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A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens [A story of the French Revolution]

Part 9 out of 9

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as if they were alone. Eye to eye, voice to voice, hand to hand,
heart to heart, these two children of the Universal Mother, else so
wide apart and differing, have come together on the dark highway,
to repair home together, and to rest in her bosom.

"Brave and generous friend, will you let me ask you one last
question? I am very ignorant, and it troubles me--just a little."

"Tell me what it is."

"I have a cousin, an only relative and an orphan, like myself, whom I
love very dearly. She is five years younger than I, and she lives in
a farmer's house in the south country. Poverty parted us, and she
knows nothing of my fate--for I cannot write--and if I could, how
should I tell her! It is better as it is."

"Yes, yes: better as it is."

"What I have been thinking as we came along, and what I am still
thinking now, as I look into your kind strong face which gives me so
much support, is this:--If the Republic really does good to the poor,
and they come to be less hungry, and in all ways to suffer less, she
may live a long time: she may even live to be old."

"What then, my gentle sister?"

"Do you think:" the uncomplaining eyes in which there is so much
endurance, fill with tears, and the lips part a little more and
tremble: "that it will seem long to me, while I wait for her in the
better land where I trust both you and I will be mercifully sheltered?"

"It cannot be, my child; there is no Time there, and no trouble

"You comfort me so much! I am so ignorant. Am I to kiss you now?
Is the moment come?"


She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other.
The spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than
a sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She goes next
before him--is gone; the knitting-women count Twenty-Two.

"I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord:
he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die."

The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces,
the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd,
so that it swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water,
all flashes away. Twenty-Three.

They said of him, about the city that night, that it was the
peacefullest man's face ever beheld there. Many added that he looked
sublime and prophetic.

One of the most remarkable sufferers by the same axe--a woman--had
asked at the foot of the same scaffold, not long before, to be
allowed to write down the thoughts that were inspiring her. If he
had given any utterance to his, and they were prophetic, they would
have been these:

"I see Barsad, and Cly, Defarge, The Vengeance, the Juryman, the
Judge, long ranks of the new oppressors who have risen on the
destruction of the old, perishing by this retributive instrument,
before it shall cease out of its present use. I see a beautiful city
and a brilliant people rising from this abyss, and, in their struggles
to be truly free, in their triumphs and defeats, through long years
to come, I see the evil of this time and of the previous time of
which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for
itself and wearing out.

"I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful,
prosperous and happy, in that England which I shall see no more.
I see Her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see her
father, aged and bent, but otherwise restored, and faithful to all
men in his healing office, and at peace. I see the good old man, so
long their friend, in ten years' time enriching them with all he has,
and passing tranquilly to his reward.

"I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of
their descendants, generations hence. I see her, an old woman,
weeping for me on the anniversary of this day. I see her and her
husband, their course done, lying side by side in their last earthly
bed, and I know that each was not more honoured and held sacred in
the other's soul, than I was in the souls of both.

"I see that child who lay upon her bosom and who bore my name, a man
winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see
him winning it so well, that my name is made illustrious there by the
light of his. I see the blots I threw upon it, faded away. I see
him, fore-most of just judges and honoured men, bringing a boy of my
name, with a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place--
then fair to look upon, with not a trace of this day's disfigurement
--and I hear him tell the child my story, with a tender and a faltering voice.

"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done;
it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."

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