sheltering the wife of an emigrant prisoner under the Bank roof.

His own possessions, safety, life, he would have hazarded for Lucie

and her child, without a moment’s demur; but the great trust he

held was not his own, and as to that business charge he was a

strict man of business.

At first, his mind reverted to Defarge, and he thought of finding

out the wine-shop again and taking counsel with its master in

reference to the safest dwelling-place in the distracted state of the

city. But, the same consideration that suggested him, repudiated

him; he lived in the most violent Quarter, and doubtless was

influential there, and deep in its dangerous workings.

Noon coming, and the Doctor not returning, and every minute’s

delay tending to compromise Tellson’s, Mr. Lorry advised with

Lucie. She said that her father had spoken of hiring a lodging for a

short term, in that Quarter, near the Banking-house. As there was

no business objection to this, and as he foresaw that even if it were

all well with Charles, and he were to be released, he could not

hope to leave the city, Mr. Lorry went out in quest of such a

lodging, and found a suitable one, high up in a removed by-street

where the closed blinds in all the other windows of a high

melancholy square of buildings marked deserted homes.

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To this lodging he at once removed Lucie and her child, and

Miss Pross; giving them what comfort he could, and much more

than he had himself. He left Jerry with them, as a figure to fill a

doorway that would bear considerable knocking on the head, and

returned to his own occupations. A disturbed and doleful mind he

brought to bear upon them; and slowly and heavily, the day lagged

on with him.

It wore itself out, and wore him out with it, until the Bank

closed. He was again alone in his room of the previous night,

considering what to do next, when he heard a foot upon the stair.

In a few moments a man stood in his presence, who, with a keenly

observant look at him, addressed him by his name.

“Your servant,” said Mr. Lorry. “Do you know me?”

He was a strongly made man with dark curling hair, from fortyfive

to fifty years of age. For answer he repeated without any

change of emphasis, the words:

“Do you know me?”

“I have seen you somewhere.”

“Perhaps at my wine-shop?”

Much interested and agitated, Mr. Lorry said: “You come from

Doctor Manette?”

“Yes, I come from Doctor Manette.”

“And what says he? What does he send me?”

Defarge gave into his anxious hand, an open scrap of paper. It

bore the words in the Doctor’s writing:

Charles is safe, but I cannot safely leave this place yet. I have

obtained the favour that the bearer has a short note from Charles

to his wife. Let the bearer see his wife.