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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."