第67章 BOOK THE SECOND：THE GOLDEN THREAD(50)

For a moment，he held the fair face from him to look at the well-remembered expression on the forehead，and then laid the bright golden hair against his little brown wig，with a genuine tenderness and delicacy which，if such things be old-fashioned，were as old as Adam.

The door of the Doctor's room opened，and he came out with Charles Darnay. He was so deadly pale—which had not been the case when they went in together—that no vestige of colour was to be seen in his face.But，in the composure of his manner he was unaltered，except that to the shrewd glance of Mr.Lorry it disclosed some shadowy indication that the old air of avoidance and dread had lately passed over him，like a cold wind.

He gave his arm to his daughter，and took her downstairs to the chariot which Mr. Lorry had hired in honour of the day.The rest followed in another carriage，and soon，in a neighbouring church，where no strange eyes looked on，Charles Darnay and Lucie Manette were happily married.

Besides the glancing tears that shone among the smiles of the little group when it was done，some diamonds，very bright and sparkling，glanced on the bride's hand，which were newly released from the dark obscurity of one of Mr. Lorry's pockets.They returned home to breakfast，and all went well，and in due course the golden hair that had mingled with the poor shoemaker's white locks in the Paris garret，were mingled with them again in the morning sunlight，on the threshold of the door at parting.

It was a hard parting，though it was not for long. But her father cheered her，and said at last，gently disengaging himself from her enfolding arms，'Take her，Charles！She is yours！'

And her agitated hand waved to them from a chaise window，and she was gone.

The corner being out of the way of the idle and curious，and the preparations having been very simple and few，the Doctor，Mr. Lorry，and Miss Pross，were left quite alone.It was when they turned into the welcome shade of the cool old hall，that Mr.Lorry observed a great change to have come over the Doctor；as if the golden arm uplifted there，had struck him a poisoned blow.

He had naturally repressed much，and some revulsion might have been expected in him when the occasion for repression was gone. But，it was the old scared lost look that troubled Mr.Lorry；and through his absent manner of clasping his head and drearily wandering away into his own room when they got upstairs，Mr.Lorry was reminded of Defarge the wine-shop keeper，and the starlight ride.

'I think，'he whispered to Miss Pross，after anxious consideration，'I think we had best not speak to him just now，or at all disturb him. I must look in at Tellson's；so I will go there at once and come back presently.Then，we will take him a ride in the country，and dine there，and all will be well.'

It was easier for Mr. Lorry to look in at Tellson's，than to look out of Tellson's.He was detained two hours.When he came back，he ascended the old staircase alone，having asked no question of the servant；going thus into the Doctor's rooms，he was stopped by a low sound of knocking.'Good God！'he said，with a start.'What's that？'

Miss Pross，with a terrified face，was at his ear.'O me，O me！All is lost！'cried she，wringing her hands.'What is to be told to Ladybird？He doesn't know me，and is making shoes！'

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！'

He obeyed，in the old mechanically submissive manner，without pausing in his work.

'You know me，my dear friend？Think again. This is not your proper occupation.Think，dear friend！'

Nothing would induce him to speak more. He looked up，for an instant at a time，when he was requested to do so；but，no persuasion would extract a word from him.He worked，andworked，and worked，in silence，and words fell on him as they would have fallen on an echoless wall，or on the air.The only ray of hope that Mr.Lorry could discover，was，that he sometimes furtively looked up without being asked.In that，there seemed a faint expression of curiosity or perplexity—as though he were trying to reconcile some doubts in his mind.

Two things at once impressed themselves on Mr. Lorry，as important above all others；the first，that this must be kept secret from Lucie；the second that it must be kept secret from all who knew him.In conjunction with Miss Pross，he took immediate steps towards the latter precaution，by giving out that the Doctor was not well，and required a few days of complete rest.In aid of the kind deception to be practised on his daughter，Miss Pross was to write，describing his having been called away professionally，and referring to an imaginary letter of two or three hurried lines in his own hand，represented to have been addressed to her by the same post.

These measures，advisable to be taken in any case，Mr. Lorry took in the hope of his coming to himself.If that should happen soon，he kept another course in reserve；which was，to have a certain opinion that he thought the best，on the Doctor's case.