ing 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 th