THE quiet lodgings of Doctor Manette were in a quiet street-corner not far from Soho-square. On the afternoon of a certain fine Sunday when the waves of four months had rolled over the trial for treason, and carried it, as to the public interest and memory, far out to sea, Mr. Jarvis Lorry walked along the sunny streets from Clerkenwell where he lived, on his way to dine with the Doctor. After several relapses into business-absorption, Mr. Lorry had become the Doctor's friend, and the quiet street-corner was the sunny part of his life.

On this certain fine Sunday, Mr. Lorry walked towards Soho, early in the afternoon, for three reasons of habit. Firstly, because, on fine Sundays, he often walked out, before dinner, with the Doctor and Lucie; secondly, because, on unfavourable Sundays, he was accustomed to be with them as the family friend, talking, reading, looking out of window, and generally getting through the day; thirdly, because he happened to have his own little shrewd doubts to solve, and knew how the ways of the Doctor's household pointed to that time as a likely time for solving them.

A quainter corner than the corner where the Doctor lived, was not to be found in London. There was no way through it, and the front windows of the Doctor's lodgings commanded a pleasant little vista of street that had a congenial air of retirement on it. There were few buildings then, north of the Oxford-road, and forest-trees flourished, and wild flowers grew, and the
hawthorn blossomed, in the now vanished fields. As a consequence, country airs circulated in Soho with vigorous freedom, instead of languishing into the parish like stray paupers without a settlement; and there was many a good south wall, not far off, on which the peaches ripened in their season.

The summer light struck into the corner brilliantly in the earlier part of the day; but, when the streets grew hot, the corner was in shadow, though not in shadow so remote but that you could see beyond it into a glare of brightness. It was a cool spot, staid but cheerful, a wonderful place for echoes, and a very harbour from the raging streets.

There ought to have been a tranquil bark in such an anchorage, and there was. The Doctor occupied two floors of a large still house, where several callings purported to be pursued by day, but whereof little was audible any day, and which was shunned by all of them at night. In a building at the back, attainable by a court-yard' where a plane-tree rustled its green leaves, church-organs claimed to be made, and silver to be chased, and likewise gold to be beaten by some mysterious giant who had a golden arm starting out of the wall of the front hall--as if he had beaten himself precious, and menaced a similar conversion of all visitors. Very little of these trades, or of a lonely lodger rumoured to live up-stairs, or of a dim coach-trimming maker asserted to have a counting-house below, was ever heard or seen. Occasionally, a stray workman putting his coat on, traversed
the hall, or a stranger peered about there, or a distant clink was heard across the court-yard, or a thump from the golden giant. These, how-ever, were only the exceptions required to prove the rule that the sparrows in the plane-tree behind the house, and
the echoes in the corner before it, had their own way from Sunday morning unto Saturday night.

Doctor Manette received such patients here as his old reputation, and its revival in the floating whispers of his story, brought him. His scientific knowledge, and his vigilance and skill in conducting ingenious experiments, brought him other-wise into moderate request, and he earned a, much as he wanted.

These things were within Mr. Jarvis Lorry's knowledge, thoughts, and notice, when he rang the door-bell of the tranquil house in the corner, on the fine Sunday afternoon.

`Doctor Manette at home?'

Expected home.

`Miss Lucie at home?'

Expected home.

`Miss Pross at home?'

Possibly at home, but of a certainty impossible for hand-maid to anticipate intentions of Miss Pross, as to admission or denial of the fact.

`As I am at home myself,' said Mr. Lorry, `I'll go up-stairs.'

Although the Doctor's daughter had known nothing of the country of her birth, she appeared to have innately derived from it that ability to make much of little means, which is one of its most useful and most agreeable characteristics. Simple as the furniture was, it was set off by so many little adornments, of no value but for their taste and fancy, that its effect was delightful. The disposition of everything in the rooms, from the largest object to the least; the arrangement of colours, the elegant variety and contrast obtained by thrift in trifles, by delicate hands, clear eyes, and good sense; were at once so pleasant in themselves, and so expressive of their originator, that, as Mr. Lorry stood looking about him, the very chairs and tables seemed to ask him, with something of that peculiar expression which he knew so well by this time, whether he approved?

There were three rooms on a floor, and, the doors by which they communicated being put open that the air might pass freely through them all, Mr. Lorry, smilingly observant of that fanciful resemblance which he detected all around him, walked from one to another. The first was the best room, and in it were Lucie's birds, and flowers, and books, and desk, and work-table, and box of water-colours; the second was the Doctor's consulting-room, used also as the dining-room; the third, changingly speckled by the rustle of the plane-tree in the yard, was the Doctor's bedroom, and there, in a corner, stood the disused
shoemaker's bench and tray of tools, much as it had stood on the fifth floor of the dismal house by the wine-shop, in the suburb of Saint Antoine in Paris.

`I wonder,' said Mr. Lorry, pausing in his looking about, `that he keeps that reminder of his sufferings about him!'

`And why wonder at that?' was the abrupt inquiry that made him start.

It proceeded from Miss Pross, the wild red woman, strong of hand, whose acquaintance he had first made at the Royal George Hotel at Dover, and had since improved.

`I should have thought---`Mr. Lorry began.

`Pooh! You'd have thought!' said Miss Pross; and Mr. Lorry left off.

`How do you do?' inquired that lady then--sharply, and yet as if to express that she bore him no malice.

`I am pretty well, I thank you,' answered Mr. Lorry, with meekness; `how are you?'

`Nothing to boast of,' said Miss Pross.

`Indeed?'

`Ah! indeed!' said Miss Pross. `I am very much put out about my Ladybird.'

`Indeed?'

`For gracious sake say something else besides ``indeed,'' or you'll fidget me to death,' said Miss Pross: whose character (dissociated from stature) was shortness.'

`Really, then?' said Mr. Lorry, as an amendment.

`Really, is bad enough,' returned Miss Pross, `but better. Yes, I am very much put out.'

`May I ask the cause?'

`I don't want dozens of people who are not at all worthy of Ladybird, to come here looking after her,' said Miss Pross.

`Do dozens come for that purpose?'

`Hundreds,' said Miss Pross.

It was characteristic of this lady (as of some other people before her time and since) that whenever her original pro-position was questioned, she exaggerated it.

`Dear me!' said Mr. Lorry, as the safest remark he could think of.

`I have lived with the darling--or the darling has lived with me, and paid me for it; which she certainly should never have done, you may take your affidavit, if I could have afforded to keep either myself or her for nothing--since she was ten years old. And it's really very hard,' said Miss Pross.

Not seeing with precision what was very hard, Mr. Lorry shook his head; using that important part of himself as a sort of fairy cloak that would fit anything.

`All sorts of people who are not in the least degree worthy of the pet, are always turning up,' said Miss Pross. `When you began it---'

`I began it, Miss Pross?'

`Didn't you? Who brought her father to life?'

`Oh! If that was beginning it---'said Mr. Lorry.

`It wasn't ending it, I suppose? I say, when you began it, it was hard enough; not that I have any fault to find with Doctor Manette, except that he is not worthy of such a daughter, which is no imputation on him, for it was not to be expected that anybody should be, under any circumstances. But it really is doubly and trebly hard to have crowds and multitudes of people turning up after him (I could have forgiven him), to take Ladybird's affections away from me.'

Mr. Lorry knew Miss Pross to be very jealous, but he also knew her by this time to be, beneath the surface of her eccentricity, one of those unselfish creatures--found only among women--who will, for pure love and admiration, bind themselves willing slaves, to youth when they have lost it, to beauty that they never had, to accomplishments that they were never fortunate enough to gain, to bright hopes that never shone upon their own sombre lives. He knew enough of the world to know that there is nothing in it better than the faithful service of the heart; so rendered and so free from any mercenary taint, he had such an exalted respect for it, that in the retributive arrangements made by his own mind--we all make such arrangements, more or less--he stationed Miss Pross much nearer to the lower Angels than many ladies immeasurably better got up both by Nature and Art, who had balances at Tellson's.

`There never was, nor will be, but one man worthy of Lady-bird,' said Miss Pross; `and that was my brother Solomon, if he hadn't made a mistake in life.'

Here again: Mr. Lorry's inquiries into Miss Pross's personal history had established the fact that her brother Solomon was a heartless scoundrel who had stripped her of everything she possessed, as a stake to speculate with, and had abandoned her in her poverty for evermore, with no touch of compunction. Miss Pross's fidelity of belief in Solomon (deducting a mere trifle for this slight mistake) was quite a serious matter with Mr. Lorry, and had its weight in his good opinion of her.

`As we happen to be alone for the moment, and are both people of business,' he said, when they had got back to the drawing-room and had sat down there in friendly relations, `let me ask you--does the Doctor, in talking with Lucie, never refer to the shoemaking time, yet?'

`Never.'

`And yet keeps that bench and those tools beside him?'

`Ah!' returned Miss Pross, shaking her head. `But I don't say he don't refer to it within himself.'

`Do you believe that he thinks of it much?'

`I do,' said Miss Pross.

`Do you imagine---' Mr. Lorry had begun, when Miss Pross took him up short with:

`Never imagine anything. Have no imagination at all.'

`I stand corrected,; do you suppose--you go so far as to Suppose, sometimes?

`Now and then,' said Miss Pross.

`Do you suppose,' Mr. Lorry went on, with a laughing twinkle in his bright eye, as it looked kindly at her, `that Doctor Manette has any theory of his own, preserved through all those years, relative to the cause of his being so oppressed; perhaps, even to the name of his oppressor?'

`I don't suppose anything about it but what Ladybird tells me.'

`And that is---?'

`That she thinks he has.'

`Now don't be angry at my asking all these questions; because I am a mere dull man of business, and you are a woman of business.'

`Dull?' Miss Pross inquired, with placidity.

Rather wishing his modest adjective away, Mr. Lorry replied, `No, no, no. Surely not. To return to business:- Is it not remarkable that Doctor Manette, unquestionably innocent of any crime as we are all well assured he is, should never touch upon that question? I will not say with me, though he had business relations with me many years ago, and we are now intimate; I will say with the fair daughter to whom he is so devotedly attached, and who is so devotedly attached to him? Believe me, Miss Pross, I don't approach the topic with you, out of curiosity, but out of zealous interest.'

`Well! To the best of my understanding, and bad's the best, you'll tell me,' said Miss Pross, softened by the tone of the apology, `he is afraid of the whole subject.

`Afraid?'

`It's plain enough, I should think, why he may be. It's a dreadful remembrance. Besides that, his loss of himself grew out of it. Not knowing how he lost himself, or how he re-covered himself, he may never feel certain of not losing himself again. That alone wouldn't make the subject pleasant, I should think.'

It was a profounder remark than Mr. Lorry had looked for. `True,' said he, `and fearful to reflect upon. Yet, a doubt lurks in my mind, Miss Pross, whether it is good for Doctor Manette to have that suppression always shut up within him. Indeed, it is this doubt and the uneasiness it sometimes causes me that has led me to our present confidence.'

`Can't be helped,' said Miss Pross, shaking her head. `Touch that string, and he instantly changes for the worse. Better leave it alone. In short, must leave it alone, like or no like. Sometimes, lie gets up in the dead of the night, and will be heard, by us overhead there, walking up and down, walking up and down, in his room. Ladybird has learnt to know then that his mind is walking up and down, walking up and down, in his old prison. She hurries to him, and they go on together, walking up and down, walking up and down, until he is composed. But he never says a word of the true reason of his restlessness, to her, and
she finds it best not to hint at it to him. In silence they go walking up and down together, walking up and down together, till her love and company have brought him to himself.'

Notwithstanding Miss Pross's denial of her own imagination, there was a perception of the pain of being monotonously haunted by one sad idea, in her repetition of the phrase, walking up and down, which testified to her possessing such a thing.

The corner has been mentioned as a wonderful corner for echoes; it had begun to echo so resoundingly to the tread of coming feet, that it seemed as though the very mention of that weary pacing to and fro had set it going.

`Here they are!' said Miss Pross, rising to break up the conference; `and now we shall have hundreds of people pretty soon!'

It was such a curious comer in its acoustical properties, such a peculiar Ear of a place, that as Mr. Lorry stood at the open window, looking for the father and daughter whose steps he heard, he fancied they would never approach. Not only would the echoes die away, as though the steps had gone; but, echoes of other steps that never came would be heard in their stead, and would die away for good when they seemed close at hand. However, father and daughter did at last appear, and Miss Pross was ready at the street door to receive them.

Miss Pross was a pleasant sight, albeit wild, and red, and grim, taking off her darling's bonnet when she came up-stairs, and touching it up with the ends of her handkerchief, and blowing the dust off it, and folding her mantle ready for laying by, and smoothing her rich hair with as much pride as she could possibly have taken in her own hair if she had been the vainest and handsomest of women. Her darling was a pleasant sight too, embracing her and thanking her, and protesting against her taking so much trouble for her--which last she only dared to do playfully, or Miss Pross, sorely hurt, would have retired to her own chamber and cried. The Doctor was a pleasant sight too, looking on at them, and telling Miss Pross how she spoilt Lucie, in accents and with eyes that had as much spoiling in them as Miss Pross had, and would have had more if it were possible. Mr. Lorry was a pleasant sight too, beaming at all this in his little wig, and thanking his bachelor stars for having lighted him in his declining years to a Home. But, no Hundreds of people came to see the sights, and Mr. Lorry looked in vain for the fulfilment of Miss Pross's prediction.

Dinner-time, and still no Hundreds of people. In the arrangements of the little household, Miss Pross took charge of the lower regions, and always acquitted herself marvellously. Her dinners, of a very modest quality, were so well cooked and so well served, and so neat in their contrivances, half English and half French, that nothing could be better. Miss Pross's friendship being of the thoroughly practical kind, she had ravaged Soho and the adjacent provinces, in search of impoverished French, who, tempted by shillings and half-crowns, would impart culinary mysteries to her. From these decayed sons and daughters of
Gaul, she had acquired such wonderful arts, that the woman and girl who formed the staff of domestics regarded her as quite a Sorceress, or Cinderella's Godmother: who would send out for a fowl, a rabbit, a vegetable or two from the garden, and change them into any-thing she pleased.

On Sundays, Miss Pross dined at the Doctor's table, but on other days persisted in taking her meals at unknown periods, either in the lower regions, or in her own room on the second floor--a blue chamber, to which no one but her Ladybird ever gained admittance. On this occasion, Miss Pross, responding to Ladybird's pleasant face and pleasant efforts to please  her, unbent exceedingly; so the dinner was very pleasant, too.

It was an oppressive day, and, after dinner, Lucie proposed that the wine should be carried out under the plane-tree, and they should sit there in the air. As everything turned upon her, and revolved about her, they went out under the plane-tree, and she carried the wine down for the special benefit of Mr. Lorry. She had installed herself, some time before, as Mr. Lorry's cup-bearer; and while they sat under the plane-tree, talking, she kept his glass replenished. Mysterious backs and ends of houses peeped at them as they talked, and the plane-tree whispered to them in its own way above their heads.

Still, the Hundreds of people did not present themselves. Mr. Darnay presented himself while they were sitting under the plane-tree, but he was only One.

Doctor Manette received him kindly, and so did Lucie. But, Miss Pross suddenly became afflicted with a twitching in the head and body, and retired into the house. She was not unfrequently the victim of this disorder, and she called it, in familiar conversation, `a fit of the jerks.'

The Doctor was in his best condition, and looked specially young. The resemblance between him and Lucie was very strong at such times, and as they sat side by side, she leaning on his shoulder, and he resting his arm on the back of her chair, it was very agreeable to trace the likeness.

He had been talking all day, on many subjects, and with unusual vivacity. `Pray, Doctor Manette,' said Mr. Darnay, as they sat under the plane-tree--and he said it in the natural pursuit of the topic in hand, which happened to be the old buildings of London-have you seen much of the Tower?'

`Lucie and I have been there; but only casually. We have seen enough of it, to know that it teems with interest; little more.'

`I have been there, as you remember,' said Darnay, with a smile, though reddening a little angrily, `in another character, and not in a character that gives facilities for seeing, much of it. They told me a curious thing when I was there.

`What was that?' Lucie asked.

`In making some alterations, the workmen came upon an old dungeon, which had been, for many years, built up and forgotten. Every stone of its inner wall was covered by inscriptions which had been carved by prisoners--dates, names, complaints, and prayers. Upon a corner stone in an angle of the wall, one prisoner, who seemed to have gone to execution, had cut as his last work, three letters. They were done with some very poor instrument, and hurriedly, with an unsteady hand. At first, they were read as D. I. C.; but, on being more carefully examined, the last letter was found to be G. There was no record or legend of any prisoner with those initials, and many fruitless guesses were made what the name could have been. At length, it was suggested that the letters were not initials, but the complete word, DIG. The floor was examined very carefully under the inscription, and, in the earth beneath a stone, or tile, or some fragment of paving, were found the ashes of a paper, mingled with the ashes of a small leathern case or bag. What the unknown prisoner had written will never be read, but he had written something, and hidden it away to keep it from the gaoler.'

`My father,' exclaimed Lucie, `you are ill!'

He had suddenly started up, with his hand to his head. His manner and his look quite terrified them all.

`No, my dear, not ill. There are large drops of rain falling, and they made me start. We had better go in.'

He recovered himself almost instantly. Rain was really falling in large drops, and he showed the back of his hand with rain-drops on it. But, he said not a single word in reference to the discovery that had been told of, and, as they went into the house, the business eye of Mr. Lorry either detected, or fancied it detected, on his face, as it turned towards Charles Darnay, the same singular look that had been upon it when it turned towards him in the passages of the Court House.

He recovered himself so quickly, however, that Mr. Lorry had doubts of his business eye. The arm of the golden giant in the hall was not more steady than he was, when he stopped under it to remark to them that he was not yet proof against slight surprises (if he ever would be), and that the rain had startled him.

Tea-time, and Miss Pross making tea, with another fit of the jerks upon her, and yet no Hundreds of people. Mr. Garton had lounged in, but he made only Two.

The night was so very sultry, that although they sat with doors and windows open, they were overpowered by heat. When the tea-table was done with, they all moved to one of the windows, and looked out into the heavy twilight. Lucie sat by her father; Darnay sat beside her; Carton leaned against a window. The curtains were long and white, and some of the thunder-gusts that whirled into the corner, caught them up to the ceiling, and waved them like spectral wings.

`The rain-drops are still falling, large, heavy, and few,' said Doctor Manette. `It comes slowly.

`It comes surely,' said Carton.

They spoke low, as people watching and waiting mostly do; as people in a dark room, watching and waiting for Lightning, always do.

There was a great hurry in the streets, of people speeding away to get shelter before the storm broke; the wonderful corner for echoes resounded with the echoes of footsteps coming and going, yet not a footstep was there.

`A multitude of people, and yet a solitude!' said Darnay, when they had listened for a while.

`Is it not impressive, Mr. Darnay?' asked Lucie. `Sometimes, I have sat here of an evening, until I have fancied--but even the shade of a foolish fancy makes me shudder to-night, when all is so black and solemn---'

`Let us shudder too. We may know what it is.'

`It will seem nothing to you. Such whims are only impressive as we originate them, I think; they are not to be communicated. I have sometimes sat alone here of an evening, listening, until I have made the echoes out to be the echoes of all the footsteps that
are coming by-and-by into our lives.'

`There is a great crowd coming one day into our lives, if that be so,' Sydney Carton struck in, in his moody way.

The footsteps were incessant, and the hurry of them became more and more rapid. The corner echoed and re-echoed with the tread of feet; some, as it seemed, under the windows; some, as it seemed, in the room; some coming, some going, some breaking off, some stopping altogether; all in the distant streets, and not one within sight.

`Are all these footsteps destined to come to all of us, Miss Manette, or are we to divide them among us?'

`I don't know, Mr. Darnay; I told you it was a foolish fancy, but you asked for it. When I have yielded myself to it, I have been alone, and then I have imagined them the foot-steps the people who are to come into my life, and my father's.'

`I take them into mine!' said Carton. `I ask no questions and make no stipulations. There is a great crowd bearing down upon us, Miss Manette, and I see them---by the Lightning.' He added the last words, after there had been a vivid flash which had shown him lounging in the window.

`And I hear them.' he added again, after a peal of thunder.

`Here they come, fast, fierce, and furious.'

It was the rush and roar of rain that he typified, and it stopped him, for no voice could be heard in it. A memorable storm of thunder and lightning broke with that sweep of water, and there was not a moment's interval in crash, and We, and rain, until after the moon rose at midnight.

The great bell of Saint Paul's was striking One in the cleared air, when Mr. Lorry, escorted by Jerry, high-booted. and bearing a lantern, set forth on his return-passage to Clerkenwell. There were solitary patches of road on the way between Soho and Clerkenwell, and Mr. Lorry, mindful of footpads, always retained Jerry for this service: though it was usually performed a good two hours earlier.

`What a night it has been! Almost a night, `Jerry,' said Mr. Lorry, `to bring the dead out of their graves.

`I never see the night myself, master--nor yet I don't expect to--what would do that,' answered Jerry.

`Good-night, Mr. Carton,' said the man of business. `Good-night, Mr. Darnay. Shall we ever see such a night again, together!'

Perhaps. Perhaps, see the great crowd of people with its rush and roar, bearing down upon them, too.

曼内特医生的幽静的寓所在一个平静的街角，距离索霍广场不远。叛国审判案受到四个月时光的冲刷，公众对它的兴趣和记忆已流入大海。一个晴朗的星期日下午，贾维斯.罗瑞先生从他居住的克拉肯威尔出发，沿着阳光普照的街道走着，要去曼内特医生处吃晚饭。经过业务上的反复交往之后，罗瑞先生已成了医生的朋友，那幽静的街角也成了他生命中一个日丽风和的成分。

这是一个晴朗的星期日下午，罗瑞先生很早便往索霍走去。这里有三个习惯的原因。首先，晴朗的星期日的晚饭前他常要跟医生和露西去散步；其次，在天气不佳的星期日他又习惯于以这家的朋友身份跟他们在一起谈天、读书、看看窗外的景色，把一天打发过去；第三，他头脑精细，常有些小小的疑问，而他又知道按医生家的生活方式，星期日下午正是解决这些问题的时候。

比医生的住处更为独特的街角在伦敦是很难找到的。那儿没有街道穿过，从屋前的窗口望去，可以看到一片小小的风景，具有一种远离尘嚣的雅趣，令人心旷神怡。那时牛津街以北房屋还少，在今天已消失的野地里还有葱笼的树木和野花，山楂开得很烂漫。因此乡野的空气可以轻快有力地周游于索霍，而不至像无家可归的穷汉闯入教区里一样畏缩不前。不远处还有好几堵好看的朝南坝墙，墙上的桃树一到季节便结满了果实。

上午，太阳的光灿烂地照入这个街角，可等到街道渐热的时候，这街角却已笼罩在树荫里。树荫不太深，穿过它还可以看到耀眼的阳光。那地方清凉、安谧、幽静，今人陶醉，是个听回声的奇妙地方，是扰攘的市廛之外的一个避嚣良港。

在这样的港湾中理应有一只平静的小舟，而小舟也确实存在。医生在一幢幽静的大楼里占了两个楼层。据说楼里白天有从事着好几种职业的人在干活，可从来很少听见声音，而晚上人们又都回避这个地方。大楼后面有一个小天井，连接着另一幢大楼。小天井里梧桐摇着绿叶，沙沙地响。据说那幢楼里有一个神秘的巨人在制造教堂用的管风琴，雕铸银器，打制金器，这巨人把一条金胳膊从前厅的墙上伸了出来--仿佛他把自己敲得贵重了，还势必要让他全部的客人也贵重起来。除了上述的几种职业之外，据说还有一个住在楼上的孤独房客和模糊听说的住在楼下的一家马车饰物制造商的帐房，可都很少有人看见或谈起过。有时一个游荡的工人会一面披着衣服一面从大厅穿过。有时一个陌生人会在附近张望。有时从小天井那头也会传来辽远的叮当之声，或是从那金胳膊的巨人那里传来的砰的一声。但这一切都只不过是偶然的例外，正好证明了从星期日早上直到星期六晚上屋后梧桐树上的麻雀和屋前街角的回声都各按自己的方式存在着。

曼内特医生在这儿应诊，他的病家是他往日的声誉和悄悄流传的有关他的故事所唤醒的名声带来的。他的科学知识和他进行创新的手术实验时的机警与技巧也给他带来了一定数量的病家，因此他能得到他所需要的收入。

这个晴朗的星期日下午，在贾维斯.罗瑞揿着这个街角小屋的门铃时，上述种种他都知道、想到，也都注意到。

“曼内特医生在家么？”

正等他回来。

“露西小姐在家么？”

正等她回来。

“普洛丝小姐在家么？”

也许在家。但是女仆却完全无法估计普洛丝小姐的意向，是会客，还是不承认在家。

“我在这儿跟在家里一样，”罗瑞先生说，“我自己上楼去吧！”

医生的女儿尽管对自己出生的国度一无所知，却似乎从那个国家遗传来了少花钱多办事的才能。这原是那个国家最有用处、也最受人欢迎的特点。这屋的家具虽简单，却缀满了小饰物。这些东西花钱不多，却表现了品位和想象力，因而产生了令人愉快的效果。室内诸物的安排从最大件到最小件，它们的色调搭配，高雅的变化和对比（那是通过节约小笔小笔的开支，再加上巧妙的手、敏锐的目光和良好的鉴赏力所取得的）都令人赏心悦目，体现了设计者的雅趣。因此，当罗瑞先生站在屋里四面打量的时候，就连桌子椅子都似乎带着一种他现在已颇为熟悉的特殊表情在征求他的意见：是否满意？

这层楼有三间屋子。屋子之间的门全部敞开，便于空气流通。罗瑞先生一间一间地走过，带着微笑观察着身边不同的事物所表现的同一副巧手慧心。第一间屋子是最漂亮的，屋里是露西的花儿、鸟儿、书籍、书桌和工作台，还有一盒水彩画颜料。第二间是医生的诊所，兼作餐厅。第三间因有天井里的梧桐而树影婆娑，叶声细细，是医生的寝室。寝室一角放着那套没人用的鞋匠长凳和工具箱，和在巴黎圣安托万郊区酒店附近凄惨的建筑物五楼上的情况很相像。

“真想不到，”罗瑞先生暂时停止了观察，“他竟会把这些叫他想起当年苦难的东西留下来！”

“有什么想不到的：”一声突然的反问使他吃了一惊。
d@ Hq?@???窃诙喾鸬那侵瓮趼霉莸谝淮稳鲜兜模?罄从∠笥辛烁慕??br>
“我应当想得到--”罗瑞开始解释。

“呸！你应当想得到！”普洛丝小姐说；罗瑞先生闭了嘴。

“你好？”这时这位小姐才跟他打招呼--口气虽尖锐，看来对他并无敌意。，

“很好，谢谢，”罗瑞先生回答，态度温驯，“你好么？”

“没有什么值得吹嘘的，”普洛丝小姐说。

“真的？”

“啊！真的！”普洛丝小姐说。“我为我那小鸟儿着急死了。”

“真的？”

“天啦！你除了‘真的’‘真的’说点别的行不行？叫人腻烦死了，”普洛丝小姐说。她的性格特征就是简短--个子除外。

“那就改成‘的确’怎么样？”罗瑞先生急忙改正。

“改成‘的确’也不怎么样，”普洛丝小姐回答，“不过要好一点。不错，我很着急。”

“我能问问原因么？”

“我不喜欢有几十上百个配不上我的小鸟儿的人到这儿来找她，”普洛丝小姐说。

“真有几十上百的人为了那个目的来找她么？”

“有几百，”普洛丝小姐说。

这位小姐有个特点，别人要是对她的话表示怀疑，她反倒要加以夸大。在她之前和之后许多人也都这样。

“天呐！”罗瑞先生说，那是他所想得出的最安全的话。

“我从小鸟儿十岁时起就跟她一起过日子--或者说她花钱雇了我，跟我一起过日子。她确实是大可不必花钱的，我可以说，如果我能不要报酬就养活自己或养活她的话-一从她十岁开始。可是我的确有困难，”普洛丝小姐说。

罗瑞先生并不太明白她那困难是什么，却也摇摇头。他把他身上的那个重要部分当作仙人的大慰，什么意思都能表示。

“什么样的人都有，一点都配不上我那心肝宝贝，却老是来，”普洛丝小姐说。“你开始这事的时候--”

“是我开始的么，普洛丝小姐？”

“不是么？是谁让她爸爸复活的？”

“啊！那要算是开始的话一一”罗瑞先生说。

“总不是结束吧，我看？你刚开始这事的时候可是叫人够难过的；我并不是挑曼内特医生的毛病，只是觉得他不配有这样一个女儿。我没有责难他的意思，因为任何人在任何情况之下都不应当责难他。可是成群结队的人来找他，要想把小鸟儿的感情从我这儿抢走，的确是令人双倍地难受，三倍地难受，尽管我可以原谅他。”

罗瑞先生知道普洛丝小姐很妒忌。可是他现在也明白，她在她那古怪的外表之下却是一个毫不自私自利的女人--只有女人才可能这样--这种人纯粹为了爱与崇拜心甘情愿去做奴隶，为她们已失去而别人还具有的青春服务，为她们所不曾有过的美丽服务，为命运没有赋予她们的成功服务，为从未照临过她们那阴暗生活的光明希望服务。罗瑞先生深知世道人心，明白世上的一切都比不上发自内心的忠诚服务。那是一种全未受到雇佣思想污染的忠诚的奉献。他对她的这种感情持崇高的尊重的态度，并在心里做了补偿（我们都会这样做的，只是有的人做得多，有的人做得少罢了），把普洛丝小姐放到了近于下层天使的地位，排到在台尔森银行开有户头的太太小姐之上，虽然后者的天然秉赋和后天教养不知道要比她强多少倍。

“配得上我这小鸟儿的男人过去和将来都只有一个，”普洛丝小姐说；“我弟弟所罗门，若是他没有犯下他那一辈子唯一的错误的话。”

又是同样的情况：罗瑞先生对普洛丝小姐历史的调查表明，她的弟弟所罗门是个没有良心的坏蛋。他把她的一切都搜刮去孤注一掷搞了投机，从此便遗弃了她，让她永远过着贫穷的生活，却一点也不懊悔。罗瑞先生十分看重普洛丝对所罗门的忠诚与信任（对他那一点小小的过失除外）。在他对她的好评之中这一点占了很大的分量。

“我们现在既然没有别的人，又都是业务人员，”两人回到客厅友好地坐下之后他说，“我想问问你--医生和露西谈话时从来没提他做鞋的时候么？”

“没有。”

“可他又把那条长凳和工具留在身边？”

“啊：”普洛丝小姐摇摇头说。“我并不认为他心里就没有想到以前那些事。”

“你相信他想得很多么？”

“相信，”普洛丝小姐说。

“你想象--”罗瑞先生还没说完，普洛丝小姐打断了他：

“什么都别想象。一点也不要想象。”

“我改正。可你假定--你有时也假定么？”

“有时也假定的，”普洛丝小姐说。

“你假定一-”罗瑞先生说下去，两眼慈祥地望着她，明亮的目光里含着笑意，，曼内特医生在那些年月里对他受到这样严重的迫害的理由，也许对迫害他的人是谁有自己的看法么？”

“除了我那小鸟儿告诉我的话之外，我不做任何假定。”

“她的话是-一？”

“她认为他有看法。”

“现在，我要问一些问题，你可别生气，因为我只不过是个笨拙的业务人员，你也是个
办理业务的女人。”

“笨拙？”普洛丝小姐不动声色地问。，

罗瑞先生颇想收回那个客气的形容词，回答道，“不，不，不。当然不。咱们还是谈谈业务吧。我们都十分肯定曼内特医生没有犯过罪，可他对这事却从不谈起，这难道不奇怪么？我不是说他应该跟我谈起，虽然他跟我有业务关系已经多年，现在又成了好朋友。我是说他应当告诉他漂亮的女儿。他对她一往情深，而谁对她又能不这样一往情深呢？相信我，普洛丝小姐，我跟你谈这事不是出于好奇，而是由于强烈的关心。”

唔！据我的最好的理解，你会说我的最好的理解也是坏的，”普洛丝小姐说，对方道歉的口吻软化了她的心，“他对这整个的问题都感到害怕。”，

“害怕？”

“我认为他之所以害怕的道理很清楚，因为那回忆本身就很可怕。而且，他是因为这件事才失去记忆的。他的记忆是怎么失去的，又是怎么恢复的，他至今也弄不清楚。因此他感到永远也无法保证不再失去记忆。光这个理由就已经使问题不愉快了，我看。”

这个解释比罗瑞先生想找到的答案要深刻一些。“不错，而且一想起就令人害怕。可是我心里还有个疑问，普洛丝小姐，曼内特医生把自己遭到的迫害永远禁闭在心里对他有没有好处？实际上我现在跟你交换意见正是因为这个问题和它在我心里所引起的不安。”

“无可奈何，”普洛丝小姐摇摇头说，“一碰上那根弦他就出问题。最好别去碰它。简单地说，无论你喜欢不喜欢，也不能碰它。有时我们听见他半夜三更爬了起来在屋里（也就是我们头上）走来走去，走来走去。后来小鸟儿体会到了他的心还在他当年的牢房里走着，走着，便匆匆赶到他面前，两人一起走，走呀，走呀，直走到他平静下来。但他对她却从来只字不提那使他不安的原因。她也发现最好别对他提起这个问题。两人就这样走来走去，走来走去，直走到她的爱心和陪护叫他平静下来。”

尽管普洛丝小姐不承认自己有想象，可在她重复那句话“走来走去”时也露出老是受到一个悲惨的念头纠缠时的痛苦，这就证明她也有着想象。

前面说过，那街角是一个听回声的绝妙处所。这时一阵逐渐靠拢的脚步的回声响亮地传了过来，仿佛一提起那疲劳的脚音，脚音便开始走来了。

“回来了！”普洛丝站起来，停止了谈话，“马上就会有数以百计的人来了。”

这是个奇妙的地方，它的耳朵特别灵，有些不寻常的音响效果。罗瑞先生站在敞开的窗前寻找已有脚步声传来的父女俩时，简直以为他们再也不会到达了--不但他俩的脚步声仿佛逐渐远去，而且有并不存在的别人的脚步声取而代之，而后者也并不走近，只在仿佛逼近时又消失了。不过，父女两人终于出现了。普洛丝小姐已在临街的门口迎接。

普洛丝小姐尽管红脸，粗野，而且严厉，她在她的宝贝身边忙碌时却是一片喜气洋洋。她在她上楼时帮她取下帽子，用手巾角掸着灰尘，用口吹着灰尘。她把她的外氅折好，以便收存。她抹着她那一头丰美的秀发时非常骄傲，仿佛即使她自己是个最虚荣最漂亮的女人，为自己的头发得意时也不过如此。她的宝贝也是一片喜气洋洋。她拥抱她，感谢她，也对她为她那么忙来忙去表示抗议--她只能用闹着玩的口气，否则普洛丝小姐是会感到非常委屈，回到房里去哭的。医生也是一片喜气洋洋。他望着两人，告诉普洛丝小姐说，她把露西宠坏了，而他那口气和眼神所表现出的宠爱并不亚于普洛丝小姐，如果可能，说不定还甚过她。罗瑞先生也是一片喜气洋洋。他戴着小假发望着这一切憨笑，对他单身生活的福星们表示感谢，因为他们在他的垂暮之年照亮了他，给了他一个家。但是这一片景象并没有被“数以百计的人”看见，罗瑞先生寻找普洛丝的预言的验证，却没有找到。

晚饭时间到了，“数以百计的人”仍然没有出现。在家务活动之中，普洛丝小姐负责的是下层工作，她总干得很出色。她做的饭菜用料虽然一般，却是烹调得体，设计精美，半英国式半法国式，出类拔萃。普洛丝小姐的友谊是很实际的。她在索霍区和附近地区四处搜寻贫困的法国人，付出一先令或半克朗的金币向她们学来烹调的秘诀。她从这些式微的高卢后裔处学来了那么多精采的技术，就连仆妇女佣中的佼佼者也都把她看作女巫或是灰姑娘的教母：只须从禽场菜圃订购一只鸡、一只兔、一两棵菜，便能随心所欲做出自己想做的美味佳肴。

星期天普洛丝小姐在医生的桌上用膳，别的日子总坚持在没人知道的时候到底层或二楼她的屋里去吃一一那是个蓝色的房间，除了她的小鸟儿之外谁也不许进入。此时此刻，普洛丝小姐因为小鸟儿那快活的脸蛋、也因她在努力使她高兴，表现得十分随和。因此，大家晚饭时都很愉快。

那是个闷热的日子。晚饭后露西建议到露天坐坐，把葡萄酒拿到外面梧桐树下去喝。因为家里一切都围着她转，决定也因她而作，所以他们便来到了梧桐树下。她专为罗瑞先生拿来了葡萄酒，因为她在前不久已经自封为罗瑞先生的捧杯使者。在梧桐树下闲淡时，她总把他那杯子斟得满满的。他们谈话时，邻近的住宅以它们神秘的后背或是山墙偷窥着他们。梧桐也以自己的方式在他们头顶细语。

“数以百计的人”仍然没有出现。他们在梧桐树下闲坐着。达尔内先生倒是来了，可他也只是一个人。

曼内特医生和蔼地接待他，露西也一样。可是普洛丝小姐却感到头和身子一抽一抽地痛，便回屋里去了。她常发这种病，闲谈时把它叫作“抽筋发作”。

医生状况极佳，看去特别年青。在这种时候，他跟露西最相似。两人坐在一起，她偎在他的肩头，他的手臂搭在她的椅背上。细看两人的相似之处是很叫人高兴的。

医生精力异常旺盛。他谈了一整天，谈了许多话题。“请问，曼内特医生，”大家坐在梧桐树下，达尔内先生顺着刚才的话头自然地谈了下去。他们谈的是伦敦的古建筑--“你对伦敦塔熟悉么？”

“露西和我一起去过，但去得偶然。不过，看得也够多的了。我知道它有趣的东西很多。其它就不大知道了。”

“我在那儿蹲过监狱，你还记得，”达尔内说，带着微笑，但因为愤怒，也略有些脸红。“扮演的是另外的角色，不是有资格参观的那种。我在那儿时他们告诉过我一件奇怪的事。”

“什么事？”露西问。

“在改建某个地方时，工人发现了一个地牢，修成之后被人忘掉已经多年。那地牢围墙的每一块石头上都刻着字，是囚徒们刻的。日期、姓名、冤情、祈祷。在墙角的一块地基石上有一个囚徒（他好像被杀掉了）刻下了他最后的作品，是用很蹩脚的工具刻成的三个字母。粗看似乎是０、１、Ｃ，但仔细一辨认，最后的字母却是Ｇ。没有以DIG作为姓名缩写的囚徒的档案，也没有关于这个囚犯的传说。对这名字做过许多无用的猜测。最后，有人设想这些字母并非姓名缩写，而是一个词DIG。有人十分仔细地检查了刻字处的地面，在一块石头、砖块或铺砌石的碎块下面的泥土里发现了一张腐败成灰的纸跟一个腐败成灰的小皮箱或皮口袋。两者已混成一片。那无名的囚徒究竟写了些什么是再也读不到了，但他的确写下了一点东西，而且藏了起来，混过了狱卒的眼睛。”

“爸爸，”露西叫道，“你不舒服了么！”

他已经一手抚着头突然站了起来，那样子把他们全都吓了一跳。

“不，亲爱的，没有什么不舒服。下雨了，雨点很大，吓了我一跳。我们最好还是进
去！”

他几乎立即镇定了下来。的确，大点大点的雨已在下着。他让大家看，看他手背上的雨点，但是他对刚才谈起的发现一句话也没说。而在他们回到屋里去时，罗瑞先生那老于业务的眼睛却发现了（或是自以为发现了），在医生把脸转向查尔斯.达尔内时那脸上露出了一种特别的表情，这种表情那天在法庭通道里他把脸转向达尔内时也曾出现过。

医生很快就恢复了正常。罗瑞先生甚至怀疑起自己老于业务的眼睛来。医生在客厅里的黄金巨人身下站住，告诉大家他还是经不起轻微的意外（尽管有时未必如此），那雨点就吓了他一跳。这时就是那黄金巨人的胳膊也并不比他更稳定。

喝午后茶了。普洛丝小姐做着茶，抽筋又发作了。“数以百计的人”仍未出现。这时卡尔顿先生也信步来到，不过加上他也才两个客人。

夜很闷热，他们虽然门窗大开地坐着，仍然热得受不了。茶点结束之后大家又坐到一扇窗户面前去眺望沉沉的暮色。露西坐在爸爸身边，达尔内坐在露西身边，卡尔顿靠在一扇窗前。窗帘是白色的，很长。旋卷入街角的雷电风把一幅幅窗帘掀到了天花板上，扑扇着，像幽灵的翅膀，

“雨还在下，稀稀落落，雨滴却又大又猛，”曼内特医生说，“雷雨来得很慢。”

“却肯定要来，”卡尔顿说。

大家都放低了嗓门--观察着、等待着的人大多如此；在黑暗的屋里观察着、等待着闪电雷霆的人总是如此。

街头一阵忙乱。人们要抢在风暴之前找地方躲雨。这个听回声的好地方震响着跑来跑去的脚步的回声，却没有脚步来到屋前。

“有蜂拥的人群，却又是一片孤独：”大家听了一会儿，达尔内说。

“这不是很动人的么，达尔内先生？”露西说。“我有时要在这儿坐整整一个晚上，直到产生一种幻想--可是今晚一切都这么黑暗庄严，即使是一点点愚蠢的幻想也叫我心惊胆战。”

“我们也一起心惊胆战吧。这样我们就可以明白是怎么回事

“这对你似乎不算回事。在我看来这种幻觉是难以言传的，只有产生于我们自己才会动人。我有时要坐在这儿听一个整夜，最后才明白原来它是将要逐渐走入我们生活的所有脚步的回声。”

“如果是那样，有很多人是会在有一天走进我们生活的，”西德尼.卡尔顿一如既往忧郁地说。

脚步声时断时续，却越来越急，在街角上反复回荡。有的似乎来到了窗下，有的似乎进入了屋子，有的来，有的去，有的缓缓消失，有的戛然而止，却都在远处的街道上，一个人影也看不见。

“这些脚步声是注定了要进入我们共同的生活呢，还是要分别进入我们各自的生活，曼内特小姐？”

“我不知道，达尔内先生。我告诉过你，那只不过是一种愚蠢的幻觉，你却偏要我回答。我被脚步声征服时我是孤独的，于是我便想象它们是要进入我和我父亲生命的人的脚步声。”"我接受他们进入我的生活！”卡尔顿说。“我不提问题，也没有条件。一个巨大的人群正向我们逼来，曼内特小姐，我已看见了他们！--借助于闪电。”一道耀眼的电光闪过，照见他斜倚在窗前，补充出最后这句话。

“而且听见了他们！”一声炸雷劈下，他又补充道。“他们来了，又快、又猛、气势磅礴！”

他描写的是那场暴风骤雨，那声势叫他住了嘴，因为已经听不见说话了。一阵令人难忘的疾雷闪电随着横扫的疾雨袭来。雷声隆隆，电光闪闪，大雨如注，没有间歇，直到夜半才止。然后月亮又升了起来。

圣保罗大教堂的大钟在云收雨散的空中敲了一点，罗瑞先生才在脚穿高统靴、手拿风灯的杰瑞陪同下动身回克拉肯威尔去。从索霍到克拉肯威尔的路上有一些荒凉的路段，罗瑞先生怕遇到翦径的，总预先约好杰瑞护送，虽然通常是在要比现在早两个钟头以前就动身。

“好可怕的夜！几乎让死人从坟墓里跑了出来呢！”

“我自己从来没见过这样的夜晚，大爷，也不想再遇上-一不知道会出什么事！”杰瑞回答。

“晚安，卡尔顿先生，”业务人员说。“再见，达尔内先生。咱俩还会在一起共度这样的夜晚么？”

也许会的，也许。你看那疾走呼号的巨大人群正向他们逼来。