Every stone of its inner wall was covered by inscriptions which

had been carved by prisonersdates, names, complaints, and

prayers. Upon a corner stone in an angle of the wall, one prisoner,

who seemed to have gone to execution, had cut as his last work,

three letters. They were done with some very poor instrument,

and hurriedly, with an unsteady hand. At first, they were read as

D.I.C.; but, on being more carefully examined, the last letter was

found to be G. There was no record or legend of any prisoner with

those initials, and many fruitless guesses were made what the

name could have been. At length, it was suggested that the letters

were not initials, but the complete word, DIG. The floor was

examined very carefully under the inscription, and, in the earth

beneath a stone, or tile, or some fragment of paving, were found

the ashes of a paper, mingled with the ashes of a small leathern

case or bag. What the unknown prisoner had written will never be

read, but he had written something, and hidden it away to keep it

from the gaoler.”

“My father,” exclaimed Lucie, “you are ill!”

He had suddenly started up, with his hand to his head. His

manner and his look quite terrified them all.

“No, my dear, not ill. There are large drops of rain falling, and

they made me start. We had better go in.”

He recovered himself almost instantly. Rain was really falling in

large drops, and he showed the back of his hand with raindrops on

it. But, he said not a single word in reference to the discovery that

had been told of, and, as they went into the house, the business

eye of Mr. Lorry either detected, or fancied it detected, on his face,

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

as it turned towards Charles Darnay, the same singular look that

had been upon it when it turned towards him in the passages of

the Court House.

He recovered himself so quickly, however, that Mr. Lorry had

doubts of his business eye. The arm of the golden giant in the hall

was not more steady than he was, when he stopped under it to

remark to them that he was not yet proof against slight surprises

(if he ever would be), and that the rain had startled him.

Tea-time, and Miss Pross making tea, with another fit of the

jerks upon her, and yet no Hundreds of people. Mr. Carton had

lounged in, but he made only Two.

The night was so very sultry, that although they sat with doors

and windows open, they were overpowered by heat. When the teatable

was done with, they all moved to one of the windows, and

looked out into the heavy twilight. Lucie sat by her father; Darnay

sat beside her; Carton leaned against a window. The curtains were

long and white, and some of the thunder-gusts that whirled into

the corner, caught them up to the ceiling, and waved them like

spectral wings.

“The raindrops are still falling, large, heavy, and few,” said

Doctor Manette. “It comes slowly.”

“It comes surely,” said Carton.