XX. A Plea
When the newly-married pair came home, the first person who appeared, tooffer his congratulations, was Sydney Carton. They had not been at homemany hours, when he presented himself. He was not improved in habits, orin looks, or in manner; but there was a certain rugged air of fidelityabout him, which was new to the observation of Charles Darnay.
He watched his opportunity of taking Darnay aside into a window, and ofspeaking to him when no one overheard.
”Mr. Darnay,” said Carton, ”I wish we might be friends.”
”We are already friends, I hope.”
”You are good enough to say so, as a fashion of speech; but, I don'tmean any fashion of speech. Indeed, when I say I wish we might befriends, I scarcely mean quite that, either.”
Charles Darnay--as was natural--asked him, in all good-humour andgood-fellowship, what he did mean?
”Upon my life,” said Carton, smiling, ”I find that easier to comprehendin my own mind, than to convey to yours. However, let me try. Youremember a certain famous occasion when I was more drunk than--thanusual?”
”I remember a certain famous occasion when you forced me to confess thatyou had been drinking.”
”I remember it too. The curse of those occasions is heavy upon me, for Ialways remember them. I hope it may be taken into account one day,when all days are at an end for me! Don't be alarmed; I am not going topreach.”
”I am not at all alarmed. Earnestness in you, is anything but alarmingto me.”
”Ah!” said Carton, with a careless wave of his hand, as if he waved thataway. ”On the drunken occasion in question (one of a large number, asyou know), I was insufferable about liking you, and not liking you. Iwish you would forget it.”
”I forgot it long ago.”
”Fashion of speech again! But, Mr. Darnay, oblivion is not so easy tome, as you represent it to be to you. I have by no means forgotten it,and a light answer does not help me to forget it.”
”If it was a light answer,” returned Darnay, ”I beg your forgivenessfor it. I had no other object than to turn a slight thing, which, to mysurprise, seems to trouble you too much, aside. I declare to you, on thefaith of a gentleman, that I have long dismissed it from my mind. GoodHeaven, what was there to dismiss! Have I had nothing more important toremember, in the great service you rendered me that day?”
”As to the great service,” said Carton, ”I am bound to avow to you, whenyou speak of it in that way, that it was mere professional claptrap, Idon't know that I cared what became of you, when I rendered it.--Mind! Isay when I rendered it; I am speaking of the past.”
”You make light of the obligation,” returned Darnay, ”but I will notquarrel with _your_ light answer.”
”Genuine truth, Mr. Darnay, trust me! I have gone aside from my purpose;I was speaking about our being friends. Now, you know me; you know I amincapable of all the higher and better flights of men. If you doubt it,ask Stryver, and he'll tell you so.”
”I prefer to form my own opinion, without the aid of his.”
”Well! At any rate you know me as a dissolute dog, who has never doneany good, and never will.”
”I don't know that you 'never will.'”
”But I do, and you must take my word for it. Well! If you could endureto have such a worthless fellow, and a fellow of such indifferentreputation, coming and going at odd times, I should ask that I might bepermitted to come and go as a privileged person here; that I mightbe regarded as an useless (and I would add, if it were not for theresemblance I detected between you and me, an unornamental) piece offurniture, tolerated for its old service, and taken no notice of. Idoubt if I should abuse the permission. It is a hundred to one if Ishould avail myself of it four times in a year. It would satisfy me, Idare say, to know that I had it.”
”Will you try?”
”That is another way of saying that I am placed on the footing I haveindicated. I thank you, Darnay. I may use that freedom with your name?”
”I think so, Carton, by this time.”
They shook hands upon it, and Sydney turned away. Within a minuteafterwards, he was, to all outward appearance, as unsubstantial as ever.
When he was gone, and in the course of an evening passed with MissPross, the Doctor, and Mr. Lorry, Charles Darnay made some mention ofthis conversation in general terms, and spoke of Sydney Carton as aproblem of carelessness and recklessness. He spoke of him, in short, notbitterly or meaning to bear hard upon him, but as anybody might who sawhim as he showed himself.
He had no idea that this could dwell in the thoughts of his fair youngwife; but, when he afterwards joined her in their own rooms, he foundher waiting for him with the old pretty lifting of the forehead stronglymarked.
”We are thoughtful to-night!” said Darnay, drawing his arm about her.
”Yes, dearest Charles,” with her hands on his breast, and the inquiringand attentive expression fixed upon him; ”we are rather thoughtfulto-night, for we have something on our mind to-night.”
”What is it, my Lucie?”
”Will you promise not to press one question on me, if I beg you not toask it?”
”Will I promise? What will I not promise to my Love?”
What, indeed, with his hand putting aside the golden hair from thecheek, and his other hand against the heart that beat for him!
”I think, Charles, poor Mr. Carton deserves more consideration andrespect than you expressed for him to-night.”
”Indeed, my own? Why so?”
”That is what you are not to ask me. But I think--I know--he does.”
”If you know it, it is enough. What would you have me do, my Life?”
”I would ask you, dearest, to be very generous with him always, and verylenient on his faults when he is not by. I would ask you to believe thathe has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deepwounds in it. My dear, I have seen it bleeding.”
”It is a painful reflection to me,” said Charles Darnay, quiteastounded, ”that I should have done him any wrong. I never thought thisof him.”
”My husband, it is so. I fear he is not to be reclaimed; there isscarcely a hope that anything in his character or fortunes is reparablenow. But, I am sure that he is capable of good things, gentle things,even magnanimous things.”
She looked so beautiful in the purity of her faith in this lost man,that her husband could have looked at her as she was for hours.
”And, O my dearest Love!” she urged, clinging nearer to him, laying herhead upon his breast, and raising her eyes to his, ”remember how strongwe are in our happiness, and how weak he is in his misery!”
The supplication touched him home. ”I will always remember it, dearHeart! I will remember it as long as I live.”
He bent over the golden head, and put the rosy lips to his, and foldedher in his arms. If one forlorn wanderer then pacing the dark streets,could have heard her innocent disclosure, and could have seen the dropsof pity kissed away by her husband from the soft blue eyes so loving ofthat husband, he might have cried to the night--and the words would nothave parted from his lips for the first time--
”God bless her for her sweet compassion!”