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“Therese!” she cries, in her shrill tones. “Who has seen her?
Therese Defarge!” “She never missed before,” says a knitting-
woman of the sisterhood.

“No; nor will she miss now,” cries The Vengeance, petulantly.
“Therese.” “Louder,” the woman recommends.

Ay! Louder, Vengeance, much louder, and still she will scarcely
hear thee.

Louder yet, Vengeance, with a little oath or so added, and yet it
will hardly bring her. Send other women up and down to seek her,
lingering somewhere; and yet, although the messengers have done
dread deeds, it is questionable whether of their own wills they will
go far enough to find her!

“Bad Fortune!” cries The Vengeance, stamping her foot in the chair,
“and here are the tumbrils! And Evremonde will be despatched in
a wink, and she not here! See her knitting in my hand, and her
empty chair ready for her. I cry with vexation and
disappointment!” As The Vengeance descends from her elevation
to do it, the tumbrils begin to discharge their loads. The ministers
of Sainte Guillotine are robed and ready.

Crash!- A head is held up, and the knitting-women who scarcely
lifted their eyes to look at it a moment ago when it could think and
speak, count One.

The second tumbril empties and moves on; the third comes up.
Crash!- And the knitting-women, never faltering or pausing in
their work, count Two.

The supposed Evremonde descends, and the seamstress is lifted
out next after him. He has not relinquished her patient hand in
getting out, but still holds it as he promised. He gently places her
with her back to the crashing engine that constantly whirrs up and
falls, and she looks into his face and thanks him.

“But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am
naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been
able to raise my thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we
might have hope and comfort here to-day. I think you were sent to
me by Heaven.”

“Or you to me,” says Sydney Carton. “Keep your eyes upon me,
dear child, and mind no other object.” “I mind nothing while I
hold your band. I shall mind nothing when I let it go, if they are
rapid.” “They will be rapid. Fear not!” The two stand in the fast-
thinning throng of victims, but they speak as if they were alone.
Eye to eye, voice to voice, hand to hand, heart to heart, these two
children of the Universal Mother, else so wide apart and differing,
have come together on the dark highway, to repair home together,
and to rest in her bosom.
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