Lucie had noticed strange things happening around the house for years after her family had returned to England. Whenever she dropped something important, it seemed to be caught and then delicately placed on the floor. Whenever she worried over her family, a strange feeling like a comforting hand on her shoulder eased her anxiety. When little Sydney tripped, he never hit the ground harder than a snowflake hits a flower. Whenever she cried on the anniversary of Sydney Carton's sacrifice, she felt as if another was weeping as well, yet this person was weeping for her, as if he wished she would never feel sorrow again. Lucie had her suspicions, of course. She never told anyone how her little Sydney would tell her of his uncle that no one else could see. She never spoke a word about the comforting, protective presence that accompanied her daily.
On the day that marked the ten year anniversary of Sydney Carton's death, Lucie was once again crying alone in her room when she heard a soft plea.
"You should not weep, Miss Lucie. You should not weep for me," cried a quiet yet familiar voice. Lucie closed her eyes and breathed deeply.
"I will always weep for you," she whispered to the air. "If I ever did not, it would mean I had forgotten what you gave for me and to me. I can not bear that thought."
There seemed to be a sigh, and the presence seemed upset with her declaration.
"I am sad that you feel that you must always burden yourself with a memory of me, yet I have one small bit of selfishness in that I do not wish to remove myself from you," the voice came again, softly and gently, as if it was afraid of increasing her grief.
"I thank you for all you have done for my family. If I was allowed to be selfish, I would beg you not to leave," Lucie admitted.
"As you wish." Lucie felt the atmosphere change, as if the presence had begun to smile. She lifted her head and opened her eyes.
He was smiling softly at her, and she smiled softly back. From then on, she took more notice of the strange happenings around the house, and could see more and more often the man who had caused them. He appeared younger than when she had seen him last, and the years could not touch him, but he was always beside her, whether she could see him or not. She no longer cried on the anniversary of Carton's sacrifice, instead she would speak to him, and he to her. The lingering echos of Sydney Carton were not a curse, as he had feared, but a blessing to Lucie until her dying day.