With wonderful quickness, and with a
strength, both of will and action, that appeared
quite supernatural, he forced all these changes
upon him. The prisoner was like a young child
in his hands.

"Carton! Dear Carton! It is madness. It
cannot be accomplished, it never can be done, it
has been attempted, and has always failed. I
implore you not to add your death to the
bitterness of mine."

"Do I ask you, my dear Darnay, to pass the
door? When I ask that, refuse. There are
pen and ink and paper on this table. Is your
hand steady enough to write?"

"It was, when you came in."

"Steady it again, and write what I shall
dictate. Quick, friend, quick!"

Pressing his hand to his bewildered head,
Darnay sat down at the table. Carton, with
his right hand in his breast, stood close beside
him.

"Write exactly as I speak."

"To whom do I address it?"

"To no one." Carton still had his hand in
his breast.

"Do I date it?"

"No."

The prisoner looked up, at each question.
Carton, standing over him with his hand in his
breast, looked down.

"'If you remember,'" said Carton, dictating,
"'the words that passed between us, long ago,
you will readily comprehend this when you see
it. You do remember them, I know. It is not
in your nature to forget them. '"

He was drawing his hand from his breast;
the prisoner chancing to look up in his hurried
wonder as he wrote, the hand stopped, closing
upon something.

"Have you written 'forget them?'" Carton
asked.

"I have. Is that a weapon in your hand?"

"No; I am not armed."

"What is it in your hand?"

"You shall know directly. Write on; there
are but a few words more." He dictated again.
"'I arn thankful that the time has come, when I
can prove them. That I do so, is no subject for
regret or grief.'" As he said these words with
his eyes fixed on the writer, his hand slowly and
softly moved down close to the writer's face.

The pen dropped from Darnay's fingers on the
table, and he looked about him vacantly.

"What vapour is that?" he asked.

"Vapour?"

"Something that crossed me?"

"I am conscious of nothing; there can be
nothing here. Take up the pen and finish. Hurry,
hurry!"

As if his memory were impaired, or his faculties
disordered, the prisoner made an effort to
rally his attention. As he looked at Carton
with clouded eyes and with an altered manner of
breathing, Carton—his hand again in his breast
—looked steadily at him.

"Hurry, hurry!"

The prisoner bent over the paper, once more.

"'If it had been otherwise;'" Carton's hand
was again watchfully and softly stealing down;
"'I never should have used the longer
opportunity. If it had been otherwise;'" the hand
was at the prisoner's face; "'I should but have
had so much the more to answer for. If it had
been otherwise——'" Carton looked at the
pen, and saw that it was trailing off into
unintelligible signs.

Carton's hand moved back to his breast no
more. The prisoner sprang up, with a reproachful
look, but Carton's nand was close and firm at
his nostrils, and Carton's left arm caught him
round the waist. For a few seconds he faintly
struggled with the man who had come to lay
down his life for him; but, within a minute or
so, he was stretched insensible on the ground.

Quickly, but with hands as true to the purpose
as his heart was, Carton dressed himself in the
clothes the prisoner had laid aside, combed back
his hair, and tied it with the ribbon the prisoner
had worn. Then, he softly called "Enter there!
Come in!" and the Spy presented himself.

"You see?" said Carton, looking up at him,
as he kneeled on one knee beside the insensible
figure, putting the paper in the breast: "is
your hazard very great?"

"Mr. Carton," the Spy answered, with a timid
snap of his fingers, "my hazard is not that, in
the thick of business here, if you are true to the
whole of your bargain."

"Don't fear me. I will be true to the
death."

"You must be, Mr. Carton, if the tale of
fifty-two is to be right. Being made right by
you in that dress, I shall have no fear."

"Have no fear! I shall soon be out of the way
of harming you, and the rest will soon be far
from here, please God! Now, get assistance
and take me to the coach."

"You?" said the spy, nervously.

"Him, man, with whom I have exchanged.
You go out at the gate by which you brought
me in?"

"Of course."

"I was weak and faint when you brought
me in, and I am fainter now you take me
out. The parting interview has overpowered
me. Such a thing has happened here, often, and
too often. Your life is in your own hands.
Quick! Call assistance!"

"You swear not to betray me?" said the
trembling spy, as he paused for a last moment.

"Man, man!" returned Carton, stamping
his foot; "have I sworn by no solemn vow
already, to go through with this, that you waste
the precious moments now? Take him yourself
to the court-yard you know of, place him yourself
in the carriage, show him yourself to Mr.
Lorry, tell him yourself to give him no restorative
but air, and to remember my words of last
night and his promise of last night, and drive
away!"

The spy withdrew, and Carton seated himself
at the table, resting his forehead on his hands.
The Spy returned immediately, with two rnen.

"How, then?" said one of them, contemplating