IF Sydney Carton ever shone anywhere, he certainly never shone 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 lingering 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 thin ever; and often when he had thrown himself upon it no longer than a few minutes, he had got up again, and haunted that neighbourhood.

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 upstairs, 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 hint softened, and was much distressed. He knew her to be so, without 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 anything

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 I'

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 cannot he.'

`Without it, can I not save you, Mr. Carton? Can I not recall you--forgive me again!--to a better course? Can I in no way repay your confidence? I knob this is a confidence,' she modestly said, after a little hesitation, and in earnest tears, `I know you would say this to no one else. Can I turn it to no good account for yourself, Mr. Carton?'

He shook his head.

`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 for ever. 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? O 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 sudden 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 more unhappy than you were before you knew me--

`Don't say that, Miss Manette, for you would have reclaimed me, if anything could. You will not be the cause of my becoming worse.'

`Since the state of your mind that you describe, 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 realise. 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 agitated pause, `the secret is yours, not mine; and I promise to respect it.'

`Thank you. And again, God bless you.'

He put her hand to his lips, and moved towards the door. `Be under no apprehension, Miss Manette, of my ever resuming this conversation by so much as a passing word. I will never refer to it again. If I were dead, that could not be surer than it is henceforth. In the hour of my death, I shall hold sacred the one good remembrance--and shall thank and bless you for it--that my last avowal of myself was made to you, and that my name, and faults, and miseries were gently carried in your heart. May it otherwise be light and happy!'

He was so unlike what he had ever shown himself to be, and it was so sad to think how much he had thrown away, and how much he every day kept down and perverted, that Lucie Manette wept mournfully for him as he stood looking back at her.

`Be comforted!' he said, `I am not worth such feeling, Miss Manette. An hour or two hence, and the low companions and low habits that I scorn but yield to, will render me less worth such tears as those, than any wretch who creeps along the streets. Be comforted But, within myself, I shall always be, towards you, what I am now, though outwardly I shall be what you have heretofore seen me. The last supplication but one I make to you, is, that you will believe this of me.'

`I will, Mr. Carton.'

`My last supplication of all, is this; and with it, I will relieve you of a visitor with whom I well know you have nothing in unison, and between whom and you there is an impassable space. It is useless to say it, I know, but it rises out of my soul. For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there was any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. Try to hold me in your mind, at some quiet times, as ardent and sincere in this one thing. The time will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be formed about you--ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the home you so adorn--the dearest ties that will ever grace and gladden you. O Miss Manette, when the little picture of a happy father's face looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!' He said, `Farewell!' said a last `God bless you!' and left her.

若是西德尼．卡尔顿在别的地方也有发出光彩的时候，他在曼内特医生家可从来就暗淡无光。整整一年了，他常去他们家，却永远是那样一个沮丧的忧伤的闲人。他在乐意谈话时也能侃侃而谈，但是他那对一切都漠不关心的阴云却总以一种致命的黑暗笼罩着他，极少为他内心的光芒所刺破。
然而，他对那座房屋附近的街道和它那没有知觉的铺路石却很感兴趣。有多少个无从借酒浇愁的夜晚，他曾在那道路上茫然而忧伤地徘徊过。有多少个凄凉的破晓曾照出他逡途巡不去的孤独身影，即使当晨晰的光芒鲜明地勾勒出为黑夜隐蔽的教堂尖塔和高楼大厦的建筑之美时，他仍然在那儿流连不去。其实在那个平静的时刻，他也许是可以想起一些在别的时候被忘却的和得不到的美好事物的。近来法学会大院那张被忽视的床比过去更少跟他见面了。他常常是倒在床上不到几分钟便又翻身爬起来，又回到那一带转悠去了。

在一个八月的日子，那时斯特莱佛先生已对他的豺狗说明“关于婚姻问题我另有考虑”，然后带着他那体贴的柔情到德文郡去了。那时市区街道花卉的美色与馨香已能给穷途末路者以安慰、给病体支离者以健康、给老迈龙钟者以青春，可是西德尼的脚步仍然在那条路上蹀躞不去，只是由于有了设想而从迟疑无目的变得稳健有力了。在他终于下定决心之后，那双脚便把他带进了医生家的门。

他上了楼，发现露西一个人在干活儿。露西对他一向就有些不大自然。当他在她的桌旁坐下时，她带着几分忸怩接待了他。两人谈家常时，露西抬起头来望了望他的脸，却发现了他的变化。

“我担心你是病了，卡尔顿先生！”

“没有病。不过我的生活方式是不利于健康的。这样胡混的人能有什么好结果呢？”

“要是不能过一种更好的生活岂不遗憾么？对不起，我话到口边就顺嘴说了出来。”

“上帝知道，确实遗憾！”

“那你为什么不改一改呢？”

她再温和地望他时却吃了一惊，感到不安了。他眼里噙着泪水，回答时口气也带着泪水：

“太晚了。我怕是好不起来了。只能越来越堕落，越来越糟糕。”

他把一只胳膊靠在桌上，用手遮住了眼睛。在随之而来的沉默里那桌子颤动着。

她从没见他软弱过，因此很觉难受。他知道她难受，却没有抬头看她，只说：

“请原谅，曼内特小姐。我是因为想起我打算向你说的话才忍不住流泪的。你愿听听我的话么？”

“若是对你有好处的话，卡尔顿先生，只要能让你好过一些，我很乐意听！”

“上帝保右你的好心与体贴。”

过了一会儿，他从脸上放下了手，平静地说了下去。

“不要怕听我说话，也别怕我要说的话。我很像是个在青年时代就已夭亡的人，一辈子也没有希望了。”

“不，卡尔顿先生，我相信你最好的年华还在前头。我可以肯定你能非常非常值得自己骄傲。”

“希望是值得你骄傲，曼内特小姐。虽然我还有自知之明——虽然我这苦闷的心让我神秘地产生了自知之明——但我会永远也忘不了的。”

她的脸色苍白了，她战栗起来。幸好此时他对自己表示了无法改变的失望，才令她安下了心。于是这场会晤便具有了跟其它任何谈话不同的性质。

“即使你有可能回报你眼前的人的倾慕之情，曼内特小姐，他此时此刻也明白自己是个自暴自弃的、虚弱可怜的、不得志的酒徒（这你是知道的）。尽管他会感到幸福，但他却难免会使你痛苦、悲哀和悔恨，难免会玷污了你、辱没了你，拖着你跟他一起堕落。我很明白你对我不可能有什么温情；我并不祈求；我甚至为此感谢上苍。”

“撇开这个问题不谈，我能对你有所帮助吗，卡尔顿先生？我能不能让你走上新的道路呢？——请原谅！我难道就没有办法回报你对我的信任么？我知道这是一种信任的表现。”她略微犹豫了一下，流着真诚的泪，娴静地说，“我知道你是不会对别人说这样的话的。我能不能使这事对你有好处呢，卡尔顿先生？”

他摇摇头。

“不行。曼内特小姐，不行。如果体能再听我说几句，你也就尽了你最大的努力了。我希望你知道你是我灵魂的最终的梦想。我是在我堕落的生活中见到了你和你的父亲，还有你所经营的这个甜蜜的家，才恢复了我心中自以为早已死灭的往日的梦想的。我也因此才感到比任何时候都凄苦可怜。自从我见到你以后，我才为一种原以为不会再谴责我的悔恨所苦恼。我听见我以为早已永远沉默的往日的声音在悄悄地催我上进。我曾有过许多没有成形的想法：重新奋起，改弦更张，摆脱懒散放纵的习惯，把放弃了的斗争进行下去。可那只是个梦，整个儿是个梦，一个没有结果的梦，醒来时还躺在原来的地方，不过我仍希望你知道你曾唤起过我这样的梦。”

“难道那梦就一点也不能留下么？啊，卡尔顿先生?j@ ??+@梦里我都知道自己是很不配的。然而我一向便有，至今也有这个弱点。我总希望你知道你是怎样突然控制了我，让我这一堆死灰燃起了火焰的一—可是这火焰因为它的本质跟我难以分开，所以并没有点燃什么，照亮什么，做到什么，就一事无成地燃烧完了。”

“既然，卡尔顿先生，是我的不幸使你比见到我之前更悲哀，那么——”

“别那么说，曼内特小姐，因为若是世上还有东西能拯救我，你早就拯救了我了。你不会使我更悲哀的。”

“既然你所描写的心情大体可以归结为我的影响——简而言之，这是我的感觉——我难道就无法产生有利于你的影响了么？我难道就完全不能对你产生好的影响了么？”

“我现在所能获得的最大好处，曼内特小姐，正是我到这儿来想得到的。让我在今后迷失方向的生活中永远记住我曾向你袒露过我的心，这是我最后的一次袒露。我要记住，我此时留下了一些能让你悲痛和惋惜的东西。”

“这些都可以改变的，我曾一再最热诚地、衷心地请求你相信

“别再请求我相信了，曼内特小姐。我已经考验过自己，也更了解自己。可是，我令你难过了。让我赶快说完吧！你是否能让我在回忆起现在时相信我生活中最后的一番知心话是保存在你那纯洁真诚的心胸里的，它将在那儿独自存在，不会让任何人知道？”

“如果那对你是一种安慰，我答应。”

“连你最亲爱的人也不让知道？”

“卡尔顿先生，”她很激动，过了一会儿才说，“这是你的秘密，不是我的秘密，我保证尊重它。”，

“谢谢你。再说一句，上帝保佑你。”

他把她的手在唇边放了放，然后向门口走去。

“别担心我会继续这次谈话，曼内特小姐，即使是顺便提起。我是永远也不会再提起的了。就算让我死去也不会有更可靠的保证的。在我死去时，这个美好的回忆对我也将是神圣的——为此，我还要感谢你、祝福你——我最后的一句誓言是向你作出的，而我的名字、缺点和痛苦都将温柔地存留在你的心里。还能有什么比这更令人轻松和快乐的呢！”

他跟他一向的表现多么不同啊，想想看，他放弃了多少东西啊！他每天又压抑和扭曲了多少感情啊！想到这一切不免令人痛苦。在他停步回头望她时，露西.曼内特伤心地哭了。

“别难过！”他说，“我配不上你这种感情，曼内特小姐。一两个小时之后，我瞧不起却又摆不掉的卑劣伙伴和恶劣习性又会把我变得比流浪街头的可怜虫更不配你的眼泪了！但在内心里我对你将永远是现在的我，虽然外表上我仍是你一向在这儿所见到的样子。我对你提出的倒数第二个请求是：相信我的这番话。”

“我会的，卡尔顿先生。”

“我的最后请求是这样的——提出它之后我就让你摆脱一个我深知跟你毫无共鸣的、无法沟通的客人。我虽知道说也无用，但也知道我的话出自灵魂。我愿为你和为你所爱的人做任何事。若是我的事业条件较优，有作出牺牲的机会或能力，我愿抓住一切机会为你和你所爱的人作出任何牺牲。在你心平气和时请记住：我说这话时是热情的、真挚的。你将建立起新的关系，那日子已经不远。那关系将会更加温情而有力地把你跟你所装点经营的家连结在一起——一个永远为你增光、令你幸福的最亲密的关系。啊，曼内特小姐，在一个跟他幸福的父亲长相一祥的小生命抬起头来望着你的脸时，在你看到你自己光彩照人的美貌重新出现在你的脚下时，请不时地想起有这么一个人，他为了让你所爱的人留在你的身边是不惜牺牲他的生命的。”

他说了声，“再见！”最后道一声“上帝保佑你！”然后便离开了。