Sidney Carton, when his good work was accomplished, died on the scaffold. When Masters had accomplished his good work--well, there would be time enough to think of that later.
Life was worth living just then: for her sake. It would have little value to him after; after its work was over. Then he would be content, wishful to rest.
The cab had reached Parliament Street. The fare's hand went through the roof trap; the driver reined up.
"There is a passenger--ship's passenger--agent's, somewhere round here," he called up to the bending-down driver, "Cockspur Street, I think; do you know it?"
"So many about, sir. Might you happen to know the name, sir?"
"M'no. Yes! I have just remembered it: Sewell and Crowther."
"Oh, yes; I know the place, sir. Do you want to drive there?"
A few minutes later the cab stopped and he was alighting at the passenger agents' door. Entering, he said to the counter clerk:
"You are booking for _La Mascotte_, leaving for the Mediterranean, aren't you?"
"Oh, yes, sir, a number. It's an off time of the year, and we do not fill up from London. We are stopping at coast stations. We shall fill up from those."
"Yes, sir.... That's it. Which class--which part of the boat do you want, sir?"
Masters ignored the question. Pointing to the pen and ink list of names, inquired:
"These are the names of those who have already booked their passages?"
Having located what he wanted he turned to the plan of the ship again, saying:
"This is a two-berthed cabin. One berth is taken, I see. Is the other vacant?"
"Yes, sir. But you can book one in an empty cabin if you like. You will have more room, unless we fill up."
"Thank you. I prefer this one. I think I happen to know the Mr. Rigby who has the other half."
"Oh, I see, sir--friend of yours--of course, companionship. I beg your pardon."
Masters paid his passage money; booked in the name of Charleigh; inquired the time of sailing on the morrow.
"Tide serves at noon, sir. The vessel will go out on top of the water."
"Yes, sir.... Good-day, sir, and thank you.... Not that way, sir.... This door on the left.
The cabman was waiting. Stooped down from his perch to receive instructions.
There the fare despatched a wire to his Wivernsea landlady; telling her to pack everything of his in his portmanteaux, and send them up by the afternoon train to the care of the Cloak Room, Charing Cross.