goes first? And regarding that name of Pross, likewise. That

warn’t your name over the water.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t know all I mean, for I can’t call to mind what your

name was, over the water.”

“No?”

“No. But I’ll swear it was a name of two syllables.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. T’other one’s was one syllable. I know you. You was a spywitness

at the Bailey. What, in the name of the Father of Lies, own

father to yourself, was you called at that time?”

“Barsad,” said another voice, striking in.

“That’s the name for a thousand pound!” cried Jerry. The

speaker who struck in, was Sydney Carton. He had his hands

behind him under the skirts of his riding-coat, and he stood at Mr.

Cruncher’s elbow as negligently as he might have stood at the Old

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

Bailey itself.

“Don’t be alarmed, my dear Miss Pross. I arrived at Mr. Lorry’s,

to his surprise, yesterday evening; we agreed that I would not

present myself elsewhere until all was well, or unless I could be

useful; I present myself here, to beg a little talk with your brother.

I wish you had a better employed brother than Mr. Barsad. I wish

for your sake Mr. Barsad was not a Sheep of the Prisons.”

Sheep was a cant word of the time for a spy, under the gaolers.

The spy, who was pale, turned paler, and asked him how he

dar