Support the Monkey! Tell All your Friends and Teachers
I go?” “I think you may take that liberty,” the Doctor answered,
“For gracious sake, don’t talk about Liberty; we have quite enough
of that,” said Miss Pross.
“Hush, dear! Again?” Lucie remonstrated.
“Well, my sweet,” said Miss Pross, nodding her head emphatically,
“the short and the long of it is, that I am a subject of His Most
Gracious Majesty King George the Third;” Miss Pross curtseyed at
the name; and as such, my maxim is, Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks, On him our hopes we fix, God save
the King!” Mr. Cruncher, in an access of loyalty, growlingly
repeated the words after Miss Pross, like somebody at church.
“I am glad you have so much of the Englishman in you, though I
wish you had never taken that cold in your voice,” said Miss Pross,
approvingly. “But the question, Doctor Manette. Is there”- it was
the good creature’s way to affect to make light of anything that was
a great anxiety with them all, and to come at it in this chance
manner-“is there any prospect yet, of our getting out of this
place?” “I fear not yet. It would be dangerous for Charles yet.”
“Heigh-ho-hum!” said Miss Pross, cheerfully repressing a sigh as
she glanced at her darling’s golden hair in the light of the fire,
“then we must have patience and wait: that’s all. We must hold up
our heads and fight low, as my brother Solomon used to say. Now,
Mr. Cruncher!-Don’t you move, Ladybird!” They went out, leaving
Lucie, and her husband, her father, and the child, by a bright fire.
Mr. Lorry was expected back presently from the Banking House.
Miss Pross had lighted the lamp, but had put it aside in a corner,
that they might enjoy the fire-light undisturbed. Little Lucie sat by
her grandfather with her hands clasped through his arm: and he, in
a tone not rising much above a whisper, began to tell her a story of
a great and powerful Fairy who had opened a prison-wall and let
out a captive who had once done the Fairy a service. All was
subdued and quiet, and Lucie was more at ease than she had been.
“What is that?” she cried, all at once.
“My dear!” said her father, stopping in his story, and laying his
hand on hers, “command yourself. What a disordered state you are
in! The least thing-nothingstartles you! You, your father’s
daughter!” “I thought, my father,” said Lucie, excusing herself,
with a pale face and in a faltering voice, “that I heard strange feet
upon the stairs.” “My love, the staircase is as still as Death.” As he
said the word, a blow was struck upon the door.
“Oh father, father. What can this be! Hide Charles. Save him!” “My
child,” said the Doctor, rising, and laying his hand upon her
shoulder, “I have saved him. What weakness is this, my dear! Let