at the stone. For a few minutes there was a pause, and a hurry,

and a murmur, and the unintelligible sound of his voice; and then

Mr. Lorry saw him, surrounded by all, and in the midst of a line of

twenty men long, all linked shoulder to shoulder, and hand to

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shoulder, hurried out with cries“Live the Bastille prisoner! Help

for the Bastille prisoner’s kindred in La Force! Room for the

Bastille prisoner in front there! Save the prisoner Evremonde at

La Force!” and a thousand answering shouts.

He closed the lattice again with a fluttering heart, closed the

window and the curtain, hastened to Lucie, and told her that her

father was assisted by the people, and gone in search of her

husband. He found her child and Miss Pross with her; but, it never

occurred to him to be surprised by their appearance until a long

time afterwards, when he sat watching them in such quiet as the

night knew.

Lucie had, by that time, fallen into a stupor on the floor at his

feet, clinging to his hand. Miss Pross had laid the child down on

his own bed, and her head had gradually fallen on the pillow

beside her pretty charge. O the long, long night, with the moans of

the poor wife! And O the long, long night, with no return of her

father and no tidings!

Twice more in the darkness the bell at the great gate sounded,

and the irruption was repeated, and the grindstone whirled and

spluttered. “What is it?” cried Lucie, affrighted. “Hush! The

soldiers’ swords are sharpened there,” said Mr. Lorry. “The place

is national property now, and used as a kind of armoury, my love.”

Twice more in all; but, the last spell of work was feeble and

fitful. Soon afterwards the day began to dawn, and he softly

detached himself from the clasping hand, and cautiously looked

out again. A man, so besmeared that he might have been a sorely

wounded soldier creeping back to consciousness on a field of slain,

was rising from the pavement by the side of the grindstone, and

looking about him with a vacant air. Shortly, this worn-out

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murderer descried in the imperfect light one of the carriages of

Monseigneur, and, staggering to that gorgeous vehicle, climbed in

at the door, and shut himself up to take his rest on its dainty

cushions.

The great grindstone, Earth, had turned when Mr. Lorry looked

out again, and the sun was red on the courtyard. But, the lesser

grindstone stood alone there in the calm morning air, with a red

upon it that the sun had never given, and would never take away.

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Chapter XXXIII

THE SHADOW

O

ne of the first considerations which arose in the business

mind of Mr. Lorry when business hours came round, was

this:that he had no right to imperil Tellson’s by