She leaves town to-morrow. "We shall meet again ere long, my son," cried Mrs. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. Why? Because she knew him in life, because, so long as she could remember, he had crossed and recrossed her vision—Sidney Carton. She opened this and scrambled out—a thing she had not done for five long years of adolescence— upon the leaded space above the built-out bath-room on the first floor. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. She was frowning, but it was evident that her initial fright had left her. “Go down and rescue the rags of my reputation,” she said, smiling. It doesn’t matter. She leaves me almost without comparisons. 8.
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