misery: and the sound of her voice, the light of her face, the touch

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of her hand, had a strong beneficial influence with him almost

always. Not absolutely always, for she could recall some occasions

on which her power had failed; but they were few and slight, and

she believed them over.

Mr. Darnay had kissed her hand fervently and gratefully, and

had turned to Mr. Stryver, whom he warmly thanked. Mr. Stryver,

a man of little more than thirty, but looking twenty years older

than he was, stout, loud, red, bluff, and free from any drawback of

delicacy, had a pushing way of shouldering himself (morally and

physically) into companies and conversations, that argued well for

his shouldering his way up in life.

He still had his wig and gown on, and he said, squaring himself

at his late client to that degree that he squeezed the innocent Mr.

Lorry clean out of the group: “I am glad to have brought you off

with honour, Mr. Darnay. It was an infamous prosecution, grossly

infamous; but not the less likely to succeed on that account.”

“You have laid me under an obligation to you for lifein two

senses,” said his late client, taking his hand.

“I have done my best for you, Mr. Darnay; and my best is as

good as another man’s, I believe.”

It clearly being incumbent on some one to say, “Much better,”

Mr. Lorry said it; perhaps not quite disinterestedly, but with the

interested object of squeezing himself back again.

“You think so?” said Mr. Stryver. “Well! you have been present

all day, and you ought to know. You are a man of business, too.”

“And as such,” quoth Mr. Lorry, whom the counsel learned in

the law had now shouldered back into the group, just as he had

previously shouldered him out of it“as such I will appeal to

Doctor Manette, to break up this conference and order us all to

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our homes. Miss Lucie looks ill, Mr. Darnay has had a terrible day,

we are worn out.”

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Lorry,” said Stryver; “I have a night’s

work to do yet. Speak for yourself.”

“I speak for myself,” answered Mr. Lorry, “and for Mr. Darnay,

and for Miss Lucie, andMiss Lucie, do you not think I may speak

for us all?” He asked her the question pointedly, and with a glance

at her father.

His face had become frozen, as it were, in a very curious look at

Darnay: an intent look, deepening into a frown of dislike and

distrust, not even unmixed with fear. With this strange expression

on him his thoughts had wandered away.

“My father,” said Lucie, softly laying her hand on his.

He slowly shook the shadow off, and turned to her.

“Shall we go home, my father?”

With a long breath, he answered “Yes.”

The friends of the acquitted prisoner had dispersed, under the

impressionwhich he himself had originatedthat he would not