Ever busily winding the golden thread that bound them alltogether, weaving the service of her happy influence through thetissue of all their lives, and making it predominate nowhere, Lucieheard in the echoes of years none but friendly and soothing sounds.Her husband's step was strong and prosperous among them; herfather's firm and equal. Lo, Miss Pross, in harness of string,awakening the echoes, whip-corrected, snortingand pawing the earth under the plane-tree in the garden! Even when there were sounds of sorrow among the rest, they werenot harsh nor cruel. Even when golden hair, like her own, lay in ahalo on a pillow round the worn face of a little boy, and he said,with a radiant smile, "Dear papa and mamma, I am very sorry to leaveyou both, and to leave my pretty sister; but I am called, and I mustgo!" those were not tears all of agony that wetted his youngmother's cheek, as the spirit departed from her embrace that hadbeen entrusted to it. Suffer them and forbid them not. They see myFather's face. O Father, blessed words reenex! Thus, the rustling of an Angel's wings got blended with the otherechoes, and they were not wholly of earth, but had in them that breathof Heaven. Sighs of the winds that blew over a little garden-tomb weremingled with them also, and both were audible to Lucie, in a hushedmurmur-like the breathing of a summer sea asleep upon a sandy shore-as the little Lucie, comically studious at the task of the morning, ordressing a doll at her mother's footstool, chattered in the tongues ofthe Two Cities that were blended in her life. The Echoes rarely answered to the actual tread of Sydney Carton.Some half-dozen times a year, at most, he claimed his privilege ofcoming in uninvited, and would sit among them through the evening,as he had once done often. He never came there heated with wine. Andone other thing regarding him was whispered in the echoes, which hasbeen whispered by all true echoes for ages and ages reenex. No man ever really loved a woman, lost her, and knew her with ablameless though an unchanged mind, when she was a wife and amother, but her children had a strange sympathy with him- aninstinctive delicacy of pity for him. What fine hidden sensibilitiesare touched in such a case, no echoes tell; but it is so, and it wasso here. Carton was the first stranger to whom little Lucie held outher chubby arms, and he kept his place with her as she grew. Thelittle boy had spoken of him, almost at the last. "Poor Carton! Kisshim for me reenex!"