Book the Third - The Track of a Storm
11. XI. Dusk
Her father had followed her, and would have fallen on his knees to
both of them, but that Darnay put out a hand and seized him, crying:
"No, no! What have you done, what have you done, that you should
kneel to us! We know now, what a struggle you made of old. We know,
now what you underwent when you suspected my descent, and when you
knew it. We know now, the natural antipathy you strove against, and
conquered, for her dear sake. We thank you with all our hearts, and
all our love and duty. Heaven be with you!"
Her father's only answer was to draw his hands through his white hair,
and wring them with a shriek of anguish.
"It could not be otherwise," said the prisoner. "All things have
worked together as they have fallen out. it was the always-vain
endeavour to discharge my poor mother's trust that first brought my
fatal presence near you. Good could never come of such evil,
a happier end was not in nature to so unhappy a beginning. Be comforted,
and forgive me. Heaven bless you!"
As he was drawn away, his wife released him, and stood looking after
him with her hands touching one another in the attitude of prayer,
and with a radiant look upon her face, in which there was even a
comforting smile. As he went out at the prisoners' door, she turned,
laid her head lovingly on her father's breast, tried to speak to him,
and fell at his feet.
Then, issuing from the obscure corner from which he had never moved,
Sydney Carton came and took her up. Only her father and Mr. Lorry
were with her. His arm trembled as it raised her, and supported her head.
Yet, there was an air about him that was not all of pity--that had a flush
of pride in it.
"Shall I take her to a coach? I shall never feel her weight."
He carried her lightly to the door, and laid her tenderly down in a
coach. Her father and their old friend got into it, and he took his
seat beside the driver.