“There are two other points,” said Mr. Lorry, “on which I am

anxious to be instructed. I may go on?”

“You cannot do your friend a better service.” The Doctor gave

him his hand.

“To the first, then. He is of a studious habit, and unusually

energetic; he applies himself with great ardour to the acquisition

of professional knowledge, to the conducting of experiments, to

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many things. Now, does he do too much?”

“I think not. It may be the character of his mind, to be always in

singular need of occupation. That may be, in part, natural to it; in

part, the result of affliction. The less it was occupied with healthy

things, the more it would 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 overworked; 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

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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