confined alone, but was mixed with the general body of prisoners;

he saw her husband weekly, and brought sweet messages to her,

straight from his lips; sometimes her husband himself sent a letter

to her (though never by the Doctor’s hand), but she was not

permitted to write to him: for, among the many wild suspicions of

plots in the prisons, the wildest of all pointed at emigrants who

were known to have made friends or permanent connections

abroad.

This new life of the Doctor’s was an anxious life, no doubt; still,

the sagacious Mr. Lorry saw that there was a new sustaining pride

in it. Nothing unbecoming tinged the pride; it was a natural and

worthy one; but he observed it as a curiosity. The Doctor knew,

that up to that time, his imprisonment had been associated in the

minds of his daughter and his friend, with his personal affliction,

deprivation, and weakness. Now that this was changed, and he

knew himself to be invested through that old trial with forces to

which they both looked for Charles’s ultimate safety and

deliverance, he became so far exalted by the change, that he took

the lead and direction, and required them as the weak, to trust to

him as the strong. The preceding relative positions of himself and

Lucie were reversed, yet only as the liveliest gratitude and

affection could reverse them, for he could have had