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Then, issuing from the obscure corner from which he had never

moved, Sydney Carton came and took her up. Only her father and

Mr. Lorry were with her. His arm trembled as it raised her, and

supported her head. Yet, there was an air about him that was not

all of pity--that had a flush of pride in it.

"Shall I take her to a coach? I shall never feel her weight."

He carried her lightly to the door, and laid her tenderly down in

a coach. Her father and their old friend got into it, and he took

his seat beside the driver.

When they arrived at the gateway where he had paused in the dark

not many hours before, to picture to himself on which of the

rough stones of the street her feet had trodden, he lifted her

again, and carried her up the staircase to their rooms. There, he

laid her down on a couch, where her child and Miss Pross wept

over her.

"Don't recall her to herself," he said, softly, to the latter,

"she is better so. Don't revive her to consciousness, while she

only faints."