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unprotected; and as your escort knows Mr. Barsad, I will invite
him to Mr. Lorry’s with us. Are we ready? Come then!” Miss Pross
recalled soon afterwards, and to the end of her life remembered,
that as she pressed her hands on Sydney’s arm and looked up in
his face, imploring him to do no hurt to Solomon, there was a
braced purpose in the arm and a kind of inspiration in the eyes,
which not only contradicted his light manner, but changed and
raised the man. She was too much occupied then with fears for the
brother who so little deserved her affection, and with Sydney’s
friendly reassurances, adequately to heed what she observed.

They left her at the corner of the street, and Carton led the way to
Mr. Lorry’s, which was within a few minutes’ walk. John Barsad,
or Solomon Pross, walked at his side.

Mr. Lorry had just finished his dinner, and was sitting before a
cheery little log or two of fire-perhaps looking into their blaze for
the picture of that younger elderly gentleman from Tellson’s, who
had looked into the red coals at the Royal George at Dover, now a
good many years ago. He turned his head as they entered, and
showed the surprise with which he saw a stranger.

“Miss Pross’s brother, sir,” said Sydney. “Mr. Barsad.” “Barsad?”
repeated the old gentleman, “Barsad? I have an association with
the name-and with the face.” “I told you you a remarkable face,
Mr. Barsad,” observed Carton, coolly.

“Pray sit down.” As he took a chair himself, he supplied the link
that Mr. Lorry wanted, by saying to him with a frown, “Witness at
that trial.” Mr. Lorry immediately remembered, and regarded his
new visitor with an undisguised look of abhorrence.

“Mr. Barsad has been recognised by Miss Pross as the affectionate
brother you have heard of,” said Sydney, “and has acknowledged
the relationship. I pass to worse news. Darnay has been arrested

Struck with consternation, the old gentleman exclaimed, “What do
you tell me! I left him safe and free within these two hours, and am
about to return to him!” “Arrested for all that. When was it done,
Mr. Barsad?” “Just now, if at all.” “Mr. Barsad is the best authority
possible, sir,” said Sydney, “and I have it from Mr. Barsad’s
communication to a friend and brother Sheep over a bottle of wine,
that the arrest has taken place. He left the messengers at the gate,
and saw them admitted by the porter. There is no earthly doubt
that he is retaken.” Mr. Lorry’s business eye read in the speaker’s
face that it was loss of time to dwell upon the point. Confused, but
sensible that something might depend on his presence of mind, he
commanded himself, and was silently attentive.
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