the last words, after there had been a vivid flash which had shown him lounging in the window.
'And I hear them!' he added again, after a peal of thunder. 'Here they come, fast, fierce, and furious!'
It was the rush and roar of rain that he typified, and it stopped him, for no voice could be heard in it. A memorable storm of thunder and lightning broke with that sweep of water, and there was not a moment's interval in crash, and fire, and rain, until after the moon rose at midnight.
The great bell of Saint Paul's was striking One in the cleared air, when Mr. Lorry, escorted by Jerry, high-booted and bearing a lantern, set forth on his return-passage to Clerkenwell. There was solitary patches of road on the way between Soho and Clerkenwell, and Mr. Lorry, mindful of foot-pads, always retained Jerry for this service: though it was usually performed a good two hours earlier.
'What a night it has been! Almost a night, Jerry,' said Mr. Lorry, 'to bring the dead out of their graves.'
'I never see the night myself, master--nor yet I don't expect to --what would do that,' answered Jerry.
'Good-night, Mr. Carton,' said the man of business. 'Goodnight, Mr. Darnay. Shall we ever see such a night again, together!'
Perhaps. Perhaps, see the great crowd of people with its rush and roar, bearing down upon them, too.
MONSEIGNEUR IN TOWN
MONSEIGNEUR, one of the great lords in power at the Court, held his fortnightly reception in his grand hotel in Paris. Monseigneur was in his inner room, his sanctuary of sanctuaries, the Holiest of Holiests to the crowd of worshippers in the suite of rooms without. Monseigneur was about to take his chocolate. Monseigneur could swallow a great many things with ease, and was by some few sul-