A trading-boat, with a sail of the softened colour of a dead leaf,

then glided into his view, floated by him, and died away. As its

silent track in the water disappeared, the prayer that had broken

up out of his heart for a merciful consideration of all his poor

blindness and errors, ended in the words, “I am the resurrection

and the life.”

Mr. Lorry was already out when he got back, and it was easy to

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surmise where the good old man was gone. Sydney Carton drank

nothing but a little coffee, ate some bread, and, having washed and

changed to refresh himself, went out to the place of trial.

The court was all astir and a-buzz, when the black sheep

whom many fell away from in dreadpressed him into an obscure

corner among the crowd. Mr. Lorry was there, and Doctor

Manette was there. She was there, sitting beside her father.

When her husband was brought in, she turned a look upon him,

so sustaining, so encouraging, so full of admiring love, and pitying

tenderness, yet so courageous for his sake, that it called the

healthy blood into his face, brightened his glance, and animated

his heart. If there had been any eyes to notice the influence of her

look, on Sydney Carton, it would have been seen to be the same

influence exactly.

Before that unjust Tribunal, there was little or no order of

procedure, ensuring to any accused person any reasonable

hearing. There could have been no such Revolution, if all laws,

forms, and ceremonies, had not first been so monstrously abused,

that the suicidal vengeance of the Revolution was to scatter them

all to the winds.

Every eye was turned to the jury. The same determined patriots

and good republicans as yesterday and the day before, and

tomorrow and the day after. Eager and prominent among them,

one man with a craving face, and his fingers perpetually hovering

about his lips, whose appearance gave great satisfaction to the

spectators. A life-thirsting, cannibal-looking, bloody-minded

juryman, the Jacques Three of Saint Antoine. The whole jury, as a

jury of dogs empanelled to try the deer.

Every eye then turned to the five judges and the public

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prosecutor. No favourable leaning in that quarter today. A fell,

uncompromising, murderous business-meaning there. Every eye

then sought some other eye in the crowd, and gleamed at it

approvingly; and heads nodded at one another before bending

forward with a strained attention.

Charles Evremonde, called Darnay. Released yesterday.

Reaccused and retaken yesterday. Indictment delivered to him

last night. Suspected and Denounced enemy of the Republic,

Aristocrat, one of a family of tyrants, one of a race proscribed, for

that they had used their abolished privileges to the infamous

oppression of the people. Charles Evremonde, called Darnay, in

right of such proscription, absolutely Dead in Law.