What the
two drank together would have floated a king's ship.

Stryver never had a case in hand but what Carton was there, with his
hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling. At last it began to get
about that, although Sydney Carton would never be a lion, he was an
amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered service to Stryver in that
humble capacity. Folding wet towels on his head in a manner hideous to
behold, the jackal began the "boiling down" of cases, while Stryver
reclined before the fire. Each had bottles and glasses ready to his
hand. The work was not done until the clocks were striking three.

Climbing to a high chamber in a well of houses, Carton threw himself
down in his clothes on a neglected bed. Sadly, sadly the sun rose. It
rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good
emotions, incapable of his own help and his own happiness, sensible of
the blight upon him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.

_III.--The Loadstone Rock_

"Dear Dr. Manette," said Charles Darnay, "I love your daughter fondly,
devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her!"

Dr. Manette turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him or
raise his eyes.

"Have you spoken to Lucie?" he asked.

"No."

The doctor looked up; a struggle was evidently in his face--a struggle
with that look he still sometimes wore, with a tendency in it to dark
doubt and dread.

"If Lucie should ever tell me," he said, "that you are essential to her
perfect happiness, I will give her to you."

"Your confidence in me," answered Darnay, relieved, "ought to be
returned with full confidence on my part. I am, as you know, like
yourself, a voluntary exile from France. The name I bear at present is
not my own. I wish to tell you what that is, and why I am in England."

"Stop!"

The doctor laid his two hands on Darnay's lips.

"Tell me when I ask you, not now. Go! God bless you!"

On a day shortly before the marriage, while Lucie was sitting at her
work alone, Sydney Carton entered.

"I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton," she said, looking up at him.

"No; but the life I lead is not conducive to health."

"Is it not--forgive me--a pity to live no better life?"

"It is too late for that." He covered her eyes with his hand. "Will you
hear me?" he continued. "Since I have known you, I have been troubled by
a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again. A dream, all a
dream, that end