voluntary exile from France; like you, driven from
it by its distractions, oppressions, and miseries;
like you, striving to live away from it by my
own exertions, and trusting in a happier future;
I look only to sharing your fortunes, sharing
your life and home, and being faithful to you to
the death. Not to divide with Lucie her
privilege as your child, companion, and friend;
but to come in aid of it, and bind her closer to
you, if such a thing can be."

His touch still lingered on her father's hand.
Answering the touch for a moment, but not
coldly, her father rested his hands upon the arms
of his chair, and looked up for the first time
since the beginning of the conference. A
struggle was evident in his face; a struggle with
that occasional look which had a tendency in it
to dark doubt and dread.

"You speak so feelingly and so manfully,
Charles Darnay, that I thank you with all my
heart, and will open all my heart—or nearly so.
Have you any reason to believe that Lucie loves
you?"

"None. As yet, none."

"Is it the immediate object of this confidence,
that you may at once ascertain that, with
my knowledge?"

"Not even so. I might not have the
hopefulness to do it for weeks; I might (mistaken
or not mistaken) have that hopefulness
tomorrow."

"Do you seek any guidance from me?"

"I ask none, sir. But I have thought
it possible that you might have it in your
power, if you should deem it right, to give me
some."

"Do you seek any promise from me?"

"I do seek that."

"What is it?"

"I well understand that, without you, I could
have no hope. I well understand that, even if
Miss Manette held me at this moment in
her innocent heart—do not think I have the
presumption to assume so much—I could retain
no place in it against her love for her father."

"If that be so, do you see what, on the other
hand, is involved in it?"

"I understand equally well, that a word from
her father in any suitor's favour, would
outweigh herself and all the world. For which
reason, Doctor Manette," said Darnay, modestly
but firmly, "I would not ask that word, to save
my life."

"I am sure of it. Charles Darnay, mysteries
arise out of close love, as well as out of wide
division; in the former case, they are subtle
and delicate, and difficult to penetrate. My
daughter Lucie is, in this one respect, such
a mystery to me; I can make no guess at the
state of her heart."

"May I ask, sir, if you think she is——"
As he hesitated, her father supplied the rest.

"Is sought by any other suitor?"

"It is what I meant to say."

Her father considered a little before he
answered:

"You have seen Mr. Carton here, yourself.
Mr. Stryver is here too, occasionally. If it be
at all, it can only be by one of these."

"Or both," said Darnay.

"I had not thought of both; I should not
think either, likely. You want a promise from
me. Tell me what it is."

"It is, that if Miss Manette should bring to you
at any time, on her own part, such a confidence as
I have ventured to lay before you, you will bear
testimony to what I have said, and to your
belief in it. I hope you may be able to think
so well of me, as to urge no influence against
me. I say nothing more of my stake in this;
this is what I ask. The condition on which I
ask it, and which you have an undoubted right
to require, I will observe immediately."

"I give the promise," said the Doctor,
"without any condition. I believe your object
to be, purely and truthfully, as you have stated
it. I believe your intention is to perpetuate,
and not to weaken, the ties between me and my
other and far dearer self. If she should ever
tell me that you are essential to her perfect
happiness, I will give her to you. If there were
—Charles Darnay, if there were——"

The young man had taken his hand gratefully;
their hands were joined as the Doctor
spoke:

—"any fancies, any reasons, any apprehensions,
anything whatsoever, new or old, against
the man she really loved—the direct responsibility
thereof not lying on his head—they should
all be obliterated for her sake. She is everything
to me; more to me than suffering, more to me
than wrong, more to me——Well! This is idle
talk."

So strange was the way in which he faded into
silence, and so strange his fixed look when he
had ceased to speak, that Darnay felt his own
hand turn cold in the hand that slowly released
and dropped it.

"You said something to me," said Doctor
Manette, breaking into a smile. "What was it
you said to me?"

He was at a loss how to answer, until he
remembered having spoken of a condition.
Relieved as his mind reverted to that, he
answered:

"Your confidence in me ought to be returned
with full confidence on my part. My present
name, though but slightly changed from my
mother's, is not, as you will remember, my own.
I wish to tell you what that is, and why I am
in England."

"Stop!" said the Doctor of Beauvais.

"I wish it, that I may the better deserve your
confidence, and have no secret from you."

"Stop!"

For an instant, the Doctor even had his two
hands at his ears; for another instant, even had
his two hands laid on Darnay's lips.

"Tell me when I ask you, not now. If your
suit should prosper, if Lucie should love you,
you shall tell me on your marriage morning. Do
you promise?"

"Willingly,"

"Give me your hand. She will be home