be in danger of turning in the unhealthy direction.
He may have observed himself, and made
the discovery.''

"You are sure that he is not under too great
a strain?"

"I think I am quite sure of it."

"My dear Manette, if he were overworked
now——"

"My dear Lorry, I doubt if that could easily
be. There has been a violent stress in one
direction, and it needs a counterweight."

"Excuse me, as a persistent man of business.
Assuming for a moment, that he was over-
worked; it would show itself in some renewal
of this disorder?"

"I do not think so. I do not think," said
Doctor Manette with the firmness of self-
conviction, "that anything but the one train
of association would renew it. I think that,
henceforth, nothing but some extraordinary
jarring of that chord could renew it. After
what has happened, and after his recovery, I find
it difficult to imagine any such violent sounding
of that string again. I trust, and I almost
believe, that the circumstances likely to renew it
are exhausted."

He spoke with the diffidence of a man who
knew how slight a thing would overset the
delicate organisation of the mind, and yet with the
confidence of a man who had slowly won his
assurance out of personal endurance and
distress. It was not for his friend to abate that
confidence. He professed himself more relieved
and encouraged than he really was, and
approached his second and last point. He felt it
to be the most difficult of all; but, remembering
his old Sunday morning conversation with Miss
Pross, and remembering what he had seen in the
last nine days, he knew that he must face it.

"The occupation resumed under the influence
of this passing affliction so happily recovered
from," said Mr. Lorry, clearing his throat, "we
will call—Blacksmith's work. Blacksmith's
work. We will say, to put a case and for the sake
of illustration, that he had been used in his bad
time, to work at a little forge. We will say
that he was unexpectedly found at his forge
again. Is it not a pity that he should keep it
by him?"

The Doctor shaded his forehead with his hand,
and beat his foot nervously on the ground.

"He has always kept it by him," said Mr.
Lorry, with an anxious look at his friend.
"Now, would it not be better that he should let
it go?"

Still, the Doctor, with shaded forehead, beat
his foot nervously on the ground.

"You do not find it easy to advise me?" said
Mr. Lorry. "I quite understand it to be a
nice question. And yet I think——" And
there he shook his head, and stopped.

"You see," said Doctor Manette, turning to
him after an uneasy pause, "it is very hard to
explain, consistently, the innermost workings of
this poor man's mind.  He once yearned so
frightfully for that occupation, and it was so
welcome when it came; no doubt it relieved his
pain so much, by substituting the perplexity of
the fingers for the perplexity of the brain, and
by substituting, as he became more practised,
the ingenuity of the hands for the ingenuity of
the mental torture; that he has never been able
to bear the thought of putting it quite out of
his reach. Even now, when, I believe, he is
more hopeful of himself than he has ever been,
and even speaks of himself with a kind of
confidence, the idea that he might need that old
employment, and not find it, gives him a sudden
sense of terror, like that which one may fancy
strikes to the heart of a lost child."

He looked like his illustration, as he raised
his eyes to Mr. Lorry's face.

"But may not—mind! I ask for information,
as a plodding man of business who only
deals with such material objects as guineas,
shillings, and bank-notes—may not the retention
of the thing, involve the retention of the idea?
If the thing were gone, my dear Manette, might
not the fear go with it?  In short, is it not a
concession to the misgiving, to keep the forge?"

There was another silence.

"You see, too," said the Doctor, tremulously,
"it is such an old companion."

"I would not keep it," said Mr. Lorry, shaking
his head; for he gained in firmness as he saw
the Doctor disquieted. "I would recommend
him to sacrifice it. I only want your authority.
I am sure it does no good. Come! Give me
your authority, like a dear good man. For his
daughter's sake, my dear Manette!"

Very strange to see what a struggle there
was within him!

"In her name, then, let it be done; I sanction
it. But, I would not take it away while he was
present. Let it be removed when he is not
there; let him miss his old companion after an
absence."

Mr. Lorry readily engaged for that, and the
conference was ended. They passed the day in
the country, and the Doctor was quite restored.
On the three following days, he remained
perfectly well, and on the fourteenth day, he went
away to join Lucie and her husband. The
precaution that had been taken to account for his
silence, Mr. Lorry had previously explained to
him, and he had written to Lucie in accordance
with it, and she had no suspicions.

On the night of the day on which he left the
house, Mr. Lorry went into his room with a
chopper, saw, chisel, and hammer, attended by
Miss Pross carrying a light. There, with closed
doors, and in a mysterious and guilty manner,
Mr. Lorry hacked the shoemaker's bench to
pieces, while Miss Pross held the candle as if
she were assisting at a murder—for which, indeed,
in her grimness, she was no unsuitable figure.
The burning of the body (previously reduced to
pieces convenient for the purpose), was
commenced without delay in the kitchen fire; and
the tools, shoes, and leather, were buried in the
garden. So wicked do destruction and secrecy
appear to honest minds, that Mr. Lorry and Miss
Pross, while engaged in the commission of their
deed and in the removal of its traces, almost