"Oh, Carton, Carton, dear Carton!" cried
little Lucie, springing up and throwing her
arms passionately round him, in a burst of
grief. "Now that you have come, I think you
will do something to help mamma, something to
save papa! O, look at her, dear Carton! Can
you, of all the people who love her, bear to see
her so?"

He bent over the child, and laid her blooming
cheek against his face. He put her gently from
him, and looked at her unconscious mother.

"Before I go," he said, and paused.—"I may
kiss her?"

It was remembered afterwards that when he
bent down and touched her face with his lips,
he murmured some words. The child, who was
nearest to him, told them afterwards, and told
her grandchildren when she was a handsome
old lady, that she heard him say, "A life you
love."

When he had gone out into the next room, he
turned suddenly on Mr. Lorry and her father,
who were following, and said to the latter:

"You had great influence but yesterday,
Doctor Manette; let it, at least, be tried. These
judges, and all the men in power, are very
friendly to you, and very recognisant of your
services; are they not?"

"Nothing connected with Charles was
concealed from me. I had the strongest assurances
that I should save him; and I did." He returned
the answer in great trouble, and very slowly.

"Try them again. The hours between this and
to-morrow afternoon are few and short, but try."

"I intend to try. I will not rest a moment."

"That's well. I have known such energy as
yours do great things before now though
never," he added, with a smile and a sigh together,
"such great things as this. But try! Of little
worth as life is when we misuse it, it is worth
that effort. It would cost nothing to lay down
if it were not."

"I will go," said Doctor Manette, "to the
Prosecutor and the President straight, and I
will go to others whom it is better not to name.
I will write, too, and—But stay! There is a
celebration in the streets, and no one will be
accessible until dark."

"That's true. Well! It is a forlorn hope
at the best, and not much the forlorner for being
delayed till dark. I should like to know how
you speed; though, mind! I expect nothing!
When are you likely to have seen these dread
powers, Doctor Manette?"

"Immediately after dark, I should hope.
Within an hour or two from this."

"It will be dark soon after four. Let us
stretch the hour or two. If I go to Mr. Lorry's
at nine, shall I hear what you have done, either
from our friend or from yourself?"

"Yes."

"May you prosper!"

Mr. Lorry followed Sydney to the outer door,
and, touching him on the shoulder as he
going away, caused him to turn.

"I have no hope," said Mr. Lorry, in a low
and sorrowful whisper.

"Nor have I."

"If any of these men, or all of these men,
were disposed to spare him—which is a large
supposition; for what is his life or any man's,
to them!—I doubt if they durst spare him after
the demonstration in the Court."

"And so do I. I heard the fall of the axe in
that sound."

Mr. Lorry leaned his arm upon the door-post,
and bowed his face upon it.

"Don't despond," said Carton, very gently;
"don't grieve. I encouraged Doctor Manette
in this idea, because I felt that it might one day
be consolatory to her. Otherwise, she might
think 'his life was wantonly thrown away or
wasted,' and that might trouble her."

"Yes, yes, yes," returned Mr. Lorry, drying
his eyes, "you are right. But he will perish;
there is no real hope."

"Yes. He will perish; there is no real hope,"
echoed Carton. And walked with a settled step,
down stairs.

CHAPTER XII. DARKNESS.

SYDNEY CARTON paused in the street, not
quite decided where to go. "At Tellson's
banking-house at nine," he said, with a musing
face. "Shall I do well, in the mean time, to
show myself? I think so. It is best that
these people should know there is such a man
as I here; it is a sound precaution, and may be
a necessary preparation. But, care, care, care!
Let me think it out."

Checking his steps which had begun to tend
towards an object, he took a turn or two in the
already darkening street, and traced the thought
in his mind to its possible consequences, His
first impression was confirmed. "It is best,"
he said, finally resolved, "that these people
should know there is such a man as I here."
And he turned his face towards Saint Antoine.

Defarge had described himself, that day, as
the keeper of a wine-shop in the Saint Antoine
suburb. It was not difficult for one who knew
the city well, to find his house without asking
any question. Having ascertained its situation,
Carton came out of those closer streets again,
and dined at a place of refreshment and fell
sound asleep after dinner. For the first time in
many years, he had no strong drink. Since last
night he had taken nothing but a little light thin
wine, and last night he had dropped the brandy
slowly down on Mr. Lorry's hearth like a man
who had done with it.

It was as late as seven o'clock when he awoke
refreshed, and went out into the streets again.
As he passed along towards Saint Antoine, he
stopped at a shop-window where there was a
mirror, and slightly altered the disordered
arrangement of his loose cravat, and his coat-
collar, and his wild hair: This done, he went
on direct to Defarge's, and went in.

There happened to be no customer in the
shop but Jacques Three, of the restless fingers
and the croaking voice. This man whom he had
seen upon the Jury, stood drinking at the little
counter, in conversation with the Defarges, man