerks,thenightshadowsoutsidethecoachwouldfallintothetrainofthenightshadowswithin.The realBankinghouse byTempleBar, the real business of the pastday, the real strong rooms, the real express sent after him, and the realmessage returned,would all be there.Out of themidst of them, the ghostlyfacewouldrise,andhewouldaccostitagain.

"Buriedhowlong?"

"Almosteighteenyears."

"Ihopeyoucaretolive?"

"Ican'tsay."

Digdigdiguntilanimpatientmovementfromoneofthetwopassengerswouldadmonish him to pull up the window, draw his arm securely through theleathern strap, and speculate upon the two slumbering forms, until hismindlostitsholdofthem,andtheyagainslidawayintothebankandthegrave.

"Buriedhowlong?"

"Almosteighteenyears."

"Youhadabandonedallhopeofbeingdugout?"

"Longago."

Thewordswerestill inhishearingas just spokendistinctly inhishearingaseverspokenwordshadbeeninhislifewhenthewearypassengerstartedtotheconsciousnessofdaylight,andfoundthattheshadowsofthenightweregone.

Heloweredthewindow,andlookedoutattherisingsun.Therewasaridgeofploughedland,withaploughuponitwhereithadbeenleftlastnightwhenthe

horseswereunyoked;beyond,aquietcoppicewood,inwhichmanyleavesofburningredandgoldenyellowstillremaineduponthetrees.Thoughtheearthwas cold and wet, the sky was clear, and the sun rose bright, placid, andbeautiful.

"Eighteenyears!"saidthepassenger,lookingatthesun."GraciousCreatorofday!Tobeburiedaliveforeighteenyears!"

IV.

ThePreparation

When themailgot successfully toDover, in the courseof the forenoon, theheaddrawerat theRoyalGeorgeHotelopened thecoachdoorashiscustomwas. He did it with some flourish of ceremony, for a mail journey fromLondoninwinterwasanachievementtocongratulateanadventuroustravellerupon.

By that time, therewasonlyoneadventurous traveller leftbecongratulated:forthetwoothershadbeensetdownattheirrespectiveroadsidedestinations.The mildewy inside of the coach, with its damp and dirty straw, itsdisagreeablesmell,and itsobscurity,was rather likea largerdogkennel.Mr.Lorry, thepassenger,shakinghimselfoutof it inchainsofstraw,atangleofshaggywrapper,flappinghat,andmuddylegs,wasratherlikealargersortofdog.

"TherewillbeapackettoCalais,tomorrow,drawer?"

"Yes, sir, if theweather holds and thewind sets tolerable fair.The tidewillserveprettynicelyatabouttwointheafternoon,sir.Bed,sir?"

"Ishallnotgotobedtillnight;butIwantabedroom,andabarber."

"Andthenbreakfast,sir?Yes,sir.Thatway,sir,ifyouplease.ShowConcord!Gentleman's valise and hotwater to Concord. Pull off gentleman's boots inConcord.(Youwillfindafineseacoalfire,sir.)FetchbarbertoConcord.Stiraboutthere,now,forConcord!"

TheConcordbedchamberbeingalwaysassigned toapassengerby themail,and passengers by themail being always heavilywrapped up from head tofoot,theroomhadtheoddinterestfortheestablishmentoftheRoyalGeorge,thatalthoughbutonekindofmanwasseentogointoit,allkindsandvarieties

ofmen came out of it. Consequently, another drawer, and two porters, andseveralmaidsandthelandlady,wereallloiteringbyaccidentatvariouspointsof the road between theConcord and the coffeeroom,when a gentleman ofsixty,formallydressedinabrownsuitofclothes,prettywellworn,butverywellkept,withlargesquarecuffsandlargeflapstothepockets,passedalongonhiswaytohisbreakfast.

Thecoffeeroomhadnootheroccupant, that forenoon, than thegentleman inbrown.His breakfasttablewas drawn before the fire, and as he sat,with itslightshiningonhim,waitingforthemeal,hesatsostill, thathemighthavebeensittingforhisportrait.

Veryorderlyandmethodicalhelooked,withahandoneachknee,andaloudwatch ticking a sonorous sermon under his flapped waistcoat, as though itpitteditsgravityandlongevityagainstthelevityandevanescenceofthebriskfire.He had a good leg, andwas a little vain of it, for his brown stockingsfittedsleekandclose,andwereofafinetexture;hisshoesandbuckles, too,thoughplain,weretrim.Heworeanoddlittlesleekcrispflaxenwig,settingveryclosetohishead:whichwig,itistobepresumed,wasmadeofhair,butwhichlookedfarmoreasthoughitwerespunfromfilamentsofsilkorglass.His linen, thoughnotofa fineness inaccordancewithhis stockings,wasaswhiteasthetopsofthewavesthatbrokeupontheneighbouringbeach,orthespecks of sail that glinted in the sunlight far at sea. A face habituallysuppressedandquieted,wasstilllightedupunderthequaintwigbyapairofmoistbrighteyes that itmusthavecost theirowner, inyearsgoneby, somepainstodrill tothecomposedandreservedexpressionofTellson'sBank.Hehadahealthycolourinhischeeks,andhisface,thoughlined,borefewtracesof anxiety. But, perhaps the confidential bachelor clerks in Tellson's Bankwere principally occupied with the cares of other people; and perhapssecondhandcares,likesecondhandclothes,comeeasilyoffandon.

Completing his resemblance to a man who was sitting for his portrait,Mr.Lorrydroppedofftosleep.Thearrivalofhisbreakfastrousedhim,andhesaidtothedrawer,ashemovedhischairtoit:

"Iwishaccommodationpreparedforayoungladywhomaycomehereatanytime today. She may ask for Mr. Jarvis Lorry, or she may only ask for agentlemanfromTellson'sBank.Pleasetoletmeknow."

"Yes,sir.Tellson'sBankinLondon,sir?"

"Yes."

"Yes,sir.WehaveoftentimesthehonourtoentertainyourgentlemenintheirtravellingbackwardsandforwardsbetwixtLondonandParis,sir.Avastdeal

oftravelling,sir,inTellsonandCompany'sHouse."

"Yes.WearequiteaFrenchHouse,aswellasanEnglishone."

"Yes,sir.Notmuchinthehabitofsuchtravellingyourself,Ithink,sir?"

"Notoflateyears.ItisfifteenyearssincewesinceIcamelastfromFrance."

"Indeed,sir?Thatwasbeforemytimehere,sir.Beforeourpeople'stimehere,sir.TheGeorgewasinotherhandsatthattime,sir."

"Ibelieveso."

"ButIwouldholdaprettywager,sir,thataHouselikeTellsonandCompanywasflourishing,amatteroffifty,nottospeakoffifteenyearsago?"

"Youmight treble that, and say a hundred and fifty, yet not be far from thetruth."

"Indeed,sir!"

Roundinghismouthandbothhiseyes,ashesteppedbackwardfromthetable,the waiter shifted his napkin from his right arm to his left, dropped into acomfortableattitude,andstoodsurveyingtheguestwhileheateanddrank,asfrom an observatory orwatchtower. According to the immemorial usage ofwaitersinallages.

WhenMr. Lorry had finished his breakfast, hewent out for a stroll on thebeach. The little narrow, crooked town of Dover hid itself away from thebeach,andranitsheadintothechalkcliffs,likeamarineostrich.Thebeachwasadesertofheapsofseaandstonestumblingwildlyabout,andtheseadidwhatitliked,andwhatitlikedwasdestruction.Itthunderedatthetown,andthunderedatthecliffs,andbroughtthecoastdown,madly.Theairamongthehouseswasofsostrongapiscatoryflavourthatonemighthavesupposedsickfishwentuptobedippedinit,assickpeoplewentdowntobedippedinthesea.Alittlefishingwasdoneintheport,andaquantityofstrollingaboutbynight, and looking seaward: particularly at those timeswhen the tidemade,and was near flood. Small tradesmen, who did no business whatever,sometimesunaccountably realised large fortunes, and itwas remarkable thatnobodyintheneighbourhoodcouldendurealamplighter.

Asthedaydeclinedintotheafternoon,andtheair,whichhadbeenatintervalsclearenoughtoallowtheFrenchcoasttobeseen,becameagainchargedwithmistandvapour,Mr.Lorry'sthoughtsseemedtocloudtoo.Whenitwasdark,andhesatbefore thecoffeeroomfire,awaitinghisdinnerashehadawaitedhis breakfast, hismindwas busily digging, digging, digging, in the live red

coals.

A bottle of good claret after dinner does a digger in the red coals no harm,otherwisethanasithasatendencytothrowhimoutofwork.Mr.Lorryhadbeenidlealongtime,andhadjustpouredouthislastglassfulofwinewithascomplete an appearance of satisfaction as is ever to be found in an elderlygentlemanofa freshcomplexionwhohasgot to theendofabottle,whenarattlingofwheelscameupthenarrowstreet,andrumbledintotheinnyard.

Hesetdownhisglassuntouched."ThisisMam'selle!"saidhe.

InaveryfewminutesthewaitercameintoannouncethatMissManettehadarrivedfromLondon,andwouldbehappytoseethegentlemanfromTellson's.

"Sosoon?"

Miss Manette had taken some refreshment on the road, and required nonethen, and was extremely anxious to see the gentleman from Tellson'simmediately,ifitsuitedhispleasureandconvenience.

The gentleman fromTellson's had nothing left for it but to empty his glasswithanairofstoliddesperation,settlehisoddlittleflaxenwigattheears,andfollow the waiter to Miss Manette's apartment. It was a large, dark room,furnished in a funerealmannerwith blackhorsehair, and loadedwith heavydarktables.Thesehadbeenoiledandoiled,until thetwotallcandlesonthetable in themiddleof the roomweregloomily reflectedon every leaf; as iftheywereburied,indeepgravesofblackmahogany,andnolighttospeakofcouldbeexpectedfromthemuntiltheyweredugout.

TheobscuritywassodifficulttopenetratethatMr.Lorry,pickinghiswayoverthewellwornTurkeycarpet,supposedMissManettetobe,forthemoment,insome adjacent room, until, having got past the two tall candles, he sawstandingtoreceivehimbythetablebetweenthemandthefire,ayoungladyof not more than seventeen, in a ridingcloak, and still holding her strawtravellinghatby its ribbon inherhand.Ashis eyes restedona short, slight,pretty figure,aquantityofgoldenhair,apairofblueeyes thatmethisownwithaninquiringlook,andaforeheadwithasingularcapacity(rememberinghowyoungandsmoothitwas),ofriftingandknittingitselfintoanexpressionthatwasnotquiteoneofperplexity,orwonder,oralarm,ormerelyofabrightfixedattention,thoughitincludedallthefourexpressionsashiseyesrestedonthese things,asuddenvivid likenesspassedbeforehim,ofachildwhomhehadheldinhisarmsonthepassageacrossthatveryChannel,onecoldtime,whenthehaildriftedheavilyandthesearanhigh.Thelikenesspassedaway,likeabreathalongthesurfaceofthegauntpierglassbehindher,ontheframeof which, a hospital procession of negro cupids, several headless and all

cripples,wereofferingblackbasketsofDeadSea fruit toblackdivinitiesofthefemininegenderandhemadehisformalbowtoMissManette.

"Praytakeaseat,sir."Inaveryclearandpleasantyoungvoice;alittleforeigninitsaccent,butaverylittleindeed.

"Ikissyourhand,miss,"saidMr.Lorry,withthemannersofanearlierdate,ashemadehisformalbowagain,andtookhisseat.

"I received a letter from the Bank, sir, yesterday, informing me that someintelligenceordiscovery"

"Thewordisnotmaterial,miss;eitherwordwilldo."

"respecting the small property ofmypoor father,whom I never sawso longdead"

Mr.Lorrymoved in his chair, and cast a troubled look towards the hospitalprocession of negro cupids. As if they had any help for anybody in theirabsurdbaskets!

"rendereditnecessarythatIshouldgotoParis, theretocommunicatewithagentlemanoftheBank,sogoodastobedespatchedtoParisforthepurpose."

"Myself."

"AsIwaspreparedtohear,sir."

Shecurtseyedtohim(youngladiesmadecurtseysinthosedays),withaprettydesire toconvey tohimthatshefelthowmucholderandwiserhewas thanshe.Hemadeheranotherbow.

"Irepliedto theBank,sir, thatas itwasconsiderednecessary,bythosewhoknow,andwhoaresokindastoadviseme,thatIshouldgotoFrance,andthatasIamanorphanandhavenofriendwhocouldgowithme,IshouldesteemithighlyifImightbepermittedtoplacemyself,duringthejourney,underthatworthygentleman'sprotection.ThegentlemanhadleftLondon,butI thinkamessengerwassentafterhimtobegthefavourofhiswaitingformehere."

"Iwashappy,"saidMr.Lorry,"tobeentrustedwiththecharge.Ishallbemorehappytoexecuteit."

"Sir, I thank you indeed. I thank you very gratefully. Itwas toldme by theBankthatthegentlemanwouldexplaintomethedetailsofthebusiness,andthatImustpreparemyselftofindthemofasurprisingnature.Ihavedonemybesttopreparemyself,andInaturallyhaveastrongandeagerinteresttoknowwhattheyare."

"Naturally,"saidMr.Lorry."YesI"

Afterapause,headded,againsettlingthecrispflaxenwigat theears,"It isverydifficulttobegin."

Hedidnotbegin,but, inhisindecision,metherglance.Theyoungforeheadlifted itself into that singular expressionbut it was pretty and characteristic,besidesbeingsingularandsheraisedherhand,asifwithaninvoluntaryactionshecaughtat,orstayedsomepassingshadow.

"Areyouquiteastrangertome,sir?"

"AmInot?"Mr.Lorryopenedhishands,andextendedthemoutwardswithanargumentativesmile.

Betweentheeyebrowsandjustoverthelittlefemininenose,thelineofwhichwasasdelicateandfineasitwaspossibletobe,theexpressiondeepeneditselfas she took her seat thoughtfully in the chair by which she had hithertoremainedstanding.Hewatchedherasshemused,andthemomentsheraisedhereyesagain,wenton:

"Inyouradoptedcountry,Ipresume,IcannotdobetterthanaddressyouasayoungEnglishlady,MissManette?"

"Ifyouplease,sir."

"MissManette, I am aman of business. I have a business charge to acquitmyself of. In your reception of it, don't heedme anymore than if I was aspeakingmachinetruly, Iamnotmuchelse. Iwill,withyour leave, relate toyou,miss,thestoryofoneofourcustomers."

"Story!"

Heseemedwilfullytomistakethewordshehadrepeated,whenheadded,inahurry,"Yes,customers;inthebankingbusinessweusuallycallourconnectionourcustomers.HewasaFrenchgentleman;ascientificgentleman;amanofgreatacquirementsaDoctor."

"NotofBeauvais?"

"Why, yes, ofBeauvais.LikeMonsieurManette, your father, thegentlemanwasofBeauvais.LikeMonsieurManette,your father, thegentlemanwasofrepute in Paris. I had the honour of knowing him there.Our relationswerebusiness relations, but confidential. Iwas at that time in our FrenchHouse,andhadbeenoh!twentyyears."

"AtthattimeImayask,atwhattime,sir?"

"Ispeak,miss,oftwentyyearsago.HemarriedanEnglishladyandIwasoneofthetrustees.Hisaffairs,liketheaffairsofmanyotherFrenchgentlemenandFrenchfamilies,wereentirely inTellson'shands.InasimilarwayIam,orIhavebeen,trusteeofonekindorotherforscoresofourcustomers.Thesearemere business relations, miss; there is no friendship in them, no particularinterest, nothing like sentiment. I have passed from one to another, in thecourseofmybusinesslife,justasIpassfromoneofourcustomerstoanotherin the course ofmybusiness day; in short, I have no feelings; I amameremachine.Togoon"

"Butthisismyfather'sstory,sir;andIbegintothink"thecuriouslyroughenedforeheadwasveryintentuponhim"thatwhenIwasleftanorphanthroughmymother's survivingmy fatheronly twoyears, itwasyouwhobroughtme toEngland.Iamalmostsureitwasyou."

Mr.Lorrytookthehesitatinglittlehandthatconfidinglyadvancedtotakehis,andheput itwith someceremony tohis lips.He thenconducted theyounglady straightway to her chair again, and, holding the chairbackwith his lefthand,andusinghisrightbyturnstorubhischin,pullhiswigattheears,orpointwhathesaid,stoodlookingdownintoherfacewhileshesatlookingupintohis.

"MissManette, itwas I.Andyouwill see how truly I spoke ofmyself justnow, in saying I had no feelings, and that all the relations I hold with myfellowcreaturesaremerebusinessrelations,whenyoureflectthatIhaveneverseenyousince.No;youhavebeen thewardofTellson'sHouse since,and Ihavebeenbusywith theotherbusinessofTellson'sHousesince.Feelings! Ihave no time for them, no chance of them. I pass my whole life, miss, inturninganimmensepecuniaryMangle."

After this odd description of his daily routine of employment, Mr. Lorryflattened his flaxen wig upon his head with both hands (which was mostunnecessary,fornothingcouldbeflatterthanitsshiningsurfacewasbefore),andresumedhisformerattitude.

"Sofar,miss(asyouhaveremarked),thisisthestoryofyourregrettedfather.Nowcomes thedifference. If your fatherhadnotdiedwhenhedidDon't befrightened!Howyoustart!"

Shedid,indeed,start.Andshecaughthiswristwithbothherhands.

"Pray,"saidMr.Lorry,inasoothingtone,bringinghislefthandfromthebackofthechairtolayitonthesupplicatoryfingersthatclaspedhiminsoviolentatremble:"praycontrolyouragitationamatterofbusiness.AsIwassaying"

Herlooksodiscomposedhimthathestopped,wandered,andbegananew:

"AsIwassaying; ifMonsieurManettehadnotdied; ifhehadsuddenlyandsilentlydisappeared;ifhehadbeenspiritedaway;ifithadnotbeendifficulttoguess to what dreadful place, though no art could trace him; if he had anenemy in somecompatriotwhocould exercise a privilege that I inmyowntimehaveknowntheboldestpeopleafraidtospeakofinawhisper,acrossthewater there; for instance, the privilege of filling up blank forms for theconsignmentofanyonetotheoblivionofaprisonforanylengthoftime;ifhiswifehadimploredtheking,thequeen,thecourt,theclergy,foranytidingsofhim,andallquiteinvain;thenthehistoryofyourfatherwouldhavebeenthehistoryofthisunfortunategentleman,theDoctorofBeauvais."

"Ientreatyoutotellmemore,sir."

"Iwill.Iamgoingto.Youcanbearit?"

"Icanbearanythingbuttheuncertaintyyouleavemeinatthismoment."

"You speak collectedly, and youare collected. That's good!" (Though hismannerwaslesssatisfiedthanhiswords.)"Amatterofbusiness.Regarditasa matter of businessbusiness that must be done. Now if this doctor's wife,thoughaladyofgreatcourageandspirit,hadsufferedsointenselyfromthiscausebeforeherlittlechildwasborn"

"Thelittlechildwasadaughter,sir."

"Adaughter.Aamatter of businessdon't be distressed.Miss, if the poor ladyhadsufferedsointenselybeforeherlittlechildwasborn,thatshecametothedetermination of sparing the poor child the inheritance of any part of theagonyshehadknownthepainsof,byrearingherinthebeliefthatherfatherwasdeadNo,don'tkneel!InHeaven'snamewhyshouldyoukneeltome!"

"Forthetruth.Odear,good,compassionatesir,forthetruth!"

"Aamatterofbusiness.Youconfuseme,andhowcanItransactbusinessifIam confused? Let us be clearheaded. If you could kindlymention now, forinstance, what nine times ninepence are, or how many shillings in twentyguineas, itwould be so encouraging. I should be somuchmore atmy easeaboutyourstateofmind."

Without directly answering to this appeal, she sat so stillwhen he had verygentlyraisedher,andthehandsthathadnotceasedtoclasphiswristsweresomuch more steady than they had been, that she communicated somereassurancetoMr.JarvisLorry.

"That's right, that's right.Courage!Business!Youhavebusinessbeforeyou;useful business.MissManette, yourmother took this coursewith you.Andwhen she diedI believe brokenheartedhaving never slackened her unavailingsearchforyourfather,sheleftyou,attwoyearsold,togrowtobeblooming,beautiful,andhappy,withoutthedarkclouduponyouoflivinginuncertaintywhetheryourfathersoonworehisheartoutinprison,orwastedtherethroughmanylingeringyears."

Ashesaidthewordshelookeddown,withanadmiringpity,ontheflowinggoldenhair;asifhepicturedtohimselfthatitmighthavebeenalreadytingedwithgrey.

"Youknowthatyourparentshadnogreatpossession,andthatwhattheyhadwassecuredtoyourmotherandtoyou.Therehasbeennonewdiscovery,ofmoney,orofanyotherproperty;but"

Hefelthiswristheldcloser,andhestopped.Theexpressionintheforehead,whichhadsoparticularlyattractedhisnotice,andwhichwasnowimmovable,haddeepenedintooneofpainandhorror.

"Buthehasbeenbeenfound.Heisalive.Greatlychanged,itistooprobable;almostawreck,itispossible;thoughwewillhopethebest.Still,alive.YourfatherhasbeentakentothehouseofanoldservantinParis,andwearegoingthere: I, to identifyhim if I can:you, to restorehim to life, love,duty, rest,comfort."

Ashiver ran throughher frame, and from it throughhis.She said, in a low,distinct,awestrickenvoice,asifsheweresayingitinadream,

"IamgoingtoseehisGhost!ItwillbehisGhostnothim!"

Mr.Lorryquietlychafedthehandsthatheldhisarm."There,there,there!Seenow,seenow!Thebestandtheworstareknowntoyou,now.Youarewellonyourwaytothepoorwrongedgentleman,and,withafairseavoyage,andafairlandjourney,youwillbesoonathisdearside."

She repeated in the same tone, sunk to awhisper, "I havebeen free, I havebeenhappy,yethisGhosthasneverhauntedme!"

"Onlyonethingmore,"saidMr.Lorry,layingstressuponitasawholesomemeansofenforcingherattention:"hehasbeenfoundunderanothername;hisown,longforgottenorlongconcealed.Itwouldbeworsethanuselessnowtoinquirewhich;worse than useless to seek to knowwhether he has been foryearsoverlooked,oralwaysdesignedlyheldprisoner.Itwouldbeworsethanuselessnowtomakeanyinquiries,becauseitwouldbedangerous.Betternot

tomentionthesubject,anywhereorinanyway,andtoremovehimforawhileatalleventsoutofFrance.EvenI,safeasanEnglishman,andevenTellson's,importantastheyaretoFrenchcredit,avoidallnamingofthematter.Icarryaboutme,notascrapofwritingopenlyreferringtoit.Thisisasecretservicealtogether.Mycredentials,entries,andmemoranda,areallcomprehended inthe one line, 'Recalled to Life;' whichmaymean anything. Butwhat is thematter!Shedoesn'tnoticeaword!MissManette!"

Perfectlystillandsilent,andnotevenfallenback inherchair,shesatunderhishand,utterlyinsensible;withhereyesopenandfixeduponhim,andwiththatlastexpressionlookingasifitwerecarvedorbrandedintoherforehead.Soclosewasherholduponhisarm, thathefeared todetachhimself lestheshouldhurther;thereforehecalledoutloudlyforassistancewithoutmoving.

Awildlookingwoman,whomeveninhisagitation,Mr.Lorryobservedtobeall of a red colour, and to have red hair, and to be dressed in someextraordinary tightfitting fashion,and tohaveonherheadamostwonderfulbonnet like aGrenadierwoodenmeasure, and goodmeasure too, or a greatStiltoncheese,camerunningintotheroominadvanceoftheinnservants,andsoon settled the question of his detachment from the poor young lady, bylayingabrawnyhanduponhischest,andsendinghimflyingbackagainstthenearestwall.

("I really think this must be a man!" wasMr. Lorry's breathless reflection,simultaneouslywithhiscomingagainstthewall.)

"Why,lookatyouall!"bawledthisfigure,addressingtheinnservants."Whydon'tyougoandfetchthings,insteadofstandingtherestaringatme?Iamnotsomuchtolookat,amI?Whydon'tyougoandfetchthings?I'llletyouknow,ifyoudon'tbringsmellingsalts,coldwater,andvinegar,quick,Iwill."

Therewasanimmediatedispersalfortheserestoratives,andshesoftlylaidthepatientona sofa, and tendedherwithgreat skill andgentleness: callingher"myprecious!"and"mybird!"andspreadinghergoldenhairasideoverhershoulderswithgreatprideandcare.

"Andyouinbrown!"shesaid,indignantlyturningtoMr.Lorry;"couldn'tyoutellherwhatyouhadtotellher,withoutfrighteninghertodeath?Lookather,withherprettypalefaceandhercoldhands.DoyoucallthatbeingaBanker?"

Mr.Lorrywassoexceedinglydisconcertedbyaquestionsohard toanswer,that he could only look on, at a distance, withmuch feebler sympathy andhumility,whilethestrongwoman,havingbanishedtheinnservantsunderthemysterious penalty of "letting themknow" something notmentioned if theystayed there, staring, recoveredher charge by a regular series of gradations,

andcoaxedhertolayherdroopingheaduponhershoulder.

"Ihopeshewilldowellnow,"saidMr.Lorry.

"Nothankstoyouinbrown,ifshedoes.Mydarlingpretty!"

"Ihope,"saidMr.Lorry,afteranotherpauseoffeeblesympathyandhumility,"thatyouaccompanyMissManettetoFrance?"

"Alikelything,too!"repliedthestrongwoman."IfitwaseverintendedthatIshouldgoacrosssaltwater,doyousupposeProvidencewouldhavecastmylotinanisland?"

This being another question hard to answer, Mr. Jarvis Lorry withdrew toconsiderit.

V.

TheWineshop

Alargecaskofwinehadbeendroppedandbroken,inthestreet.Theaccidenthadhappenedingettingitoutofacart;thecaskhadtumbledoutwitharun,the hoops had burst, and it lay on the stones just outside the door of thewineshop,shatteredlikeawalnutshell.

Allthepeoplewithinreachhadsuspendedtheirbusiness,ortheiridleness,torun to the spotanddrink thewine.The rough, irregular stonesof the street,pointingeveryway,anddesigned,onemighthavethought,expresslytolameall living creatures that approached them, had dammed it into little pools;theseweresurrounded,eachbyitsownjostlinggrouporcrowd,accordingtoitssize.Somemenkneeleddown,madescoopsoftheirtwohandsjoined,andsipped,or tried tohelpwomen,whobentover theirshoulders, tosip,beforethe wine had all run out between their fingers. Others, men and women,dippedinthepuddleswithlittlemugsofmutilatedearthenware,orevenwithhandkerchiefs from women's heads, which were squeezed dry into infants'mouths; others made small mudembankments, to stem the wine as it ran;others,directedbylookersonupathighwindows,dartedhereandthere,tocutoff littlestreamsofwine that startedaway innewdirections;othersdevotedthemselves to the sodden and leedyed pieces of the cask, licking, and evenchamping themoisterwinerotted fragmentswith eager relish.Therewas nodrainagetocarryoffthewine,andnotonlydiditallgettakenup,butsomuch

mudgottakenupalongwithit,thattheremighthavebeenascavengerinthestreet,ifanybodyacquaintedwithitcouldhavebelievedinsuchamiraculouspresence.

A shrill soundof laughter andof amusedvoicesvoices ofmen,women, andchildrenresounded in thestreetwhile thiswinegame lasted.Therewas littleroughness in the sport, and much playfulness. There was a specialcompanionshipinit,anobservableinclinationonthepartofeveryonetojoinsomeotherone,whichled,especiallyamongtheluckierorlighterhearted, tofrolicsomeembraces,drinkingofhealths,shakingofhands,andevenjoiningof hands and dancing, a dozen together.When thewinewas gone, and theplaceswhereithadbeenmostabundantwererakedintoagridironpatternbyfingers,thesedemonstrationsceased,assuddenlyastheyhadbrokenout.Themanwho had left his saw sticking in the firewood hewas cutting, set it inmotionagain;thewomenwhohadleftonadoorstepthelittlepotofhotashes,atwhichshehadbeentryingtosoftenthepaininherownstarvedfingersandtoes,orinthoseofherchild,returnedtoit;menwithbarearms,mattedlocks,and cadaverous faces, who had emerged into the winter light from cellars,moved away, to descend again; and a gloom gathered on the scene thatappearedmorenaturaltoitthansunshine.

Thewinewasredwine,andhadstainedthegroundofthenarrowstreetinthesuburbofSaintAntoine, inParis,where itwas spilled. It had stainedmanyhands, too, andmany faces, andmanynaked feet, andmanywooden shoes.Thehandsofthemanwhosawedthewood,leftredmarksonthebillets;andtheforeheadofthewomanwhonursedherbaby,wasstainedwiththestainoftheoldragshewoundaboutherheadagain.Thosewhohadbeengreedywiththestavesofthecask,hadacquiredatigerishsmearaboutthemouth;andonetalljokersobesmirched,hisheadmoreoutofalongsqualidbagofanightcapthan in it, scrawled upon a wall with his finger dipped in muddywineleesBLOOD.

The time was to come, when that wine too would be spilled on thestreetstones,andwhenthestainofitwouldbereduponmanythere.

Andnowthat thecloudsettledonSaintAntoine,whichamomentarygleamhaddrivenfromhissacredcountenance,thedarknessofitwasheavycold,dirt,sickness, ignorance, and want, were the lords in waiting on the saintlypresencenobles of great power all of them; but, most especially the last.Samplesofapeoplethathadundergoneaterriblegrindingandregrindinginthemill,andcertainlynotinthefabulousmillwhichgroundoldpeopleyoung,shivered at every corner, passed in and out at every doorway, looked fromeverywindow,flutteredineveryvestigeofagarmentthatthewindshook.Themillwhichhadworkedthemdown,wasthemillthatgrindsyoungpeopleold;

thechildrenhadancientfacesandgravevoices;anduponthem,anduponthegrown faces, and ploughed into every furrow of age and coming up afresh,wasthesigh,Hunger.Itwasprevalenteverywhere.Hungerwaspushedoutofthe tall houses, in the wretched clothing that hung upon poles and lines;Hunger was patched into them with straw and rag and wood and paper;Hungerwasrepeatedineveryfragmentofthesmallmodicumoffirewoodthattheman sawed off;Hunger stared down from the smokeless chimneys, andstartedupfromthefilthystreetthathadnooffal,amongitsrefuse,ofanythingto eat. Hunger was the inscription on the baker's shelves, written in everysmall loaf of his scanty stock of bad bread; at the sausageshop, in everydeaddog preparation that was offered for sale. Hunger rattled its dry bonesamong the roasting chestnuts in the turned cylinder;Hungerwas shred intoatomicsineveryfarthingporringerofhuskychipsofpotato,friedwithsomereluctantdropsofoil.

Itsabidingplacewasinallthingsfittedtoit.Anarrowwindingstreet,fullofoffenceand stench,withothernarrowwinding streetsdiverging, allpeopledbyragsandnightcaps,andallsmellingofragsandnightcaps,andallvisiblethingswithabroodinglookuponthemthatlookedill.Inthehuntedairofthepeople therewasyet somewildbeast thought of thepossibility of turning atbay.Depressedandslinkingthoughtheywere,eyesoffirewerenotwantingamong them; nor compressed lips, white with what they suppressed; norforeheads knitted into the likeness of the gallowsrope they mused aboutenduring,orinflicting.Thetradesigns(andtheywerealmostasmanyastheshops) were, all, grim illustrations of Want. The butcher and the porkmanpaintedup,onlytheleanestscragsofmeat;thebaker,thecoarsestofmeagreloaves.Thepeoplerudelypicturedasdrinkinginthewineshops,croakedovertheirscantymeasuresofthinwineandbeer,andweregloweringlyconfidentialtogether.Nothingwas represented in a flourishing condition, save tools andweapons;but, thecutler'sknivesandaxesweresharpandbright, thesmith'shammerswereheavy,andthegunmaker'sstockwasmurderous.Thecripplingstonesofthepavement,withtheirmanylittlereservoirsofmudandwater,hadnofootways,butbrokeoffabruptlyatthedoors.Thekennel,tomakeamends,randownthemiddleofthestreetwhenitranatall:whichwasonlyafterheavyrains, and then it ran, by many eccentric fits, into the houses. Across thestreets,atwideintervals,oneclumsylampwasslungbyaropeandpulley;atnight,whenthelamplighterhadletthesedown,andlighted,andhoistedthemagain,afeeblegroveofdimwicksswunginasicklymanneroverhead,asiftheywereatsea.Indeedtheywereatsea,andtheshipandcrewwereinperiloftempest.

For, the timewas tocome,when thegaunt scarecrowsof that regionshouldhave watched the lamplighter, in their idleness and hunger, so long, as to

conceivetheideaof improvingonhismethod,andhaulingupmenbythoseropesandpulleys,toflareuponthedarknessoftheircondition.But,thetimewasnotcomeyet;andeverywindthatblewoverFranceshooktheragsofthescarecrowsinvain,forthebirds,fineofsongandfeather,tooknowarning.

Thewineshopwasacornershop,betterthanmostothersinitsappearanceanddegree, and the master of the wineshop had stood outside it, in a yellowwaistcoatandgreenbreeches,lookingonatthestruggleforthelostwine."It'snotmyaffair,"saidhe,withafinalshrugoftheshoulders."Thepeoplefromthemarketdidit.Letthembringanother."

There,hiseyeshappeningtocatchthetalljokerwritinguphisjoke,hecalledtohimacrosstheway:

"Say,then,myGaspard,whatdoyoudothere?"

Thefellowpointedtohisjokewithimmensesignificance,asisoftenthewaywithhis tribe. Itmissed itsmark,andcompletely failed,as isoften thewaywithhistribetoo.

"What now? Are you a subject for the mad hospital?" said the wineshopkeeper, crossing the road, and obliterating the jest with a handful of mud,picked up for the purpose, and smeared over it. "Why do you write in thepublicstreets?Istheretellmethouistherenootherplacetowritesuchwordsin?"

In his expostulation he dropped his cleaner hand (perhaps accidentally,perhapsnot)uponthejoker'sheart.Thejokerrappeditwithhisown,tookanimblespringupward,andcamedowninafantasticdancingattitude,withoneofhisstainedshoesjerkedoffhisfootintohishand,andheldout.Ajokerofanextremely,nottosaywolfishlypracticalcharacter,helooked,underthosecircumstances.

"Putiton,putiton,"saidtheother."Callwine,wine;andfinishthere."Withthat advice, he wiped his soiled hand upon the joker's dress, such as itwasquite deliberately, as having dirtied the hand on his account; and thenrecrossedtheroadandenteredthewineshop.

Thiswineshopkeeperwasabullnecked,martiallookingmanofthirty,andheshouldhavebeenofahot temperament, for,although itwasabitterday,heworeno coat, but carriedone slungoverhis shoulder.His shirtsleeveswererolled up, too, and his brown armswere bare to the elbows.Neither did hewearanythingmoreonhishead thanhisowncrisplycurling shortdarkhair.He was a dark man altogether, with good eyes and a good bold breadthbetween them.Goodhumoured lookingon thewhole,but implacablelooking,

too; evidently a man of a strong resolution and a set purpose; a man notdesirabletobemet,rushingdownanarrowpasswithagulfoneitherside,fornothingwouldturntheman.

MadameDefarge,hiswife,satintheshopbehindthecounterashecamein.MadameDefargewasa stoutwomanofabouthisownage,withawatchfuleye that seldom seemed to look at anything, a large hand heavily ringed, asteady face, strong features, and great composure of manner. There was acharacteraboutMadameDefarge,fromwhichonemighthavepredicatedthatshedidnotoftenmakemistakesagainstherselfinanyofthereckoningsoverwhichshepresided.MadameDefargebeingsensitivetocold,waswrappedinfur,andhadaquantityofbrightshawl twinedaboutherhead, thoughnot totheconcealmentofherlargeearrings.Herknittingwasbeforeher,butshehadlaid itdowntopickher teethwitha toothpick.Thusengaged,withherrightelbow supported by her left hand,Madame Defarge said nothing when herlordcamein,butcoughedjustonegrainofcough.This,incombinationwiththeliftingofherdarklydefinedeyebrowsoverhertoothpickbythebreadthofaline,suggestedtoherhusbandthathewoulddowelltolookroundtheshopamong the customers, for any new customer who had dropped in while hesteppedovertheway.

Thewineshopkeeperaccordinglyrolledhiseyesabout,untiltheyresteduponan elderly gentleman and a young lady,whowere seated in a corner.Othercompanywerethere:twoplayingcards,twoplayingdominoes,threestandingbythecounterlengtheningoutashortsupplyofwine.Ashepassedbehindthecounter,hetooknoticethattheelderlygentlemansaidinalooktotheyounglady,"Thisisourman."

"What the devil do you do in that galley there?" saidMonsieur Defarge tohimself;"Idon'tknowyou."

But,hefeignednottonoticethetwostrangers,andfellintodiscoursewiththetriumvirateofcustomerswhoweredrinkingatthecounter.

"Howgoes it,Jacques?"saidoneof these three toMonsieurDefarge."Isallthespiltwineswallowed?"

"Everydrop,Jacques,"answeredMonsieurDefarge.

When this interchange of Christian name was effected, Madame Defarge,picking her teeth with her toothpick, coughed another grain of cough, andraisedhereyebrowsbythebreadthofanotherline.

"It is not often," said the secondof the three, addressingMonsieurDefarge,"thatmanyofthesemiserablebeastsknowthetasteofwine,orofanythingbut

blackbreadanddeath.Isitnotso,Jacques?"

"Itisso,Jacques,"MonsieurDefargereturned.

AtthissecondinterchangeoftheChristianname,MadameDefarge,stillusinghertoothpickwithprofoundcomposure,coughedanothergrainofcough,andraisedhereyebrowsbythebreadthofanotherline.

The last of the three now said his say, as he put down his empty drinkingvesselandsmackedhislips.

"Ah!Somuchtheworse!Abittertasteitisthatsuchpoorcattlealwayshaveintheirmouths,andhardlivestheylive,Jacques.AmIright,Jacques?"

"Youareright,Jacques,"wastheresponseofMonsieurDefarge.

This third interchange of the Christian namewas completed at themomentwhen Madame Defarge put her toothpick by, kept her eyebrows up, andslightlyrustledinherseat.

"Holdthen!True!"mutteredherhusband."Gentlemenmywife!"

The three customers pulled off their hats to Madame Defarge, with threeflourishes.Sheacknowledged theirhomagebybendingherhead,andgivingthemaquicklook.Thensheglancedinacasualmannerroundthewineshop,took up her knittingwith great apparent calmness and repose of spirit, andbecameabsorbedinit.

"Gentlemen,"saidherhusband,whohadkepthisbrighteyeobservantlyuponher, "good day.The chamber, furnished bachelorfashion, that youwished tosee, and were inquiring for when I stepped out, is on the fifth floor. Thedoorwayof the staircasegiveson the little courtyard close to the left here,"pointingwithhis hand, "near to thewindowofmy establishment.But, nowthat I remember, one of youhas alreadybeen there, and can show theway.Gentlemen,adieu!"

They paid for theirwine, and left the place. The eyes ofMonsieurDefargewere studyinghiswife atherknittingwhen the elderlygentlemanadvancedfromhiscorner,andbeggedthefavourofaword.

"Willingly, sir," saidMonsieurDefarge, andquietly steppedwithhim to thedoor.

Theirconferencewasveryshort,butverydecided.Almostat the firstword,Monsieur Defarge started and became deeply attentive. It had not lasted aminute,whenhenoddedandwentout.Thegentleman thenbeckoned to the

young lady, and they, too, went out. Madame Defarge knitted with nimblefingersandsteadyeyebrows,andsawnothing.

Mr.JarvisLorryandMissManette,emergingfromthewineshopthus,joinedMonsieurDefargeinthedoorwaytowhichhehaddirectedhisowncompanyjust before. It opened from a stinking little black courtyard, and was thegeneralpublicentrancetoagreatpileofhouses,inhabitedbyagreatnumberof people. In the gloomy tilepaved entry to the gloomy tilepaved staircase,MonsieurDefargebentdownononekneetothechildofhisoldmaster,andputherhandtohislips.Itwasagentleaction,butnotatallgentlydone;averyremarkable transformationhad comeover him in a few seconds.Hehadnogoodhumour in his face, nor any openness of aspect left, but had become asecret,angry,dangerousman.

"Itisveryhigh;itisalittledifficult.Bettertobeginslowly."Thus,MonsieurDefarge,inasternvoice,toMr.Lorry,astheybeganascendingthestairs.

"Ishealone?"thelatterwhispered.

"Alone!Godhelphim,whoshouldbewithhim!"saidtheother,inthesamelowvoice.

"Ishealwaysalone,then?"

"Yes."

"Ofhisowndesire?"

"Ofhisownnecessity.Ashewas,whenI firstsawhimafter theyfoundmeanddemandedtoknowifIwouldtakehim,and,atmyperilbediscreetashewasthen,soheisnow."

"Heisgreatlychanged?"

"Changed!"

The keeper of the wineshop stopped to strike the wall with his hand, andmutteratremendouscurse.Nodirectanswercouldhavebeenhalfsoforcible.Mr.Lorry's spirits grewheavier and heavier, as he and his two companionsascendedhigherandhigher.

Suchastaircase,withitsaccessories,intheolderandmorecrowdedpartsofParis, would be bad enough now; but, at that time, it was vile indeed tounaccustomedandunhardenedsenses.Everylittlehabitationwithinthegreatfoulnestofonehighbuildingthat is to say, the roomor roomswithineverydoorthatopenedonthegeneralstaircaseleftitsownheapofrefuseonitsown

landing, besides flinging other refuse from its own windows. Theuncontrollable and hopeless mass of decomposition so engendered, wouldhavepolluted theair, even ifpovertyanddeprivationhadnot loaded itwiththeir intangible impurities; the two bad sources combined made it almostinsupportable.Throughsuchanatmosphere,byasteepdarkshaftofdirtandpoison,thewaylay.Yieldingtohisowndisturbanceofmind,andtohisyoungcompanion's agitation,whichbecamegreater every instant,Mr. JarvisLorrytwicestoppedtorest.Eachofthesestoppageswasmadeatadolefulgrating,by which any languishing good airs that were left uncorrupted, seemed toescape, and all spoilt and sickly vapours seemed to crawl in. Through therusted bars, tastes, rather than glimpses, were caught of the jumbledneighbourhood;andnothingwithinrange,nearerorlowerthanthesummitsofthe twogreat towersofNotreDame,hadanypromiseon itofhealthy lifeorwholesomeaspirations.

Atlast,thetopofthestaircasewasgained,andtheystoppedforthethirdtime.Therewas yet an upper staircase, of a steeper inclination and of contracteddimensions,tobeascended,beforethegarretstorywasreached.Thekeeperofthewineshop,alwaysgoingalittleinadvance,andalwaysgoingonthesidewhichMr.Lorrytook,asthoughhedreadedtobeaskedanyquestionbytheyounglady,turnedhimselfabouthere,and,carefullyfeelinginthepocketsofthecoathecarriedoverhisshoulder,tookoutakey.

"Thedoorislockedthen,myfriend?"saidMr.Lorry,surprised.

"Ay.Yes,"wasthegrimreplyofMonsieurDefarge.

"Youthinkitnecessarytokeeptheunfortunategentlemansoretired?"

"Ithinkitnecessarytoturnthekey."MonsieurDefargewhispereditcloserinhisear,andfrownedheavily.

"Why?"

"Why! Because he has lived so long, locked up, that he would befrightenedravetear himself to piecesdiecome to I know not what harmif hisdoorwasleftopen."

"Isitpossible!"exclaimedMr.Lorry.

"Isitpossible!"repeatedDefarge,bitterly."Yes.Andabeautifulworldwelivein,whenitispossible,andwhenmanyothersuchthingsarepossible,andnotonly possible, but donedone, see you!under that sky there, every day. LonglivetheDevil.Letusgoon."

Thisdialoguehadbeenheldinsoverylowawhisper,thatnotawordofithad

reached the young lady's ears. But, by this time she trembled under suchstrongemotion,andherfaceexpressedsuchdeepanxiety,and,aboveall,suchdreadand terror, thatMr.Lorryfelt it incumbentonhimtospeakawordortwoofreassurance.

"Courage,dearmiss!Courage!Business!Theworstwillbeoverinamoment;it isbutpassingtheroomdoor,andtheworst isover.Then,all thegoodyoubringtohim,alltherelief,allthehappinessyoubringtohim,begin.Letourgood friendhere, assistyouon that side.That'swell, friendDefarge.Come,now.Business,business!"

Theywentupslowlyandsoftly.Thestaircasewasshort,andtheyweresoonatthetop.There,asithadanabruptturninit,theycameallatonceinsightofthreemen,whoseheadswerebentdownclosetogetherat thesideofadoor,and who were intently looking into the room to which the door belonged,throughsomechinksorholesinthewall.Onhearingfootstepscloseathand,these three turned, and rose, and showed themselves to be the three of onenamewhohadbeendrinkinginthewineshop.

"I forgot them in the surprise of your visit," explained Monsieur Defarge."Leaveus,goodboys;wehavebusinesshere."

Thethreeglidedby,andwentsilentlydown.

There appearing to be no other door on that floor, and the keeper of thewineshopgoingstraighttothisonewhentheywereleftalone,Mr.Lorryaskedhiminawhisper,withalittleanger:

"DoyoumakeashowofMonsieurManette?"

"Ishowhim,inthewayyouhaveseen,toachosenfew."

"Isthatwell?"

"Ithinkitiswell."

"Whoarethefew?Howdoyouchoosethem?"

"Ichoosethemasrealmen,ofmynameJacquesismynametowhomthesightislikelytodogood.Enough;youareEnglish;thatisanotherthing.Staythere,ifyouplease,alittlemoment."

With an admonitory gesture to keep them back, he stooped, and looked inthroughthecreviceinthewall.Soonraisinghisheadagain,hestrucktwiceorthriceuponthedoorevidentlywithnootherobjectthantomakeanoisethere.Withthesameintention,hedrewthekeyacrossit,threeorfourtimes,before

heputitclumsilyintothelock,andturneditasheavilyashecould.

Thedoorslowlyopenedinwardunderhishand,andhelookedintotheroomand said something. A faint voice answered something. Little more than asinglesyllablecouldhavebeenspokenoneitherside.

Helookedbackoverhisshoulder,andbeckonedthemtoenter.Mr.Lorrygothisarmsecurelyroundthedaughter'swaist,andheldher;forhefeltthatshewassinking.

"Aaabusiness,business!"heurged,with amoisture thatwasnotofbusinessshiningonhischeek."Comein,comein!"

"Iamafraidofit,"sheanswered,shuddering.

"Ofit?What?"

"Imeanofhim.Ofmyfather."

Rendered in amanner desperate, byher state andby the beckoningof theirconductor,hedrewoverhisneckthearmthatshookuponhisshoulder,liftedheralittle,andhurriedherintotheroom.Hesatherdownjustwithinthedoor,andheldher,clingingtohim.

Defargedrewoutthekey,closedthedoor,lockeditontheinside,tookoutthekeyagain,andheld it inhishand.All thishedid,methodically,andwithasloud and harsh an accompaniment of noise as he could make. Finally, hewalkedacrosstheroomwithameasuredtreadtowherethewindowwas.Hestoppedthere,andfacedround.

The garret, built to be a depository for firewood and the like,was dim anddark:for,thewindowofdormershape,wasintruthadoorintheroof,withalittlecraneoveritforthehoistingupofstoresfromthestreet:unglazed,andclosing up the middle in two pieces, like any other door of Frenchconstruction.Toexclude thecold,onehalfof thisdoorwas fast closed,andtheotherwasopenedbutaverylittleway.Suchascantyportionoflightwasadmittedthroughthesemeans,thatitwasdifficult,onfirstcomingin,toseeanything; and long habit alone could have slowly formed in any one, theability to do anywork requiring nicety in such obscurity.Yet,work of thatkindwasbeingdoneinthegarret;for,withhisbacktowardsthedoor,andhisface towards thewindowwhere thekeeperof thewineshopstoodlookingathim,awhitehairedmansatonalowbench,stoopingforwardandverybusy,makingshoes.

VI.

TheShoemaker

"Goodday!"saidMonsieurDefarge,lookingdownatthewhiteheadthatbentlowovertheshoemaking.

Itwasraisedforamoment,andaveryfaintvoicerespondedtothesalutation,asifitwereatadistance:

"Goodday!"

"Youarestillhardatwork,Isee?"

After a long silence, the headwas lifted for anothermoment, and the voicereplied, "YesIamworking."This time,apairofhaggardeyeshad lookedatthequestioner,beforethefacehaddroppedagain.

Thefaintnessofthevoicewaspitiableanddreadful.Itwasnotthefaintnessofphysicalweakness,thoughconfinementandhardfarenodoubthadtheirpartin it. Its deplorablepeculiaritywas, that itwas the faintnessof solitude anddisuse.Itwaslikethelastfeebleechoofasoundmadelongandlongago.Soentirelyhaditlostthelifeandresonanceofthehumanvoice,thatitaffectedthesenseslikeaoncebeautifulcolourfadedawayintoapoorweakstain.Sosunken and suppressed it was, that it was like a voice underground. Soexpressive it was, of a hopeless and lost creature, that a famished traveller,wearied out by lonely wandering in a wilderness, would have rememberedhomeandfriendsinsuchatonebeforelyingdowntodie.

Someminutesofsilentworkhadpassed:andthehaggardeyeshadlookedupagain:notwithanyinterestorcuriosity,butwithadullmechanicalperception,beforehand,thatthespotwheretheonlyvisitortheywereawareofhadstood,wasnotyetempty.

"Iwant,"saidDefarge,whohadnotremovedhisgazefromtheshoemaker,"toletinalittlemorelighthere.Youcanbearalittlemore?"

Theshoemakerstoppedhiswork;lookedwithavacantairoflistening,atthefloorononesideofhim;thensimilarly,atthefloorontheothersideofhim;then,upwardatthespeaker.

"Whatdidyousay?"

"Youcanbearalittlemorelight?"

"Imustbearit,ifyouletitin."(Layingthepalestshadowofastressuponthesecondword.)

Theopenedhalfdoorwasopenedalittlefurther,andsecuredatthatangleforthe time.Abroad rayof light fell into thegarret, and showed theworkmanwithanunfinishedshoeuponhislap,pausinginhislabour.Hisfewcommontoolsandvariousscrapsofleatherwereathisfeetandonhisbench.Hehadawhitebeard, raggedlycut,butnotvery long,ahollowface,andexceedinglybrighteyes.Thehollownessandthinnessofhisfacewouldhavecausedthemtolooklarge,underhisyetdarkeyebrowsandhisconfusedwhitehair,thoughthey had been really otherwise; but, they were naturally large, and lookedunnaturallyso.Hisyellowragsofshirtlayopenatthethroat,andshowedhisbody to bewithered andworn.He, and his old canvas frock, and his loosestockings, and all his poor tatters of clothes, had, in a long seclusion fromdirectlightandair,fadeddowntosuchadulluniformityofparchmentyellow,thatitwouldhavebeenhardtosaywhichwaswhich.

Hehadputupahandbetweenhiseyesandthelight,andtheverybonesofitseemed transparent.Sohesat,witha steadfastlyvacantgaze,pausing inhiswork.Heneverlookedatthefigurebeforehim,withoutfirstlookingdownonthissideofhimself,thenonthat,asifhehadlostthehabitofassociatingplacewith sound; he never spoke, without first wandering in this manner, andforgettingtospeak.

"Areyougoingtofinishthatpairofshoestoday?"askedDefarge,motioningtoMr.Lorrytocomeforward.

"Whatdidyousay?"

"Doyoumeantofinishthatpairofshoestoday?"

"Ican'tsaythatImeanto.Isupposeso.Idon'tknow."

But,thequestionremindedhimofhiswork,andhebentoveritagain.

Mr.Lorrycamesilently forward, leaving thedaughterby thedoor.Whenhehadstood,foraminuteortwo,bythesideofDefarge,theshoemakerlookedup.Heshowednosurpriseatseeinganotherfigure,buttheunsteadyfingersofoneofhishands strayed tohis lips ashe lookedat it (his lips andhisnailswereofthesamepaleleadcolour),andthenthehanddroppedtohiswork,andheoncemorebentovertheshoe.Thelookandtheactionhadoccupiedbutaninstant.

"Youhaveavisitor,yousee,"saidMonsieurDefarge.

"Whatdidyousay?"

"Hereisavisitor."

The shoemaker looked up as before, butwithout removing a hand fromhiswork.

"Come!"saidDefarge."Hereismonsieur,whoknowsawellmadeshoewhenheseesone.Showhimthatshoeyouareworkingat.Takeit,monsieur."

Mr.Lorrytookitinhishand.

"Tellmonsieurwhatkindofshoeitis,andthemaker'sname."

Therewasalongerpausethanusual,beforetheshoemakerreplied:

"Iforgetwhatitwasyouaskedme.Whatdidyousay?"

"Isaid,couldn'tyoudescribethekindofshoe,formonsieur'sinformation?"

"Itisalady'sshoe.Itisayounglady'swalkingshoe.Itisinthepresentmode.Ineversawthemode.Ihavehadapatterninmyhand."Heglancedattheshoewithsomelittlepassingtouchofpride.

"Andthemaker'sname?"saidDefarge.

Nowthathehadnoworktohold,helaidtheknucklesoftherighthandinthehollowoftheleft,andthentheknucklesofthelefthandinthehollowoftheright, and then passed a hand across his bearded chin, and so on in regularchanges,withoutamoment'sintermission.Thetaskofrecallinghimfromthevagrancy intowhichhealwayssankwhenhehadspoken,was likerecallingsomeveryweakpersonfromaswoon,orendeavouring,inthehopeofsomedisclosure,tostaythespiritofafastdyingman.

"Didyouaskmeformyname?"

"AssuredlyIdid."

"OneHundredandFive,NorthTower."

"Isthatall?"

"OneHundredandFive,NorthTower."

Withawearysoundthatwasnotasigh,noragroan,hebent toworkagain,untilthesilencewasagainbroken.

"You are not a shoemaker by trade?" saidMr. Lorry, looking steadfastly athim.

His haggard eyes turned to Defarge as if he would have transferred thequestiontohim:butasnohelpcamefromthatquarter,theyturnedbackonthequestionerwhentheyhadsoughttheground.

"Iamnotashoemakerbytrade?No,Iwasnotashoemakerbytrade.IIlearntithere.Itaughtmyself.Iaskedleaveto"

He lapsed away, even for minutes, ringing those measured changes on hishands thewhole time.His eyes came slowly back, at last, to the face fromwhichtheyhadwandered;whentheyrestedonit,hestarted,andresumed,inthemannerofasleeperthatmomentawake,revertingtoasubjectoflastnight.

"Iasked leave to teachmyself,andIgot itwithmuchdifficultyaftera longwhile,andIhavemadeshoeseversince."

Asheheldouthishandfortheshoethathadbeentakenfromhim,Mr.Lorrysaid,stilllookingsteadfastlyinhisface:

"MonsieurManette,doyouremembernothingofme?"

Theshoedroppedtotheground,andhesatlookingfixedlyatthequestioner.

"MonsieurManette";Mr. Lorry laid his hand uponDefarge's arm; "do youremember nothing of this man? Look at him. Look at me. Is there no oldbanker, no old business, no old servant, no old time, rising in your mind,MonsieurManette?"

Asthecaptiveofmanyyearssatlookingfixedly,byturns,atMr.LorryandatDefarge,somelongobliteratedmarksofanactivelyintentintelligenceinthemiddle of the forehead, gradually forced themselves through the blackmistthathadfallenonhim.Theywereovercloudedagain,theywerefainter,theywere gone; but they had been there. And so exactly was the expressionrepeatedonthefairyoungfaceofherwhohadcreptalongthewalltoapointwhereshecouldseehim,andwhereshenowstoodlookingathim,withhandswhich at first hadbeenonly raised in frightened compassion, if not even tokeep him off and shut out the sight of him, butwhichwere now extendingtowardshim,tremblingwitheagernesstolaythespectralfaceuponherwarmyoungbreast,and love itback to lifeandhopesoexactlywas theexpressionrepeated(thoughinstrongercharacters)onherfairyoungface,thatitlookedasthoughithadpassedlikeamovinglight,fromhimtoher.

Darknesshad fallenonhim in itsplace.He lookedat the two, less and lessattentively,andhiseyesingloomyabstractionsoughtthegroundandlookedabouthimintheoldway.Finally,withadeeplongsigh,hetooktheshoeup,andresumedhiswork.

"Haveyourecognisedhim,monsieur?"askedDefargeinawhisper.

"Yes; for a moment. At first I thought it quite hopeless, but I haveunquestionablyseen,forasinglemoment,thefacethatIonceknewsowell.Hush!Letusdrawfurtherback.Hush!"

Shehadmovedfromthewallofthegarret,veryneartothebenchonwhichhesat.Therewassomethingawfulinhisunconsciousnessofthefigurethatcouldhaveputoutitshandandtouchedhimashestoopedoverhislabour.

Notawordwasspoken,notasoundwasmade.Shestood,likeaspirit,besidehim,andhebentoverhiswork.

It happened, at length, that he had occasion to change the instrument in hishand,forhisshoemaker'sknife.It layonthatsideofhimwhichwasnotthesideonwhichshestood.Hehadtakenitup,andwasstoopingtoworkagain,whenhiseyescaughttheskirtofherdress.Heraisedthem,andsawherface.Thetwospectatorsstartedforward,butshestayedthemwithamotionofherhand.Shehadnofearofhisstrikingatherwiththeknife,thoughtheyhad.

Hestaredatherwithafearful look,andafterawhilehis lipsbegantoformsomewords,thoughnosoundproceededfromthem.Bydegrees,inthepausesofhisquickandlabouredbreathing,hewasheardtosay:

"Whatisthis?"

Withthetearsstreamingdownherface,sheputhertwohandstoherlips,andkissedthemtohim;thenclaspedthemonherbreast,asifshelaidhisruinedheadthere.

"Youarenotthegaoler'sdaughter?"

Shesighed"No."

"Whoareyou?"

Notyettrustingthetonesofhervoice,shesatdownonthebenchbesidehim.He recoiled,but she laidherhanduponhis arm.A strange thrill struckhimwhen she did so, and visibly passed over his frame; he laid the knife downsoftly,ashesatstaringather.

Her golden hair, which she wore in long curls, had been hurriedly pushedaside,andfelldownoverherneck.Advancinghishandbylittleandlittle,hetookitupandlookedatit.Inthemidstoftheactionhewentastray,and,withanotherdeepsigh,felltoworkathisshoemaking.

Butnotforlong.Releasinghisarm,shelaidherhanduponhisshoulder.After

lookingdoubtfullyatit, twoorthreetimes,asif tobesurethatitwasreallythere, he laid down his work, put his hand to his neck, and took off ablackened string with a scrap of folded rag attached to it. He opened this,carefully,onhisknee,anditcontainedaverylittlequantityofhair:notmorethanoneortwolonggoldenhairs,whichhehad,insomeoldday,woundoffuponhisfinger.

Hetookherhairintohishandagain,andlookedcloselyatit."Itisthesame.Howcanitbe!Whenwasit!Howwasit!"

Astheconcentratedexpressionreturnedtohisforehead,heseemedtobecomeconsciousthatitwasinherstoo.Heturnedherfulltothelight,andlookedather.

"Shehad laidherheaduponmyshoulder, thatnightwhen Iwassummonedoutshehadafearofmygoing,thoughIhadnoneandwhenIwasbroughttotheNorthTowertheyfoundtheseuponmysleeve. 'Youwillleavemethem?Theycanneverhelpmetoescapeinthebody,thoughtheymayinthespirit.'ThosewerethewordsIsaid.Irememberthemverywell."

Heformedthisspeechwithhis lipsmanytimesbeforehecouldutter it.Butwhen he did find spokenwords for it, they came to him coherently, thoughslowly.

"Howwasthis?Wasityou?"

Oncemore,thetwospectatorsstarted,asheturneduponherwithafrightfulsuddenness. But she sat perfectly still in his grasp, and only said, in a lowvoice,"Ientreatyou,goodgentlemen,donotcomenearus,donotspeak,donotmove!"

"Hark!"heexclaimed."Whosevoicewasthat?"

Hishands releasedher asheuttered this cry, andwentup tohiswhitehair,whichtheytoreinafrenzy.Itdiedout,aseverythingbuthisshoemakingdiddie out of him, andhe refoldedhis little packet and tried to secure it in hisbreast;buthestilllookedather,andgloomilyshookhishead.

"No, no, no; you are too young, too blooming. It can't be. See what theprisoner is.Thesearenot thehandssheknew, this isnot the facesheknew,thisisnotavoicesheeverheard.No,no.ShewasandHewasbeforetheslowyearsoftheNorthToweragesago.Whatisyourname,mygentleangel?"

Hailinghissoftenedtoneandmanner,hisdaughterfelluponherkneesbeforehim,withherappealinghandsuponhisbreast.

"O, sir, at another timeyou shallknowmyname,andwhomymotherwas,and who my father, and how I never knew their hard, hard history. But Icannottellyouatthistime,andIcannottellyouhere.AllthatImaytellyou,hereandnow,is,thatIpraytoyoutotouchmeandtoblessme.Kissme,kissme!Omydear,mydear!"

Hiscoldwhiteheadmingledwithherradianthair,whichwarmedandlighteditasthoughitwerethelightofFreedomshiningonhim.

"IfyouhearinmyvoiceIdon'tknowthatitisso,butIhopeitisifyouhearinmyvoiceanyresemblancetoavoicethatoncewassweetmusicinyourears,weepforit,weepforit!Ifyoutouch,intouchingmyhair,anythingthatrecallsabelovedheadthatlayonyourbreastwhenyouwereyoungandfree,weepforit,weepforit!If,whenIhinttoyouofaHomethatisbeforeus,whereIwillbetruetoyouwithallmydutyandwithallmyfaithfulservice,IbringbacktheremembranceofaHomelongdesolate,whileyourpoorheartpinedaway,weepforit,weepforit!"

Sheheldhimcloserroundtheneck,androckedhimonherbreastlikeachild.

"If,whenItellyou,dearestdear,thatyouragonyisover,andthatIhavecomeheretotakeyoufromit,andthatwegotoEnglandtobeatpeaceandatrest,Icauseyoutothinkofyourusefullifelaidwaste,andofournativeFrancesowicked toyou,weep for it,weep for it!And if,when I shall tellyouofmyname, and ofmy fatherwho is living, and ofmymotherwho is dead, youlearn that Ihave tokneel tomyhonouredfather,and implorehispardonforhavingnever for his sake striven all day and lain awake andwept all night,becausetheloveofmypoormotherhidhistorturefromme,weepforit,weepforit!Weepforher,then,andforme!Goodgentlemen,thankGod!Ifeelhissacredtearsuponmyface,andhissobsstrikeagainstmyheart.O,see!ThankGodforus,thankGod!"

He had sunk in her arms, and his face dropped on her breast: a sight sotouching, yet so terrible in the tremendous wrong and suffering which hadgonebeforeit,thatthetwobeholderscoveredtheirfaces.

Whenthequietofthegarrethadbeenlongundisturbed,andhisheavingbreastand shaken form had long yielded to the calm that must follow allstormsemblemtohumanity,oftherestandsilenceintowhichthestormcalledLifemusthushatlasttheycameforwardtoraisethefatheranddaughterfromtheground.Hehadgraduallydroppedtothefloor,andlaythereinalethargy,wornout.Shehadnestleddownwithhim, that his headmight lie uponherarm;andherhairdroopingoverhimcurtainedhimfromthelight.

"If, without disturbing him," she said, raising her hand toMr. Lorry as he

stoopedoverthem,afterrepeatedblowingsofhisnose,"allcouldbearrangedforour leavingParisatonce, so that, from theverydoor,hecouldbe takenaway"

"But,consider.Ishefitforthejourney?"askedMr.Lorry.

"Morefitforthat,Ithink,thantoremaininthiscity,sodreadfultohim."

"It is true,"saidDefarge,whowaskneelingtolookonandhear."Morethanthat;MonsieurManetteis,forallreasons,bestoutofFrance.Say,shallIhireacarriageandposthorses?"

"That's business," said Mr. Lorry, resuming on the shortest notice hismethodicalmanners;"andifbusinessistobedone,Ihadbetterdoit."

"Then be so kind," urgedMissManette, "as to leave us here.You see howcomposedhehasbecome,andyoucannotbeafraidtoleavehimwithmenow.Whyshouldyoube?Ifyouwilllockthedoortosecureusfrominterruption,Ido not doubt that youwill find him,when you come back, as quiet as youleavehim.Inanycase,Iwill takecareofhimuntilyoureturn,andthenwewillremovehimstraight."

Both Mr. Lorry and Defarge were rather disinclined to this course, and infavour of one of them remaining. But, as there were not only carriage andhorsestobeseento,buttravellingpapers;andastimepressed,forthedaywasdrawingtoanend,itcameatlasttotheirhastilydividingthebusinessthatwasnecessarytobedone,andhurryingawaytodoit.

Then,asthedarknessclosedin,thedaughterlaidherheaddownonthehardgroundcloseatthefather'sside,andwatchedhim.Thedarknessdeepenedanddeepened,andtheybothlayquiet,untilalightgleamedthroughthechinksinthewall.

Mr.LorryandMonsieurDefargehadmadeallreadyforthejourney,andhadbroughtwith them, besides travelling cloaks andwrappers, bread andmeat,wine,andhotcoffee.MonsieurDefargeput thisprovender,and the lamphecarried,on theshoemaker'sbench(therewasnothingelse in thegarretbutapalletbed),andheandMr.Lorryrousedthecaptive,andassistedhimtohisfeet.

Nohumanintelligencecouldhavereadthemysteriesofhismind,inthescaredblankwonderofhis face.Whetherheknewwhathadhappened,whetherherecollectedwhattheyhadsaidtohim,whetherheknewthathewasfree,werequestionswhichno sagacity couldhave solved.They tried speaking tohim;but,hewassoconfused,andsoveryslowtoanswer, that theytookfrightat

hisbewilderment,andagreedforthetimetotamperwithhimnomore.Hehadawild,lostmannerofoccasionallyclaspinghisheadinhishands,thathadnotbeenseeninhimbefore;yet,hehadsomepleasureinthemeresoundofhisdaughter'svoice,andinvariablyturnedtoitwhenshespoke.

Inthesubmissivewayofonelongaccustomedtoobeyundercoercion,heateanddrankwhattheygavehimtoeatanddrink,andputonthecloakandotherwrappings,thattheygavehimtowear.Hereadilyrespondedtohisdaughter'sdrawingherarmthroughhis,andtookandkeptherhandinbothhisown.

Theybegantodescend;MonsieurDefargegoingfirstwiththelamp,Mr.Lorryclosing the little procession.They had not traversedmany steps of the longmainstaircasewhenhestopped,andstaredattheroofandroundatthewalls.

"Youremembertheplace,myfather?Youremembercominguphere?"

"Whatdidyousay?"

But, before she could repeat thequestion,hemurmuredan answer as if shehadrepeatedit.

"Remember?No,Idon'tremember.Itwassoverylongago."

That he had no recollection whatever of his having been brought from hisprisontothathouse,wasapparenttothem.

Theyheardhimmutter,"OneHundredandFive,NorthTower;"andwhenhelookedabouthim,itevidentlywasforthestrongfortresswallswhichhadlongencompassedhim.Ontheirreachingthecourtyardheinstinctivelyalteredhistread, as being in expectation of a drawbridge; and when there was nodrawbridge,andhesawthecarriagewaitingintheopenstreet,hedroppedhisdaughter'shandandclaspedhisheadagain.

Nocrowdwasaboutthedoor;nopeoplewerediscernibleatanyofthemanywindows;notevenachancepasserbywasinthestreet.

Anunnaturalsilenceanddesertionreignedthere.

Only one soul was to be seen, and that was Madame Defargewho leanedagainstthedoorpost,knitting,andsawnothing.

Theprisonerhadgotintoacoach,andhisdaughterhadfollowedhim,whenMr. Lorry's feet were arrested on the step by his asking, miserably, for hisshoemakingtoolsandtheunfinishedshoes.

MadameDefargeimmediatelycalledtoherhusbandthatshewouldgetthem,andwent,knitting,outofthelamplight,throughthecourtyard.

She quickly brought them down and handed them in;and immediatelyafterwardsleanedagainstthedoorpost,knitting,andsawnothing.

Defargegotuponthebox,andgavetheword"TotheBarrier!"Thepostilioncracked his whip, and they clattered away under the feeble overswinginglamps.

Undertheoverswinginglampsswingingeverbrighterinthebetterstreets,andever dimmer in the worseand by lighted shops, gay crowds, illuminatedcoffeehouses,andtheatredoors,tooneofthecitygates.Soldierswithlanterns,at theguardhouse there. "Yourpapers, travellers!" "Seehere then,MonsieurtheOfficer,"saidDefarge,gettingdown,andtakinghimgravelyapart,"thesearethepapersofmonsieurinside,withthewhitehead.

Theywereconsignedtome,withhim,atthe"Hedroppedhisvoice,therewasaflutteramong themilitary lanterns,andoneof thembeinghanded into thecoachbyanarminuniform,theeyesconnectedwiththearmlooked,notaneverydayoraneverynightlook,atmonsieurwiththewhitehead.

"Itiswell.Forward!"fromtheuniform."Adieu!"fromDefarge.

And so, under a short grove of feebler and feebler overswinging lamps, outunderthegreatgroveofstars.

Beneath that archofunmovedandeternal lights; some, so remote from thislittleearth that the learnedtellus it isdoubtfulwhether theirrayshaveevenyetdiscoveredit,asapointinspacewhereanythingissufferedordone:

theshadowsofthenightwerebroadandblack.

All through the cold and restless interval, until dawn, they once morewhisperedintheearsofMr.JarvisLorrysittingoppositetheburiedmanwhohad been dug out, andwonderingwhat subtle powerswere for ever lost tohim,andwhatwerecapableofrestorationtheoldinquiry:

"Ihopeyoucaretoberecalledtolife?"

Andtheoldanswer:

"Ican'tsay."

Theendofthefirstbook.

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