“Gabelle.”

“Gabelle. And what is the message to the unfortunate Gabelle

in prison?”

“Simply, ‘that he has received the letter, and will come.’”

“Any time mentioned?”

“He will start upon his journey tomorrow night.”

“Any person mentioned?”

“No.”

He helped Mr. Lorry to wrap himself in a number of coats and

cloaks, and went out with him from the warm atmosphere of the

old Bank, into the misty air of Fleet Street. “My love to Lucie, and

to little Lucie,” said Mr. Lorry at parting, “and take precious care

of them till I come back.” Charles Darnay shook his head and

doubtfully smiled, as the carriage rolled away.

That nightit was the fourteenth of Augusthe sat up late,

and wrote two fervent letters; one was to Lucie, explaining the

strong obligation he was under to go to Paris, and showing her, at

length, the reasons that he had, for feeling confident that he could

become involved in no personal danger there; the other was to the

Doctor, confiding Lucie and their dear child to his care, and

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

dwelling on the same topics with the strongest assurances. To

both, he wrote that he would despatch letters in proof of his safety,

immediately after his arrival. It was a hard day, that day of being

among them, with the first reservation of their joint lives on his

mind. It was a hard matter to preserve the innocent deceit of

which they were profoundly unsuspicious. But, an affectionate

glance at his wife, so happy and busy, made him resolute not to tell

her what impended (he had been half moved to do it, so strange it

was to him to act in anything without her quiet aid), and the day

passed quickly. Early in the evening he embraced her, and her

scarcely less dear namesake, pretending that he would return by-

and-by (an imaginary engagement took him out, and he had

secreted a valise of clothes ready), and so he emerged into the

heavy mist of the heavy streets, with a heavier heart.

The unseen force was drawing him fast to itself, now, and all

the tides and winds were setting straight and strong towards it. He

left his two letters with a trusty porter, to be delivered half an hour

before midnight, and no sooner; took horse for Dover; and began

his journey. ‘For the love of Heaven, of justice, of generosity, of the

honour of your noble name!’ was the poor prisoner’s cry with

which he strengthened his sinking heart, as he left all that was

dear on earth behind him, and floated away for the Loadstone

Rock.

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

BOOK THE

THIRD

THE TRACK OF A

STORM

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics