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Mr. Lorry said what he could to calm her, and went himself into

the Doctor's room. The bench was turned towards the light, as it

had been when he had seen the shoemaker at his work before, and

his head was bent down, and he was very busy.

"Doctor Manette. My dear friend, Doctor Manette!"

The Doctor looked at him for a moment--half inquiringly, half as

if he were angry at being spoken to--and bent over his work

again.

He had laid aside his coat and waistcoat; his shirt was open at

the throat, as it used to be when he did that work; and even the

old haggard, faded surface of face had come back to him. He

worked hard--impatiently--as if in some sense of having been

interrupted.

Mr. Lorry glanced at the work in his hand, and observed that it

was a shoe of the old size and shape. He took up another that was

lying by him, and asked what it was.

"A young lady's walking shoe," he muttered, without looking up.

"It ought to have been finished long ago. Let it be."

"But, Doctor Manette. Look at me!"