A TALE OF TWO CITIES.

In Three Books.

BY CHARLES DICKENS.

BOOK THE SECOND. THE GOLDEN THREAD.
CHAPTER X. TWO PROMISES.

MORE months, to the number of twelve, had
come and gone, and Mr. Charles Darnay was
established in England as a higher teacher of the
French language who was conversant with
French literature. In this age, he would have
been a Professor; in that age, he was a Tutor.
He read with young men who could find any
leisure and interest for the study of a living
tongue spoken all over the world, and he
cultivated a taste for its stores of knowledge
and fancy. He could write of them, besides, in
sound English, and render them into sound
English. Such masters were not at that time easily
found; Princes that had been, and Kings that
were to be, were not yet of the Teacher class,
and no ruined nobility had dropped out of
Tellson's ledgers, to turn cooks and carpenters. As
a tutor, whose attainments made the student's
way unusually pleasant and profitable, and as an
elegant translator who brought something to his
work besides mere dictionary knowledge, young
Mr. Darnay soon became known and encouraged.
He was well acquainted, moreover, with the
circumstances of his country, and those were of
ever-growing interest. So, with great
perseverance and untiring industry, he prospered.

In London, he had expected neither to walk
on pavements of gold, nor to lie on beds of
roses; if he had had any such exalted
expectation, he would not have prospered. He had
expected labour, and he found it, and did it, and
made the best of it. In this, his prosperity
consisted.

A certain portion of his time was passed at
Cambridge, where he read with undergraduates
as a sort of tolerated smuggler who drove a
contraband trade in European languages, instead
of conveying Greek and Latin through the
Custom-house. The rest of his time he passed
in London.

Now, from the days when it was always
summer in Eden, to these days when it is
mostly winter in fallen latitudes, the world of a
man has invariably gone one way—Charles
Darnay's way—the way of the love of a
woman.

He had loved Lucie Manette from the hour of
his danger. He had never heard a sound so
sweet and dear as the sound of her compassionate
voice; he had never seen a face so tenderly
beautiful, as hers when it was confronted with
his own on the edge of the grave that had been
dug for him. But, he had not yet spoken to her
on the subject; the assassination at the deserted
chateau far away beyond the heaving water and
the long, long, dusty roads—the solid stone
château which had itself become the mere mist
of a dream—had been done a year, and he had
never yet, by so much as a single spoken word,
disclosed to her the state of his heart.

That he had his reasons for this, he knew full
well. It was again a summer day when, lately
arrived in London from his college occupation,
he turned into the quiet corner in Soho, bent on
seeking an opportunity of opening his mind to
Doctor Manette. It was the close of the
summer day, and he knew Lucie to be out with
Miss Pross.

He found the Doctor reading in his arm-chair
at a window. The energy which had at once
supported him under his old sufferings and
aggravated their sharpness, had been gradually
restored to him. He was now a very energetic
man indeed, with great firmness of purpose,
strength of resolution, and vigour of action.
In his recovered energy he was sometimes a
little fitful and sudden, as he had at first been
in the exercise of his other recovered faculties;
but, this had never been frequently observable,
and had grown more and more rare.

He studied much, slept little, sustained a
great deal of fatigue with ease, and was equably
cheerful. To him, now entered Charles Darnay,
at sight of whom he laid aside his book and held
out his hand.

"Charles Darnay! I rejoice to see you. We
have been counting on your return these three
or four days past. Mr. Stryver and Sydney
Carton were both here yesterday, and both made
you out to be more than due."

"I am obliged to them for their interest in
the matter," he answered, a little coldly as to
them, though very warmly as to the Doctor.
"Miss Manette——"

"Is well," said the Doctor, as he stopped
short, "and your return will delight us all. She
has gone out on some household matters, but
will soon be home."

"Doctor Manette, I knew she was from