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her waist, “I hear them moving in the next room, and Miss Pross
and I, as two formal folks of business, are anxious not to lose the
final opportunity of saying something to you that you wish to hear.
You leave your good father, my dear, in hands as earnest and as
loving as your own; he shall be taken every conceivable care of;
during the next fortnight, while you are in Warwickshire and
thereabouts, even Tellson’s shall go to the wall (comparatively
speaking) before him. And when, at the fortnight’s end, he comes
to join you and your beloved husband, on your other fortnight’s
trip in Wales, you shall say that we have sent him to you in the best
health and in the happiest frame. Now, I hear Somebody’s step
coming to the door. Let me kiss my dear girl with an old-fashioned
bachelor blessing, before Somebody comes to claim his own.” 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 oldfashioned, were as old as

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 togetherthat 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 down-stairs to the
chariot which Mr. Lorry had hired in honour of the day. The rest
followed in another car-riage, 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
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