“Where is my bench? I have been looking everywhere for my

bench, and I can’t find it. What have they done with my work?

Time presses: I must finish those shoes.”

They looked at one another, and their hearts died within them.

“Come, come!” said he, in a whimpering miserable way; “let me

get to work. Give me my work.”

Receiving no answer, he tore his hair, and beat his feet upon

the ground, like a distracted child.

“Don’t torture a poor forlorn wretch,” he implored them, with a

dreadful cry; “but give me my work! What is to become of us, if

those shoes are not done tonight?”

Lost, utterly lost!

It was so clearly beyond hope to reason with him, or try to

restore him, thatas if by agreementthey each put a hand upon

his shoulder, and soothed him to sit down before the fire, with a

promise that he should have his work presently. He sank into the

chair, and brooded over the embers, and shed tears. As if all that

had happened since the garret time were a momentary fancy, or a

dream, Mr. Lorry saw him shrink into the exact figure that

Defarge had had in keeping.

Affected, and impressed with terror as they both were, by this

spectacle of ruin, it was not a time to yield to such emotions. His

lonely daughter, bereft of her final hope and reliance, appealed to

them both too strongly. Again, as if by agreement, they looked at

one another with one meaning in their faces. Carton was the first

to speak:

“The last chance is gone: it was not much. Yes; he had better be

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

taken to her. But, before you go, will you, for a moment, steadily

attend to me? Don’t ask me why I make the stipulations I am

going to make, and exact the promise I am going to exact; I have a

reasona good one.”

“I do not doubt it,” answered Mr. Lorry. “Say on.”

The figure in the chair between them, was all the time

monotonously rocking itself to and fro, and moaning. They spoke

in such a tone as they would have used if they had been watching

by a sickbed in the night.

Carton stooped to pick up the coat, which lay almost entangling

his feet. As he did so, a small case in which the Doctor was

accustomed to carry the list of his day’s duties, fell lightly on the

floor. Carton took it up, and there was a folded paper in it. “We

should look at this!” he said. Mr. Lorry nodded his consent. He

opened it, and exclaimed, “Thank GoD!”

“What is it?” asked Mr. Lorry, eagerly.

“A moment! Let me speak of it in its place. First,” he put his

hand in his coat, and took another paper from it, “that is the

certificate which enables me to pass out of this city. Look at it. You

seeSydney Carton, an Englishman?”

Mr. Lorry held it open in his hand, gazing in his earnest face.

“Keep it for me until tomorrow. I shall see him tomorrow, you