双城记 查尔斯·狄更斯-第4部分

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After　such　imaginary　discourse；　the　passenger　in　his　fancy　would　dig；　and　dig；　dig……now；　with　a　spade；　now　with　a　great　key；　now　with　his　hands……to　dig　this　wretched　creature　out。　Got　out　at　last；　with　earth　hanging　about　his　face　and　hair；　he　would　suddenly　fall　away　to　dust。　The　passenger　would　then　start　to　himself　and　lower　the　window；　to　get　the　reality　of　mist　and　rain　on　his　cheek。
Yet　even　when　his　eyes　were　opened　on　the　mist　and　rain；　on　the　moving　patch　of　light　from　the　lamps；　and　the　hedge　at　the　roadside　retreating　by　jerks；　the　night　shadow's　outside　the　coach　would　fall　into　the　train　of　the　night　shadows　within。　The　real　Banking…house　by　Temple　Bar；　the　real　business　of　the　past　day；　the　real　strong…rooms；　the　real　express　sent　after　him；　and　the　real　message　returned；　would　all　be　there。　Out　of　the　midst　of　them；　the　ghostly　face　would　rise；　and　he　would　accost　it　again。
‘Buried　how　long？'
‘Almost　eighteen　years。
‘I　hope　you　care　to　live？'
‘I　can't　say。'
Dig……dig……dig……until　an　impatient　movement　from　one　of　the　two　passengers　would　admonish　him　to　pull　up　the　window；　draw　his　arm　securely　through　the　leathern　strap；　and　speculate　upon　the　two　slumbering　forms；　until　his　mind　lost　its　hold　of　them；　and　they　again　slid　away　into　the　bank　and　the　grave。
‘Buried　how　long？'
‘Almost　eighteen　years。'
‘You　had　abandoned　all　hope　of　being　dug　out？'
‘Long　ago。'
The　words　were　still　in　his　hearing　as　just　spoken……distinctly　in　his　hearing　as　ever　spoken　words　had　been　in　his　life……when　the　weary　passenger　started　to　the　consciousness　of　daylight；　and　found　that　the　shadows　of　the　night　were　gone。
He　lowered　the　window；　and　looked　out　at　the　rising　sun。　There　was　a　ridge　of　ploughed　land；　with　a　plough　upon　it　where　it　had　been　left　last　night　when　the　horses　were　unyoked；　beyond；　a　quiet　coppice…wood；　in　which　many　leaves　of　burning　red　and　golden　yellow　still　remained　upon　the　trees。　Though　the　earth　was　cold　and　wet；　the　sky　was　clear；　and　the　sun　rose　bright；　placid；　and　beautiful。
‘Eighteen　years！'　said　the　passenger；　looking　at　the　sun。　‘Gracious　Creator　of　day！　To　be　buried　alive　for　eighteen　years！'　
CHAPTER　IV
The　Preparation
WHEN　the　mail　got　successfully　to　Dover；　in　the　course　of　the　forenoon；　the　head　drawer　at　the　Royal　George　Hotel　opened　the　coach…door　as　his　custom　was。　He　did　it　with　some　flourish　of　ceremony；　for　a　mail　journey　from　London　in　winter　was　an　achievement　to　congratulate　an　adventurous　traveller　upon。
By　that　time；　there　was　only　one　adventurous　traveller　left　to　be　congratulated；　for　the　two　others　had　been　set　down　at　their　respective　roadside　destinations。　The　mildewy　inside　of　the　coach；　with　its　damp　and　dirty　straw；　its　disagreeable　smell；　and　its　obscurity；　was　rather　like　a　larger　dog…kennel。　Mr。　Lorry；　the　passenger；　shaking　himself　out　of　it　in　chains　of　straw；　a　tangle　of　shaggy　wrapper；　flapping　hat；　and　muddy　legs；　was　rather　like　a　larger　sort　of　dog。
‘There　will　be　a　packet　to　Calais；　to…morrow；　drawer？'
‘Yes；　sir；　if　the　weather　holds　and　the　wind　sets　tolerable　fair。　The　tide　will　serve　pretty　nicely　at　about　two　in　the　afternoon；　sir。　Bed；　sir？'
‘I　shall　not　go　to　bed　till　night；　but　I　want　a　bedroom　and　a　barber。'
‘And　then　breakfast；　sir？　Yes；　sir。　That　way；　sir；　if　you　please。　Show　Concord！　Gentleman's　valise　and　hot　water　to　Concord。　Pull　off　gentleman's　boots　in　Concord。　（You　will　find　a　fine　sea…coal　fire；　sir。）　Fetch　barber　to　Concord。　Stir　about　there；　now；　for　Concord！'
The　Concord　bed…chamber　being　always　assigned　to　passenger　by　the　mail；　and　passengers　by　the　mail　being　always　heavily　wrapped　up　from　head　to　foot；　the　room　ha'　the　odd　interest　for　the　establishment　of　the　Royal　George　that　although　but　one　kind　of　man　was　seen　to　go　into　it；　all　kinds　and　varieties　of　men　came　out　of　it。　Consequently　another　drawer；　and　two　porters；　and　several　maids　and　the　landlady；　were　all　loitering　by　accident　at　various　points　of　the　road　between　the　Concord　and　the　coffee…room；　when　a　gentle…man　of　sixty；　formally　dressed　in　a　brown　suit　of　clothes；　pretty　well　worn；　but　very　well　kept；　with　large　square　cuffs　and　large　flaps　to　the　pockets；　passed　along　on　his　way　to　his　breakfast。
The　coffee…room　had　no　other　occupant；　that　forenoon；　than　the　gentleman　in　brown。　His　breakfast…table　was　drawn　before　the　fire；　and　as　he　sat；　with　its　light　shining　on　him；　waiting　for　the　meal；　he　sat　so　still；　that　he　might　have　been　sitting　for　his　portrait。
Very　orderly　and　methodical　he　looked；　with　a　hand　on　each　knee；　and　a　loud　watch　ticking　a　sonorous　sermon　under　his　flapped　waistcoat；　as　though　it　pitted　its　gravity　and　longevity　against　the　levity　and　evanescence　of　the　brisk　fire。　He　had　a　good　leg；　and　was　a　little　vain　of　it；　for　his　brown　stockings　fitted　sleek　and　close；　and　were　of　a　fine　texture；　his　shoes　and　buckles；　too；　though　plain；　were　trim。　He　wore　an　odd　little　sleek　crisp　flaxen　wig；　setting　very　close　to　his　head：　which　wig；　it　is　to　be　presumed；　was　made　of　hair；　but　which　looked　far　more　as　though　it　were　spun　from　filaments　of　silk　or　glass。　His　linen；　though　not　of　a　fineness　in　accordance　with　his　stockings；　was　as　white　as　the　tops　of　the　waves　that　broke　upon　the　neighbouring　beach；　or　the　specks　of　sail　that　glinted　in　the　sunlight　far　at　sea。　A　face　habitually　suppressed　and　quieted；　was　still　lighted　up　under　the　quaint　wig　by　a　pair　of　moist　bright　eyes　that　it　must　have　cost　their　owner；　in　years　gone　by；　some　pains　to　drill　to　the　posed　and　reserved　expression　of　Tellson's　Bank。　He　had　a　healthy　colour　in　his　cheeks；　and　his　face；　though　lined；　bore　few　traces　of　anxiety。　But；　perhaps　the　confidential　bachelor　clerks　in　Tellson's　Bank　were　principally　occupied　with　the　cares　of　other　people；　and　perhaps　second…hand　cares；　like　second…hand　clothes；　e　easily　off　and　on。
pleting　his　resemblance　to　a　man　who　was　sitting　for　his　portrait；　Mr。　Lorry　dropped　off　to　sleep。　The　arrival　of　his　breakfast　roused　him；　and　he　said　to　the　drawer；　as　he　moved　his　chair　to　it：
‘I　wish　acmodation　prepared　for　a　young　lady　who　may　e　here　at　any　time　to…day。　She　may　ask　for　Mr。　Jarvis　Lorry；　or　she　may　only　ask　for　a　gentleman　from　Tellson's　Bank。　Please　to　let　me　know。
‘Yes；　sir。　Tellson's　Bank　in　London；　sir？'
‘Yes。'
‘Yes；　sir。　We　have　often　times　the　honour　to　entertain　your　gentlemen　in　their　travelling　backwards　and　forwards　betwixt　London　and　Paris；　sir。　A　vast　deal　of　travelling；　sir；　in　Tellson　and　pany's　House。'
‘Yes。　We　are　quite　a　French　House；　as　well　as　an　English　one。'
‘Yes；　sir。　Not　much　in　the　habit　of　such　travelling　your…self；　I　think；　sir？'
‘Not　of　late　years。　It　is　fifteen　years　since　we……since　I……came　last　from　France。'
‘Indeed；　sir？　That　was　before　my　time　here；　sir。　Before　our　people's　time　here；　sir。　The　George　was　in　other　hands　at　that　time；　sir。'
‘I　believe　so。'
‘But　I　would　hold　a　pretty　wager；　sir；　that　a　House　like　Tellson　and　pany　was　flourishing；　a　matter　of　fifty；　not　to　speak　of　fifteen　years　ago？'
‘You　might　treble　that；　and　say　a　hundred　and　fifty；　yet　not　be　far　from　the　truth。'
‘Indeed；　sir！'
Rounding　his　mouth　and　both　his　eyes；　as　he　stepped　backward　from　the　table；　the　waiter　shifted　his　napkin　from　his…right　arm　to　his　left；　dropped　into　a　fortable　attitude；　and　stood　surveying　the　guest　while　he　ate　and　drank；　as　from　an　observatory　or　watch…tower。　According　to　the　immemorial　usage　of　waiters　in　all　ages。
When　Mr。　Lorry　had　finished　his　breakfast；　he　went　out　for　a　stroll　on　the　beach。　The　little　narrow；　crooked　town　of　Dover　hid　itself　away　from　the　beach；　and　ran　its　head　into　the　chalk　cliffs；　like　a　marine　ostrich。　The　beach　was　a　desert　of　heaps　of　sea　and　stones　tumbling　wildly　about；　and　the　sea　did　what　it　liked；　and　what　it　liked　was　destruction。　It　thundered　at　the　town；　and　thundered　at　the　cliffs；　and　brought　the　coast　down；　madly。　The　air　among　the　houses　was　of　so　strong　a　piscatory　flavour　that　one　might　have　supposed　sick　fish　went　up　to　be　dipped　in　it；　as　sick　people　went　down　to　be　dipped　in　the　sea。　A　little　fishing　was　done　in　the　port；　and　a　quantity　of　strolling　about　by　night；　and　looking　seaward：　particularly　at　those　times　when　the　tide　made；　and　was　near　flood。　Small　tradesmen；　who　did　no　business　whatever；　sometimes　unaccountably　realised　large　fortunes；　and　it　was　remarkable　that　nobody　in　the　neighbourhood　could　endure　a　lamplighter。
As　the　day　declined　into　the　afternoon；　and　the　air；　which　had　been　at　intervals　clear　enough　to　allow　the　French　coast　to　be　seen；　became　again　charged　with　mist　and　vapour；　Mr。　Lorry's　thoughts　seemed　to　cloud　too。　When　dark；　and　he　sat　before　the　coffee…room　fire；　awaiting　his　dinner　as　he　had　awaited　his　breakfast；　his　mind　was　digging；　digging；　digging；　in　the　live　red　coals。
A　bottle　of　good　claret　after　dinner　does　a　digger　in　the　red　coals　no　harm；　otherwise　than　as　it　has　a　tendency　to　throw　him　out　of　work。　Mr。　Lorry　had　been　idle　a　lo　and　had　just　poured　out　his　last　glassful　of　wine　plete　an　appearance　of　satisfaction　as　is　ever　to　be　found　in　an　elderly　gentleman　of　a　fresh　plexion　who　has　got　to　the　end　of　a　bottle；　when　a　rattling　of　wheels　came　up　the　narrow　street；　and　rumbled　into　the　inn…yard。
He　set　down　his　glass　untouched。　‘This　is　Mam'selle！'　said　he。
In　a　very　few　minutes　the　waiter　came　in　to　announce　that　Miss　Manette　had　arrived　from　London；　and〃；　happy　to　see　the　gentleman　from　Tellson's。
‘So　soon？'
Miss　Manette　had　taken　some　refreshment　on　the　road；　and　required　none　then；　and　was　extremely　anxious　to　see　the　gentleman　from　Tellson's　immediately；　if　it　suited　his　pleasure　and　convenience。
The　gentleman　from　Tellson's　had　nothing　left　for　it　but　to　empty　his　glass　with　an　air　of　stolid　desperation；　settle　his　odd　little　flaxen　wig　at　the　ears；　and　follow　the　waiter　to　Miss　Manette's　apartment。　It　was　a　large；　dark　room；　furnished　in　a　funereal　manner　with　black　horsehair；　and　loaded　with　heavy　dark　tables。　These　had　been　oiled；　until　the　two　tall　candles　on　the　table　in　the　of　the　room　were　gloomily　reflected　on　every　leaf；　were　buried；　in　deep　graves　of　black　mahogany；　and　to　speak　of　could　be　expected　from　them　until　the　dug　out。
The　obscurity　was　so　difficult　to　penetrate　that　Mr　Lorry；　picking　his　way