name make you uncomfortable, Sydney," said | landlady way, or lodging-letting way-and Mr. Stryver, preparing him with ostentatious marry her against a rainy day. That's the kind friendliness for the disclosure he was about to of thing for you. Now, think of it, Sydney." make, "because I know you don't mean half "I'll think of it," said Sydney. you say; and if you meant it all, it would be of no importance. I make this little preface because you once mentioned the young lady to me in slighting terms." "I did?" "Certainly; and in these chambers." Sydney Carton looked at his punch and looked at his complacent friend; drank his punch and looked at his complacent friend. "You made mention of the young lady as a golden-haired doll. The young lady is Miss Manette. If you had been a fellow of any sensitiveness or delicacy of feeling in that kind of way, Sydney, I might have been a little resentful of your employing such a designation; but you are not. You want that sense altogether; therefore I am no more annoyed when I think of the expression than I should be annoyed by a man's opinion of a picture of mine who had no eye for pictures; or of a piece of music of mine, who had no ear for music." Sydney Carton drank the punch at a great rate; drank it by bumpers, looking at his friend. "Now you know all about it, Syd," said Mr. Stryver. "I don't care about fortune: she is a charming creature, and I have made up my mind to please myself; on the whole, I think I can afford to please myself. She will have in me a man already pretty well off, and a rapidly rising man, and a man of some distinction: it is a piece of good fortune for her, but she is worthy of good fortune. Are you astonished?" Carton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, "Why should I be astonished?" "You approve?" Carton, still drinking the punch, rejoined, "Why should I not approve?" "Well?" said his friend Stryver, "you take to it more easily than I fancied you would, and are less mercenary on my behalf than I thought you would be; though, to be sure, you know well enough by this time that your ancient chum is a man of a pretty strong will. Yes, Sydney, I have had enough of this style of life, with no other as a change from it; I feel that it is a pleasant thing for a man to have a home when he feels inclined to go to it (when he doesn't he can stay away), and I feel that Miss Manette will tell well in any station, and will always do me credit. So I have made up my mind. And now, Sydney, old boy, I want to say a word to you about your prospects. You are in a bad way, you know; you really are in a bad way. You don't know the value of money, you live hard, you'll knock up one of these days, and be ill and poor; you really ought to think about a nurse." The prosperous patronage with which he said it made him look twice as big as he was, and four times as offensive. "Now, let me recommend you," pursued Stryver, "to look it in the face. I have looked it in the face in my different way; look it in the face, you, in your different way. Marry. Provide somebody to take care of you. Never mind your having no enjoyment of women's society, nor understanding of it, nor tact for it. Find out somebody. Find out some respectable woman with a little property-somebody in the CHAPTER XII. THE FELLOW OF DELICACY. MR. STRYVER having made up his mind to that magnanimous bestowal of good fortune on the Doctor's daughter, resolved to make her happiness known to her before he left town for the Long Vacation. After some mental debating of the point, he came to the conclusion that it would be as well to get all the preliminaries done with, and they could then arrange at their leisure whether he should give her his hand a week or two before Michaelmas Term, or in the little Christmas vacation between it and Hilary. As to the strength of his case he had not a doubt about it, but clearly saw his way to the verdict. Argued with the jury on substantial worldly grounds-the only grounds ever worth taking into account-it was a plain case, and had not a weak spot in it. He called himself for the plaintiff, there was no getting over his evidence, the counsel for the defendant threw up his brief, and the jury did not even turn to consider. After trying it, Stryver C. J. was satisfied that no plainer case could be. Accordingly, Mr. Stryver inaugurated the Long Vacation with a formal proposal to take Miss Manette to Vauxhall Gardens; that failing, to Ranelagh; that unaccountably failing too, it behooved him to present himself in Soho, and there declare his noble mind. Toward Soho, therefore, Mr. Stryver shouldered his way from the Temple, while the bloom of the Long Vacation's infancy was still upon it. Any body who had seen him projecting himself | his contentious hand, opening his eyes wider, into Soho while he was yet on Saint Dunstan's and taking a long breath, "if I understand you, side of Temple Bar, bursting in his full-blown Mr. Lorry, I'll be hanged!" way along the pavement, to the jostlement of all weaker people, might have seen how safe and strong he was. His way taking him past Tellson's, and he both banking at Tellson's and knowing Mr. Lorry as the intimate friend of the Manettes, it entered Mr. Stryver's mind to enter the bank, and reveal to Mr. Lorry the brightness of the Soho horizon. So he pushed open the door with the weak rattle in its throat, stumbled down the two steps, got past the two ancient cashiers, and shouldered himself into the musty back closet where Mr. Lorry sat at great books ruled for figures, with perpendicular iron bars to his window as if that were ruled for figures too, and every thing under the clouds were a sum. 66 Halloa!" said Mr. Stryver. "How do you do? I hope you are well!" It was Stryver's grand peculiarity that he always seemed too big for any place or space. He was so much too big for Tellson's that old clerks in distant corners looked up with looks of remonstrance, as though he squeezed them against the wall. The House itself, magnificently reading the paper quite in the far-off perspective, lowered displeased, as if the Stryver head had been butted into its responsible waist coat. Mr. Lorry adjusted his little wig at both ears as a means toward that end, and bit the feather of a pen. "D-n it all, Sir!" said Stryver, staring at him, "am I not eligible?" "Oh dear yes! Yes. Oh yes, you're eligible!" said Mr. Lorry. "If you say eligible, you are eligible." "Am I not prosperous ?" asked Stryver. "Oh! if you come to prosperous, you are prosperous," said Mr. Lorry. "And advancing?" "If you come to advancing, you know," said Mr. Lorry, delighted to be able to make another admission, "nobody can doubt that." "Then what on earth is your meaning, Mr. Lorry?" demanded Stryver, perceptibly crestfallen. Were you going there now?" "Well! I asked Mr. Lorry. "Straight!" said Stryver, with a plump of his fist on the desk. "Then I think I wouldn't, if I was you." "Why?" said Stryver. "Now, I'll put you in a corner," forensically shaking a forefinger at him. "You are a man of business, and bound to have a reason. State your reason. Why wouldn't you go?" "Because," said Mr. Lorry, "I wouldn't go on such an object without having some cause to believe that I should succeed." "D-n ME!" cried Stryver, "but this beats every thing!" The discreet Mr. Lorry said, in a sample tone of the voice he would recommend under the circumstances, "How do you do, Mr. Stryver? How do you do, Sir?" and shook hands. There was a peculiarity in his manner of shaking hands, always to be seen in any clerk at Tellson's who shook hands with a customer when "Here's a man of business-a man of years the House pervaded the air. He shook in a -a man of experience-in a Bank," said Stryself-abnegating way, as one who shook for Tell-ver; "and having summed up three leading son & Co. "Can I do any thing for you, Mr. Stryver?" asked Mr. Lorry, in his business character. "Why, no thank you; this is a private visit to yourself, Mr. Lorry; I have come for a private word." "Oh indeed!" said Mr. Lorry, bending down his ear, while his eye strayed to the House afar off. "I am going," said Mr. Stryver, leaning his arms confidentially on the desk: whereupon, although it was a large double one, there appeared to be not half desk enough for him: "I am going to make an offer of myself in marriage to your agreeable little friend Miss Manette, Mr. Lorry." "Oh dear me!" cried Mr. Lorry, rubbing his chin, and looking at his visitor dubiously. "Oh dear me, Sir ?" repeated Stryver, drawing back. “Oh dear you, Sir? What may your meaning be, Mr. Lorry?" Mr. Lorry glanced at the distant House, and glanced at the angry Stryver. reasons for complete success, he says there's no reason at all! Says it with his head on!" Mr. Stryver remarked upon the peculiarity as if it would have been infinitely less remarkable if he had said it with his head off. "When I speak of success, I speak of success with the young lady; and when I speak of causes and reasons to make success probable, I speak of causes and reasons that will tell as such with the young lady. The young lady, my good Sir," said Mr. Lorry, mildly tapping the Stryver arm, "the young lady. The young lady goes before all." "Then you mean to tell me, Mr. Lorry," said Stryver, squaring his elbows, "that it is your deliberate opinion that the young lady at present in question is a mincing Fool?" coarse, and whose temper was so overbearing, that he could not restrain himself from speaking disrespectfully of that young lady at this desk, not even Tellson's should prevent my giv ing him a piece of my mind." "Not exactly so. I mean to tell you, Mr. Stryver," said Mr. Lorry, reddening, "that I will hear no disrespectful word of that young lady from any lips; and that if I knew any man "My meaning," answered the man of busi--which I hope I do not-whose taste was so ness, is, of course, friendly and appreciative, and that it does you the greatest credit, and in short, my meaning is every thing you could desire. But-really, you know, Mr. Stryver-" Mr. Lorry paused, and shook his head at him in the oddest manner, as if he were compelled against his will to add, internally, "you know there really is so much, too much of you!" "Well!" said Stryver, slapping the desk with The necessity of being angry in a suppressed tone had put Mr. Stryver's blood-vessels into a dangerous state when it was his turn to be angry; Mr. Lorry's veins, methodical as their courses could usually be, were in no better state Mr. Stryver sucked the end of a ruler for a little while, and then stood hitting a tune out of his teeth with it, which probably gave him the toothache. He broke the awkward silence by saying, "This is something new to me, Mr. Lorry. You deliberately advise me not to go up to Soho and offer myself-myself, Stryver, of the King's Bench bar?" "Do you ask me for my advice, Mr. ver?" in his arms, who is the trusted friend of Miss Manette and of her father too, and who has a great affection for them both, I have spoken. The confidence is not of my seeking, recollect. Now you think I may not be right?" "Not I!" said Stryver, whistling. "I can't undertake to find third parties in common sense; I can only find it for myself. I suppose sense in certain quarters; you suppose mincing bread-and-butter nonsense. It's new to me; but you are right, I dare say." "What I suppose, Mr. Stryver, I claim to characterize for myself. And understand me, Sir," said Mr. Lorry, quickly flushing again. Stry-"I will not-not even at Tellson's-have it characterized for me by any gentleman breathing." Very good. Then I give it, and you have repeated it correctly." "There! I beg your pardon!" said Stryver. "Granted. Thank you. Well, Mr. Stryver, "And all I can say of it is," laughed Stry- I was about to say: it might be painful to you ver, with a vexed laugh," that this-ha, ha!, to find yourself mistaken; it might be painful beats every thing, past, present, and to come." to Doctor Manette to have the task of being "Now understand me," pursued Mr. Lorry. "As a man of business I am not justified in saying any thing about this matter, for, as a man of business, I know nothing of it. But as an old fellow who has carried Miss Manette explicit with you; it might be very painful to Miss Manette to have the task of being explicit with you. You know the terms upon which I have the honor and happiness to stand with the family. If you please, committing you in no way, representing you in no way, I will undertake to correct my advice by the exercise of a little new observation and judgment expressly brought to bear upon it. If you should then be dissatisfied with it, you can but test its soundness for yourself; if, on the other hand, you should be satisfied with it, and it should be what it now is, it may spare all sides what is best spared. What do you say?" I "How long would you keep me in town?" "Oh! it is only a question of a few hours. could go to Soho this evening, and come to your chambers afterward." "Then I say yes," said Stryver: "I won't go up there now; I am not so hot upon it as that comes to. I say yes; and I shall expect you to look in to-night. to-night. Good-morning." Then Mr. Stryver turned and burst out of the Bank, causing such a concussion of air on his passage through, that to stand up against it, bowing behind the two counters, required the utmost remaining strength of the two ancient clerks. Those venerable and feeble persons were always seen by the public in the act of bowing, and were popularly believed, when they had bowed a customer out, still to keep on bowing in the empty office until they bowed another customer in. The barrister was keen enough to divine that the banker would not have gone so far in his expression of opinion on any less solid ground than moral certainty. Unprepared as he was for the large pill he had to swallow, he got it down. "And now," said Mr. Stryver, shaking his forensic forefinger at the Temple in general, when it was down, "my way out of this is, to put you all in the wrong.' " It was a bit of the art of an Old Bailey tactician, in which he found great relief. You shall not put me in the wrong, young lady," said Mr. Stryver; "I'll do that for you." Accordingly, when Mr. Lorry called that night as late as ten o'clock, Mr. Stryver, among a quantity of books and papers littered out for the purpose, seemed to have nothing less on his mind than the subject of the morning. He even showed surprise when he saw Mr. Lorry, and was altogether in an absent and preoccupied state. "Well!" said that good-natured emissary, after a full half hour of bootless attempts to bring him round to the question, "I have been to Soho." "To Soho?" repeated Mr. Stryver, coldly. "Oh, to be sure! What am I thinking of!" 66 "And I have no doubt," said Mr. Lorry, "that I was right in the conversation we had. My opinion is confirmed, and I reiterate my advice." "I assure you," returned Mr. Stryver, in the friendliest way, 66 that I am sorry for it on your account, and sorry for it on the poor father's account. I know this must always be a sore subject with the family; let us say no more about it." "I don't understand you," said Mr. Lorry. "I dare say not," rejoined Stryver, nodding his head in a smoothing and final way; "no matter, no matter. "But it does matter," Mr. Lorry urged. แ No it doesn't; I assure you it doesn't. Having supposed that there was sense where there is no sense, and a laudable ambition where there is not a laudable ambition, I am well out of my mistake, and no harm is done. Young women have committed similar follies often before, and have repented them in poverty and obscurity often before. In an unselfish aspect, I am sorry that the thing has dropped, because it would have been a good thing for others in a worldly point of view; in a selfish aspect, I am glad that the thing has dropped, because it would have been a bad thing for me in a worldly point of view-it is hardly necessary to say I could have gained nothing by it. There is no harm at all done. I have not proposed to the young lady, and, between ourselves, I am by no means certain, on reflection, that I ever should have committed myself to that extent. Mr. Lorry, you can not control the mincing vanities and giddinesses of empty-headed girls; you must not expect to do it, or you will always be disappointed. Now, pray say no more about it. I tell you I regret it on account of others, but I am satisfied on my own account. And I am really very much obliged to you for allowing me to sound you, and for giving me your advice; you know the young lady better than I do; you were right, it never would have done." Mr. Lorry was so taken aback that he looked quite stupidly at Mr. Stryver shouldering him toward the door, with an appearance of showering generosity, forbearance, and good-will on his erring head. "Make the best of it, my dear Sir," said Stryver; "say no more about it; thank you again for allowing me to sound you; goodnight!" Mr. Lorry was out in the night before he knew where he was. Mr. Stryver was lying back on his sofa, winking at his ceiling. CHAPTER XIII. THE FELLOW OF NO DELICACY. IF Sydney Carton ever shone any where he certainly never shone in the house of Doctor Manette. He had been there often, during a whole year, and had always been the same moody and morose lounger there. When he cared to talk, he talked well; but the cloud of caring for nothing, which overshadowed him with such a fatal darkness, was very rarely pierced by the light within him. And yet he did care something for the streets that environed that house, and for the senseless stones that made their pavements Many a night he vaguely and unhappily wandered there, when wine had brought no transitory gladness to him; many a dreary daybreak revealed his solitary figure lingering there, and still linger、 ing there when the first beams of the sun, brought into strong relief, removed beauties of architecture in spires of churches and lofty buildings, as perhaps the quiet time brought some sense of better things, else forgotten and unattainable, into his mind. Of late, the neglected bed in the Temple court had known him more scantily than ever; and often, when he had thrown himself upon it no longer thai. a few minutes, he had got up again, and haunted that neighborhood. On a day in August, when Mr. Stryver (after notifying to his jackal that "he had thought better of that marrying matter") had carried his delicacy into Devonshire, and when the sight and scent of flowers in the City streets had some waifs of goodness in them for the worst, of health for the sickliest, and of youth for the oldest, Sydney's feet still trod those stones. From being irresolute and purposeless, his feet became animated by an intention; and in the working out of that intention they took him to the Doctor's door. He was shown up stairs, and found Lucie at her work, alone. She had never been quite at her ease with him, and received him with some little embarrassment as he seated himself near her table. But looking up at his face in the interchange of the first few commonplaces, she observed a change in it. "I fear you are not well, Mr. Carton!" "No. But the life I lead, Miss Manette, is not conducive to health. What is to be expected of, or by, such profligates?" "Is it not-forgive me; I have begun the question on my lips-a pity to live no better life?" "God knows it is a shame!" "Then why not change it ?" Looking gently at him again, she was surprised and saddened to see that there were tears in his eyes. There were tears in his voice too, as he answered: "It is too late for that. I shall never be better than I am. I shall sink lower and be worse." He leaned an elbow on her table, and covered his eyes with his hand. The table trembled in the silence that followed. She had never seen him softened, and was much distressed. He knew her to be so with out looking at her, and said: "Pray forgive me, Miss Manette. I break down before the knowledge of what I want to say to you. Will you hear me?" "If it will do you any good. Mr. Carton, if it would make you happier, it would make me very glad!" "God bless you for your sweet compassion!" He unshaded his face after a little while, and spoke steadily. "Don't be afraid to hear me. Don't shrink from any thing I say. I am like one who died young. All my life might have been." "No, Mr. Carton. I am sure that the best part of it might still be; I am sure that you might be much, much worthier of yourself." "Say of you, Miss Manette; and although I know better-although in the mystery of my own wretched heart I know better-I shall never forget it!" She was pale and trembling. He came to her relief with a fixed despair of himself, which made the interview unlike any other that could have been holden. "If it had been possible, Miss Manette, that you could have returned the love of the man you see before you-self-flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misuse as you know him to be he would have been conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him. I know very well that you can have no tenderness for me; I ask for none; I am even thankful that it can not be." "To none. No, Miss Manette, to none. If you will hear me through a very little more, all you can ever do for me is done. I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul. In my degradation I have not been so degraded but that the sight of you with your father, and of this home made such a home by you, has stirred old shadows that I thought had died out of me. Since I knew you I have been troubled by a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again, and have heard whispers from old voices impelling me upward, that I thought were silent forever. I have had unformed ideas of striving afresh, beginning anew, shaking off sloth and sensuality, and fighting out the abandoned fight. A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down! but I wish you to know that you inspired it." "Will nothing of it remain? Oh, Mr. Carton, think again! try again!" "No, Miss Manette; all through it I have known myself to be quite undeserving. And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sndden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire-a fire, however, inseparable in its nature from myself, quickening nothing, lighting nothing, doing no service, idly burning away.' "Since it is my misfortune, Mr. Carton, to have made you more unhappy than you were before you knew me " "Don't say that, Miss Manette, for you would have reclaimed me, if any thing could. You will not be the cause of my becoming worse.' "Since the state of your mind that you dếscribe is, at all events, attributable to some influence of mine-this is what I mean, if I can make it plain—can I use no influence to serve you? Have I no power for good with you at all?" "The utmost good that I am capable of now, Miss Manette, I have come here to realize. Let me carry through the rest of my misdirected life the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, last of all the world, and that there was something left in me at this time which you could deplore and pity." "Which I entreated you to believe, again and again, most fervently, with all my heart, was capable of better things, Mr. Carton!" "Entreat me to believe it no more, Miss Manette. I have proved myself, and I know better. I distress you; I draw fast to an end. Will you let me believe, when I recall this day, that the last confidence of my life was reposed in your pure and innocent breast, and that it lies there alone, and will be shared by no one?" "If that will be a consolation to you, yes." "Not even by the dearest one ever to be known to you?" "Mr. Carton," she answered, after an agi |