All was subdued and quiet, and Lucie was more
at ease than she had been.

"What is that!" she cried, all at once.

"My dear!" said her father, stopping in his
story, and laying his hand on hers, "command
yourself. What a disordered state you are in!
The least thing—nothing—startles you. You,
your father's daughter?"

"I thought, my father," said Lucie,
excusing herself, with a pale face and in a faltering
voice, "that I heard strange feet upon the stairs."

"My love, the staircase is as still as Death."

As he said the word, a blow was struck upon
the door.

"O father, father. What can this be! Hide
Charles. Save him!"

"My child," said the Doctor, rising and laying
his hand upon her shoulder, "I have saved him.
What weakness is this, my dear! Let me go to
the door."

He took the lamp in his hand, crossed the
two intervening outer rooms, and opened it. A
rude clattering of feet over the floors, and four
rough men in red caps, armed with sabres and
pistols, entered the room.

"The Citizen Evrémonde, called Darnay,"
said the first.

"Who seeks him?" answered Darnay.

"I seek him. We seek him. I know you,
Evrémonde; I saw you before the Tribunal
today. You are again the prisoner of the
Republic."

The four surrounded him, where he stood with
his wife and child clinging to him.

"Tell me how and why am I again a prisoner?"

"It is enough that you return straight to the
Conciergerie, and will know to-morrow. You
are summoned for to-morrow."

Dr. Manette, whom this visitation had so
turned into stone, that he stood with the lamp
ill his hand, as if he were a statue made to hold
it, moved after these words were spoken, put the
lamp down, and confronting the speaker, and
taking him, not ungently, by the loose front of
his red woollen shirt, said:

"You know him, you have said. Do you
know me?"

"Yes, I know you, Citizen Doctor."

"We all know you, Citizen Doctor," said the
other three.

He looked abstractedly from one to another,
and said, in a lower voice, after a pause:

"Will you answer his question to me? How
does this happen?"

"Citizen Doctor," said the first, reluctantly;
"he has been denounced to the Section of
Saint Antoine. This citizen," pointing out
the second who had entered, "is from Saint
Antoine."

The citizen here indicated nodded his head,
and added:

"He is accused by Saint Antoine."

"Of what?" asked the Doctor.

"Citizen Doctor," said the first, with his
former reluctance, "ask no more. If the
Republic demands sacrifices from you, without
doubt you as a good patriot will be happy to
make them. The Republic goes before all.
The People is supreme. Evrémonde, we are
pressed."

"One word," the Doctor entreated. "Will
you tell me who denounced him?"

''It is against rule," answered the first; "but
you can ask Him of Saint Antoine here."

The Doctor turned his eyes upon that man.
Who moved uneasily on his feet, pulled his beard
a little, and at length said:

"Well! Truly it is against rule. But he is
denounced—and gravely—by the Citizen and
Citizeness Defarge. And by one other."

"What other?"

"Do you ask, Citizen Doctor?"

"Yes!"

"Then," said he of Saint Antoine, with a
strange look, "you will be answered to-morrow.
Now, I am dumb!"

ABOARD THE TRAINING SHIP.

H.M.S. BRITANNIA is now the scene of a
very important experiment in naval education.
On board that stately three-decker (superseded
for sea-going purposes by the " screws" of the
new era) all the youngsters appointed to her
Majesty's Navy go through the preliminary
instruction which is to fit them for active service.
The experiment is new; and, before observing
its method of working, let us glance at the
state of things which it is intended to
supersede.

Under the old régime, and during the ascendancy
of what may be called the Benbow
Tradition, naval education—in the modern sense—
was a thing unknown. Active service was an
education in itself in those days, when science
was young, when literature was little regarded
afloat, and when practical seamanship and
simple gunnery constituted the main requirements
of naval life. A boy entering upon this
career was expected to know little, and knew
little accordingly. What he did learn was
acquired by experience, and experience was
constantly enriched by war. Excepting here and
there a great man like Lord Collingwood, who
was prompted by the instinct of a fine genius to
make himself accomplished on a liberal scale,
the old school of naval officers were non-scientific,
and, we may add without offence, illiterate. The
practical results of astronomy, and the sciences
on which navigation is based, they applied by
the good old rule of thumb; and they were
contented, for the simple reason, that the age
really required no more. If the island was
guarded, and the seas ruled, what more did they
want? What more would the country have?
So thought the fine old Commodore Trunnion,
in whom our great-grandsires took such
delight, and who were so far from being painfully
sensitive of their deficiency in all but practical
technical knowledge, that they rather despised
everything that lay out of its range. In their
eyes, the sea did not exist for the sake of the