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"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.