MORE months, to the number of twelve, had come and gone, and Mr. Charles Darnay was established in England as a higher teacher of the French language who was conversant with French literature. In this age, he would have been a Professor; in that
age, he was a Tutor. He read with young men who could find any leisure and interest for the study of a living tongue spoken all over the world, and he cultivated a taste for its stores of knowledge and fancy. He could write of them, besides, in sound English, and render them into sound English. Such masters were not at that time easily found; Princes that had been, and Kings that were to be, were not yet of the Teacher class, and no ruined nobility had dropped out of Tellson's ledgers, to turn cooks and carpenters. As a tutor, whose attainments made the student's way unusually pleasant and profitable, and as an elegant translator who brought something to his work besides mere dictionary knowledge, young Mr. Darnay soon became known and encouraged. He was well acquainted, moreover, with the circumstances of his country, and those were of ever-growing interest. So, with great perseverance and untiring industry, he prospered.

In London, he had expected neither to walk on pavements of gold, nor to lie on beds of roses: if he had had any such exalted expectation, he would not have prospered. He had expected labour, and he found it, and did it, and made the best of it. In this, his prosperity consisted.

A certain portion of his time was passed at Cambridge, where he read with undergraduates as a sort of tolerated smuggler who drove a contraband trade in European languages, instead of conveying Greek and Latin through the Custom-house. The rest of his time he passed in London.

Now, from the days when it was always summer in Eden, to these days when it is mostly winter in fallen latitudes, the world of a man has invariably gone one way--Charles Darnay's way--the way of the love of a woman.

He had loved Lucie Manette from the hour of his danger. He had never heard a sound so sweet and dear as the sound of her compassionate voice; he had never seen a face so tenderly beautiful, as hers when it was confronted with his own on the edge of the grave that had been dug for him. But, he had not yet spoken to her on the subject; the assassination at the deserted chaateau far away beyond the heaving water and the long, long, dusty roads--the solid stone chaateau which had itself become the mere mist of a dream--had been done a year, and he had never yet, by so much as a single spoken word, disclosed to her the state of his heart.

That he had his reasons for this, he knew full well. It was again a summer day when, lately arrived in London from his college occupation, he turned into the quiet corner in Soho, bent on seeking an opportunity of opening his mind to Doctor Manette. It
was the close of the summer day, and he knew Lucie to be out with Miss Pross.

He found the Doctor reading in his arm-chair at a window. The energy which had at once supported him under his old sufferings and aggravated their sharpness, had been gradually restored to him. He was now a very energetic man indeed with great firmness of purpose, strength of resolution, and vigour of action. In his recovered energy he was sometimes a little fitful and sudden, as he had at first been in the exercise of his other recovered faculties; but, this had never been frequently observable, and had grown more and more rare.

He studied much, slept little, sustained a great deal of fatigue with ease, and was equably cheerful. To him, now entered Charles Darnay, at sight of whom he laid aside his book and held out his hand.

`Charles Darnay! I rejoice to see you. We have been counting on your return these three or four days past. Mr. Stryver and Sydney Carton were both here yesterday, and both made you out to be more than due.

`I am obliged to them for their interest in the matter,' he answered, a little coldly as to chem, though very warmly as to the Doctor. `Miss Manette---'

`Is well,' said the Doctor, as he stopped short, `and your return will delight us all. She has gone out on some household matters, but will soon be home.'

`Doctor Manette, I knew she was from home. I took the opportunity of her being from home, to beg to speak to you.'

There was a blank silence.

`Yes?' said the Doctor, with evident constraint. `Bring your chair here, and speak on.'

He complied as to the chair, but appeared to find the speaking on less easy.

`I have had the happiness, Doctor Manette, of being so intimate here,' so he at length began, `for some year and a half, that I hope the topic on which I am about to touch may not---'

He was stayed by the Doctor's putting out his hand to stop him. When he had kept it so a little while, he said, drawing it back:

`Is Lucie the topic?'

`She is.'

`It is hard for me to speak of her at any time. It is very hard for me to hear her spoken of in that tone of yours, Charles Darnay.'

`It is a tone of fervent admiration, true homage, and deep love, Doctor Manette!' he said deferentially.

There was another blank silence before her father rejoined: `I believe it. I do you justice; I believe it.'

His constraint was so manifest, and it was so manifest, too, that it originated in an unwillingness to approach the subject, that Charles Darnay hesitated.

`Shall I go on, sir?'

Another blank.

`Yes, go on.'

`You anticipate what I would say, though you cannot know how earnestly I say it, how earnestly I feel it, without knowing my secret heart, and the hopes and fears and anxieties with which it has long been laden. Dear Doctor Manette, I love your daughter fondly, dearly, disinterestedly, devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her. You have loved yourself; let your old love speak for me!'

The Doctor sat with his face turned away, and his eyes bent on the ground. At the last words, he stretched out his hand again, hurriedly, and cried:

`Not that, sir! Let that be! I adjure you, do not recall that!'

His cry was so like a cry of actual pain, that it rang in Charles Darnay's ears long after he had ceased. He motioned with the hand he had extended, and it seemed to be an appeal to Darnay to pause. The latter so received it, and remained silent.

`I ask your pardon,' said the Doctor, in a subdued tone, after some moments. `I do not doubt your loving Lucie; you may be satisfied of it.'

He turned towards him in his chair, but did not look at him, or raise his eyes. His chin dropped upon his hand, and his white hair overshadowed his face:

`Have you spoken to Lucie?'

`No.'

`Nor written?'

`Never.'

`It would be ungenerous to affect not to know that your self-denial is to be referred to your consideration for her father. Her father thanks you.

He offered his hand; but his eyes did not go with it.

`I know,' said Darnay, respectfully, `how can I fail to know, Doctor Manette, I who have seen you together from day to day, that between you and Miss Manette there is an affection so unusual, so touching, so belonging to the circumstances in which it has been nurtured, that it can have few parallels, even in the tenderness between a father and child. I know, Dr. Manette--how can I fail to know--that, mingled with the affection and duty of a daughter who has become a woman, there is, in her heart, towards you, all the love and reliance of infancy itself. I know that, as in her childhood she had no parent, so she is now devoted to you with all the constancy and fervour of her present years and character, united to the trustfulness and attachment of the early days in which you were lost to her. I know perfectly well that if you had been restored to her from the world
beyond this life, you could hardly be invested, in her sight, with a more sacred character than that in which you are always with her. I know that when she is clinging to you, the hands of baby, girl, and woman, all in one, are round your neck. I know that in loving you she sees and loves her mother at her own age, sees and loves you at my age, loves her mother broken+hearted, loves you through your dreadful trial and in your blessed restoration. I have known this, night and day, since I have known you in your home.'

Her father sat silent, with his face bent down. His breathing was a little quickened; but he repressed all other signs of agitation.

`Dear Doctor manette always knowing this, always seeing her and you with this hallowed light about you, I have forborne, and forborne, as long as it was in the nature of man to do it. I have felt, and do even now feel, that to bring my love--even mine--between you, is to touch your history with something not quite so good as itself. But I love her. Heaven is my witness that I love her!'

`I believe it,' answered her father, mournfully. `I have thought so before now. I believe it.'

`But, do not believe,' said Darnay, upon whose ear the mournful voice struck with a reproachful sound, `that if my fortune were so cast as that, being one day so happy as to make her my wife, I must at any time put any separation between her and you, I could or would breathe a word of what I now say. Besides that I should know it to be hopeless, I should know it to be a baseness. If I had any such possibility, even at a remote distance of years, harboured in my thoughts, and `hidden in my heart--if it ever had been there--if it ever could be there--I could not now touch this honoured hand.'

He laid his own upon it as he spoke.

`No, dear Doctor Manette. Like you, a 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 evidently 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 to-morrow.

`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 sec 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 directly, and it is better she should not see us together to-night. Go! God bless you!'

It was dark when Charles Darnay left him, and it was an hour later and darker when Lucie came home; she hurried into the room alone--for Miss Pross had gone straight upstairs--and was surprised to find his reading-chair empty.

`My father!' she called to him. `Father dear!'

Nothing was said in answer, but she heard a low hammering sound in his bedroom. Passing lightly across the intermediate room, she looked in at his door and came running back frightened, crying to herself, with her blood all chilled, `What shall I do! What shall I do!'

Her uncertainty lasted but a moment; she hurried back, and tapped at his door, and softly called to him. The noise ceased at the sound of her voice, and he presently came out to her, and they walked up and down together for a long time.

She came down from her bed, to look at him in his sleep that night. He slept heavily, and his tray of shoemaking tools, and his old unfinished work, were all as usual.

十二个月来了又去了。查尔斯.达尔内先生在英格兰取得了优秀法语教师的地位。他也熟悉法国文学。要是在今天，他可能做个教授，可是在那时，他只能当个私人教师。他跟有时间也有兴趣的年轻人一起读书，一起研究一种在全世界普遍使用的活语言，并培养他们，使他们能欣赏它的知识与想象的宝库。而且他可以用正 确的英语写研究法语和法国文学的文章  ，也可翻译出正确的英语。那时代他这样的能手并不容易找到，因为许多过去的王子和未来的国王还没有落到教员队伍中来，破落的贵族也还没被从台尔森银行帐簿里划掉名字，去当厨工或木匠。作为私人教师，他知识渊博，言辞蕴籍，使学生学得异常愉快，得益非浅；作为翻译者，他文体高雅，在译文中注入了许多不只是字典上的东西。因此达尔内先生很快就有了名气，而且深受称赞。何况，他对自己的国家的情况也很熟悉，而那也越来越引起人们的兴趣。因此，他靠了自己的坚毅顽强和不懈努力发达起来了。

在伦敦，他从未梦想过走在黄金路面上或睡在玫瑰花坛里。有了这种高雅的理想他是发达不起来的。他希望劳动，也参加了劳动，便竭尽全力地劳动。他的发达靠的是这个。

他把一部分时间花在剑桥，在那儿教本科生读法语。他仿佛是一个受到宽容的走私贩子，不是经过海关检验进口希腊文和拉丁文，而是贩卖欧洲语言的私货。剩下的时间他花在伦敦。

从永远是夏日的伊甸园到大部分是冬日的今天的堕落人世，男人的世界总要走一条一成不变的路一一要追求一个女人的爱。这也是查尔斯.达尔内的路。

他是在危难的时刻爱上了露西.曼内特小姐的。他从没有听见过比她那同情的声音更甜美、更可爱的声音，从没有看见过像她这样温柔美丽的面容，那时她在已为他挖好的坟墓边沿跟他面对着面。但是他还不曾跟她谈过这个问题。发生在波涛汹涌澎湃的大海和尘土飞扬的大路那边的那座荒凉庄园里的谋杀案已经过去了一年，那巍峨的石庄园已成了个依稀的梦，可他至今没有向她说出一个吐露心曲的字。

他很明白自己为什么沉默。又一个夏季的白天，他离开他大学的工作来到伦敦，转到了索霍区这个安静的街角。他想找机会向曼内特医生敞开自己的心扉。那天已快要黄昏，他知道露西已跟普洛丝小姐出门去了。

他发现医生坐在窗前的圈手椅上。在他苦难时支持过他、却也增加了他的痛苦的体力已经逐渐恢复。他现在确实已成了个精力非常充沛的人。他坚毅顽强，行动富于活力。在他恢复活力之后有时也发病、也冲动，跟他才开始训练恢复其它官能时一样，但这种情况当初就不多，现在更是罕见了。

他读书的时间多，睡眠的时间少，很辛苦，却很轻松，而且同样感到快乐。现在查尔斯.达尔内走进了他屋里，他一看见便放下书伸出手来。

“查尔斯.达尔内！很高兴见到你。近三四天来我们都估计你会回来呢。斯特莱佛先生和西德尼.卡尔顿先生昨天都来过，都以为你早该来了！”

“他们对我有兴趣，我很感谢，”他回答道。他对那两人虽有几分冷淡，对医生却是满腔热忱。“曼内特小姐——”

“她很好，”医生插嘴说，“你回来，我们都会很高兴的。她有些家务事要办，出去了，马上就会回来。”

“曼内特医生，我知道她不在家。我正是要利用她不在家的机会请求跟你谈一谈的。”

空白。沉默。

“是么？”医生说，显然有些不安。“把你的椅子拉过来，说吧。”

椅子拉过来了，但他却发现要说下去并不那么容易。

“我跟你们家能有密切的关系，曼内特医生，我很高兴，”他终于开了口，“时间已有了一年半。我希望我要提起的话题不至于一一”

医生伸出手来制止他，他闭上了嘴。过了一会儿，医生又回到了话题，说：

“是要谈露西么？”

“是的。”

“我任何时候谈起她心里都不好过。一听见你用那种调子谈起她就更难受，查尔斯.达尔内。”

“我这是热烈的崇敬、真诚的膜拜和恳切的爱情的声音，曼内特医生！”他恭顺地说。

又是一片空白，沉默。

“我相信你的话。我对你应当公正，我相信你的话。”

他显然很不安，而这不安又显然是由于不愿提起这个话头，因此查尔斯.达尔内犹豫
了。

“要我继续说下去么，先生？”

又是空白。

“好了，说吧。”

“你估计到了我要说的话，虽然你不可能懂得我说这话时有多么认真，我的感情有多么认真，因为你不懂得我秘密的心愿和这心愿长期压在我身上的希冀、畏惧和不安。亲爱的曼内特医生，我对你的女儿爱得痴迷、深沉、无私和忠贞，只要世界上还有爱，我就要爱她。你也曾恋爱过的，让你往日的爱情为我说话吧！”

医生扭开了脸坐着，眼睛望着地上。听到最后一句话，他又匆匆伸出手去，叫道：

“别提那事，先生！别提那事，我求你，不要让我想起过去！”

他的叫喊像是确实有了病痛，因此他的话说完后许久仍然回荡在查尔斯.达尔内的耳里。他伸出手做了个手势，仿佛是哀求达尔内别可说下去。达尔内作了这样的理解，便再也没出声。

“请你原谅，”过了一会儿，医生压低了嗓子说，“我并不怀疑你爱露西，我可以让你满意。”

他在椅子上向他转过身来，却没有看他，也没有抬起眼睛。他的下巴落到了手上，白发遮住了面孔。

“你跟露西谈过了么？”

“还没有。”，

“也没有给她写信么？”

“从来没有。”

“你的自我否定是由于考虑到他的父亲，要装作不知道这一点是狭隘的。她的父亲对你表示感谢。”

他伸出手来，眼睛却不配合。

“我知道，”达尔内尊重地说，“我怎么能不知道呢，曼内特医生。我每天都看见你们俩在一起，你跟曼内特小姐之间这种不寻常的、动人的感情是在特殊的环境之下培养出来的。即使是在父女之间，能够跟它相比的感情也不多见。我知道，曼内特医生，我怎么能不知道呢，她心里除了一个逐渐成年的女儿的感情和孝心之外，还有她婴儿时期的全部的爱和依赖。我知道，因为她从小没有父母，现在已把她成年后的全部忠诚、热情和性格奉献给了你，还加上对早年失去的父亲的信赖和依恋。我完全知道，即使你从今生之外的另一个世界回到她身边，你在她的眼里也难以具有比跟她长期相处的你更神圣的品格。我知道，她依偎着你时，那搂着你脖子的手是三合一的：它是婴儿的、姑娘的，也是妇女的。我知道，她在爱你时，看到了跟她同龄的母亲，也在爱着她；看到了跟我同龄时的你，也在爱着我。她爱她心碎的母亲，她爱那经历了可怕的考验和成功的恢复过程的你。我自从在你家跟你相识之后日夜见到的便是这一切。”

她的父亲垂头坐着，只有呼吸略微加快，其它的激动迹象全都受到了抑制。

“亲爱的曼内特医生，这些我一向都知道。我也一向看到你为一个神圣的光圈所笼罩。我忍耐了，我忍耐到了人的天性所能忍耐的最大程度。我一向感到（就是现在也还感到）把我的爱情（甚至是我的爱情）介入你俩之间是要用一种不配触动你的历史的东西去触动它。但是我爱她。上天作证，我是爱她的！”

“我相信，”她的父亲伤心地回答，“我早就想到了，我相信。”

“可是，”达尔内说，医生那伤心的口气在他耳里带着责备的调子，“如果我有这样的幸运能娶了她，可别以为我会在某一天违背我现在的话，把你俩分开。此外，我也明白那是做不到的，也是卑鄙的。如果我心里考虑着这种可能性，即使把它放在遥远的将来，却隐藏在心里，如果我有这样的心思，有这祥的想法，我现在就没有资格触摸这只荣耀的手。”

说着他伸出手来，放到了医生手上。

“不，亲爱的曼内特医生，我跟你一样是自愿流放离开法国的，跟你一样是被法国的疯狂、迫害和苦难赶出来的，跟你一样是努力靠自己的劳动在国外生活，而且相信将来会更幸福的，我只盼望跟你同甘共苦，共享你的生活和家庭。我要对你忠诚，至死不渝。我不会影响到露西做你的女儿、侣伴和朋友的特权的。我要帮助她，使她跟你更亲密，如果还能更亲密的话。”

他的手还挨着她父亲的手。她的父亲并不冷淡地接受他的触摸。过了一会儿，更把双手搭在了他椅子的扶手上。自从谈话以来第一次抬起头来。他脸上显然有一种内心斗争的表情。他在压抑着那偶然露头的阴沉的怀疑和恐惧。

“你的话很有感情，很有男子汉气概，查尔斯.达尔内，我衷心地感谢你。我要向你敞开我整个的心——或是差不多敞开。你有理由相信露西爱你么？”

“没有。到目前为止还没有。”

“你对我这样倾吐你的心臆，直接的目的是想要我立即加以肯定么？”

“并不完全如此。我可能会好多个礼拜都希望渺茫，也可能明天就会希望降临，不管我是否误会了。”

“你是否想要我给你出主意呢？”

“我并不要求，先生。但我觉得如果你认为可以，你是有力量给我出出主意的。”

“你想得到我的承诺么？”

“想。”

“什么承诺？”

“我很明白没有你，我不可能有希望。我很明白即使曼内特小姐现在在她那纯洁的心灵里有了我——不要认为我真的胆敢存这种奢望——我在她心里的地位也不可能影响她对她父亲的爱。”

“若是确实那样，你认为别的还会牵涉到什么问题呢？”

“我同样明白，她父亲为任何求婚者说的一句有利的话都会比她自己和全世界更有分量。因此，曼内特医生，”达尔内谦恭但坚定地说，“我不愿意求你说那祥的话，即使它可以救我的命。”

“我相信。查尔斯.达尔内，神秘是由于爱得深沉或距离太大而产生的。若是前者，那神秘便精细而微妙，很难参透。我的女儿露西对我就是这样一种神秘。因此我无法猜测她的心态。”

“我可以问问吗，先生？你是否认为她一—”他还在犹豫，她的父亲已给他补充出来：

“有别的人求婚？”

“这正是我打算说的话。”

她的父亲想了一会儿，回答说：

“你在这儿亲眼见到过卡尔顿先生。斯特莱佛先生偶然也来。若是有那么回事的话，也只有一个。”

“也许是两个，”达尔内说。

“我不认为会有两个；我倒觉得一个也不像。休想得到我的承诺，那就告诉我，你想要我承诺什么？”

“若是曼内特小姐也跟我今天大胆所做的一样，某一天向你倾吐了内心的情愫，我希望你能证实我今天对你说过的话，也表示你相信我的话。我希望你对我有那样的好感，不至造成不利于我的影响。至于这事对我有多么重要我就不想深谈了。这就是我的要求。我提出这个要求的条件——你无疑有权要求这个条件——我会立即执行。”

“我答应，”医生说，“无条件答应。我相信你的目的跟你的话确实完全一样。我相信你的意图是维护我和我那宝贵得多的另一个自我的关系，而不是削弱这种关系。若是她告诉我，你是她获得完全幸福必不可少的条件，我愿意把她给你。若是还有——查尔斯.达尔内——若是还有——”

年轻人感激地抓住他的手，两人的手紧紧地握在一起。医生说道：

“若是还有任何不利于她真正爱着的男性的幻想、理由或畏惧，而其直接责任并不在他，那么，为了她的缘故，无论是什么问题都应该全部抹掉。她便是我的一切，她对我比我所受过的苦更重要，比我所遭受到的冤屈更重要—一嗨！这全是废话。”

他没了力气，住了嘴，态度很奇怪，又以一种奇怪的眼神呆望着他，松开了握住他的那只手，又放掉了。达尔内觉得那手冰凉。

“你刚才对我说了一件事，”曼内特医生说，绽出一个微笑。“那是什么？”

他不知道怎么回答，后来想起他刚才谈起的条件，这才放了心回答道：

“我应该用充分的信任报答你对我的信任。我现在的姓虽是略微改变过的我母亲的姓，却不是我的真姓，这你是记得的。我打算告诉你我原来的姓和我到英国来的原因。”

“别说了！”波维的医生说。

“我希望更值得你信任，而且对你不存在任何秘密。”

“别说了！”

医生甚至用双手捂了一会儿耳朵，然后又把双手放到达尔内的嘴唇上。

“到我问你的时候再告诉我吧，现在别说。若是你求婚成功，若是露西爱你，你就在结婚日子的早晨再告诉我吧！你答应么？”

“我答应。”

“握手吧。她马上就要回来了，她今天晚上最好别见到我俩在一起。你走吧！上帝保佑你！”

查尔斯.达尔内离去时已是黄昏。一个小时以后天更暗了，露西才回到家里。她一个人匆匆进了房——普洛丝小姐已直接回卧室去了——却发现读书椅上没有人，便吃了一惊。

“爸爸！”她叫他。“亲爱的爸爸！”

没有人回答，她却听见有低低的敲击声从他的卧室传来。她轻轻走过中间的屋子，往他门里望去，却惊惶地跑了回来。她全身的血都凉了，大声叫道，“我该怎么办！我该怎么办：”

她只惶惑了一会儿，随即匆匆跑了回来，去敲他的门，并轻声地呼唤。她一叫，敲击声便停止了，医生立即出门来到她的面前。两人在一起走来走去，走了许久。

那天晚上她下床来看他睡觉。他睡得很沉，他那鞋匠工具箱和没做完的旧活儿已摆回了原先的地方。