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"See what a place you fill at seventy-eight. How many people will

miss you when you leave it empty!"

"A solitary old bachelor," answered Mr. Lorry, shaking his head.

"There is nobody to weep for me."

"How can you say that? Wouldn't She weep for you? Wouldn't her

child?"

"Yes, yes, thank God. I didn't quite mean what I said."

"It is a thing to thank God for; is it not?"

"Surely, surely."

"If you could say, with truth, to your own solitary heart,

to-night, 'I have secured to myself the love and attachment, the

gratitude or respect, of no human creature; I have won myself a

tender place in no regard; I have done nothing good or

serviceable to be remembered by!' your seventy-eight years would

be seventy-eight heavy curses; would they not?"

"You say truly, Mr. Carton; I think they would be."

Sydney turned his eyes again upon the fire, and, after a silence

of a few moments, said: