`I think so' it probable,' said the Doctor, breaking silence with an effort, `that the relapse you have described, my dear friend, was not quite unforeseen by its subject.'

`Was it dreaded by him?' Mr. Lorry ventured to ask.

`Very much.' He said it with an involuntary shudder.

`You have no idea how such an apprehension weighs on the sufferer's mind, and how difficult--how almost impossible--it is, for him to force himself to utter a word upon the topic that oppresses him.'

`Would he,' asked Mr. Lorry, `he sensibly relieved if he could prevail upon himself to impart that secret brooding to any one, when it is on him?'

`I think so. But it is, as I have told you, next to impossible. I even believe it--in some cases--to be quite impossible.'

`Now,' said Mr. Lorry, gently laying his hand on the Doctor's arm again, after a short silence on both sides, `to what would you refer this attack?'

`I believe,' returned Doctor Manette, `that there had been a strong and extraordinary revival of the train of thought and remembrance that was the first cause of the malady. Some intense associations of a most distressing nature were vividly recalled, I think. It is probable that there had long been a dread lurking in his mind, that those associations would be recalled--say, under certain circumstances--say, on a particular occasion. He tried to prepare himself in vain; perhaps the effort to prepare himself made him less able to bear it.'

`Would he remember what took place in the relapse?' asked Mr. Lorry, with natural hesitation.

The Doctor looked desolately round the room, shook his head, and answered, in a low voice, `Not at all.'

`Now, as to the future,' hinted Mr. Lorry.

`As to the future,' said the Doctor, recovering firmness, `I should have great hope. As it pleased Heaven in its mercy to restore him so soon, I should have great hope. He; yielding under the pressure of a complicated something, long dreaded and long vaguely foreseen and contended against, and recovering after the cloud had burst and passed, I should hope that the worst was over.'

`Well, well! That's good comfort. I am thankful!' said Mr. Lorry.

`I am thankful!' repeated the Doctor, bending his head with reverence.

`There are two other points,' said Mr. Lorry, `on which I am anxious to be instructed. I may go on?

`You cannot do your friend a better service.' The Doctor gave him his hand.

`To the first, then. He is of a studious habit, and unusually energetic; he applies himself with great ardour to the acquisition of professional knowledge, to the conducting of experiments, to many things. Now, does he do too much?'

`I think not. It may be the character of his mind, to be always in singular need of occupation. That may be, in part, natural to it; in part, the result of affliction. The less it was occupied with healthy things, the more it would be in danger of turning in the unhealthy direction. He may have observed himself, and made the discovery.'

`You are sure that he is not under too great a strain?'