Miss Pross, with a terrified face, was at his ear. "O me, O me!All is lost!" cried she, wringing her hands. "What is to be told toLadybird? He doesn't know me, and is making shoes!"
Mr. Lorry said what he could to calm her, and went himself intothe Doctor's room. The bench was turned towards the light, as it hadbeen when he had seen the shoemaker at his work before, and his headwas bent down, and he was very busy.
"Doctor Manette. My dear friend, Doctor Manette!"
The Doctor looked at him for a moment- half inquiringly, half asif he were angry at being spoken to- and bent over his work again.
He had laid aside his coat and waistcoat; his shirt was open atthe throat, as it used to be when he did that work; and even the oldhaggard, faded surface of face had come back to him. He worked hard-impatiently- as if in some sense of having been interrupted.
Mr. Lorry glanced at the work in his hand, and observed that itwas a shoe of the old size and shape. He took up another that waslying by him, and asked what it was.
Nothing would induce him to speak more. He looked up,when he was requested to do so; but, no persuasion wouldextract a word from him. He worked, and worked, and worked, insilence, and words fell on him as they would have fallen on anecholess wall, or on the air. The only ray of hope that Mr. Lorrycould discover, was, that he sometimes furtively looked up withoutbeing asked. In that, there seemed a faint expression of curiosityor perplexity- as though he were trying to reconcile some doubts inhis mind.
Two things at once impressed themselves on Mr. Lorry, as importantabove all others; the first, that this must be kept secret from Lucie;the second, that it must be kept secret from all who knew him. Inconjunction with Miss Pross, he took immediate steps towards thelatter precaution, by giving out that the Doctor was not well, andrequired a few days of complete rest. In aid of the kind deceptionto be practised on his daughter, Miss Pross was to write, describinghis having been called away professionally, and referring to animaginary letter of two or three hurried lines in his own hand,represented to have been addressed to her by the same post.