feel about in the dark, for bits of biscuit, or sangwitches, or even pieces of orange-peel to put into cold water, and make believe it was wine. If you make believe very much, it's quite nice," continued the small servant; "but if you don't, you know, it seems as if it would bear a little more seasoning! Well, one or two nights before the young man was took, I come upstairs while Mr. Brass and Miss Sally was a-sittin by the office fire and talking softly together. They whispered and laughed for a long time, about there being no danger if it was well done; that they must do what their best client, Quilp, desired, and that for his own reasons, he hated Kit, and wanted to have his reputation ruined. Then Mr. Brass pulls out his pocket-book, and says, 'Well, here it is--Quilp's own five-pound note. Kit is coming to-morrow morning, I know. I'll hold him in conversation, and put this property in his hat, and then convict him of theft. And if that don't get Kit out of Mr. Quilp's way, and satisfy his grudge against the lad,' he said, 'the devil's in it,' Then they seemed to be moving away, and I was afraid to stop any longer. There!"

The small servant was so much agitated herself that she made no effort to restrain Mr. Swiveller when he sat up in bed, and hastily demanded whether this story had been told to anybody.

"How could it be?" replied his nurse. "When I heard 'em say that you was gone, and so was the lodger, and ever since I come here, you've been out of your senses, so what would have been the good of telling you then?"

"Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "if you'll do me the favor to retire for a few minutes, and see what sort of a night it is, I'll get up,"

"You mustn't think of such a thing," cried his nurse.

"I must indeed," said the patient. "Whereabouts are my clothes?"

"Oh, I'm so glad--you haven't got any," replied the Marchioness.

"Ma'am!" said Mr. Swiveller, in great astonishment.

"I've been obliged to sell them, every one, to get the things that was ordered for you. But don't take on about that," urged the Marchioness, as Dick fell back upon his pillow, "you're too weak to stand indeed."

"I'm afraid," said Richard dolefully, "that you're right. Now, what is to be done?"

It occurred to him, on very little reflection, that the first step to take would be to communicate with Kit's employer, Mr. Garland, or with his son Mr. Abel, at once. It was possible that Mr. Abel had not yet left his office. In as little time as it takes to tell it, the small servant had the address on a piece of paper, and a description of father and son, which would enable her to recognize either without difficulty. Armed with these slender powers, she hurried away, commissioned to bring either Mr. Garland or Mr. Abel bodily to Mr. Swiveller's apartment.

"I suppose," said Dick, as she closed the door slowly, and peeped into the room again, to make sure that he was comfortable, "I suppose there's nothing left--not so much as a waistcoat?"

"No, nothing."

"Its embarrassing," said Mr. Swiveller, "in case of fire--even an umbrella would be something--but you did quite right, dear Marchioness. I should have died without you."

The small servant went swiftly on her way, towards the office of the Notary, Mr. Witherden, where Mr. Garland was to be found. She had no bonnet, only a great cap on her head, which in some old time had been worn by Sally Brass;--and her shoes being extremely large and slipshod, flew off every now and then, and were difficult to find. Indeed the poor little creature experienced so much trouble and delay from having to grope for them in the mud, and suffered so much jostling, pushing, and squeezing in these researches, that between it, and her fear of being recognized by some one, and carried back by force to the Brasses, when she at last reached the Notary's office, she was fairly worn out, and could not refrain from tears. But to have got there was a comfort, and she found Mr. Abel in the act of entering his pony-chaise and driving away. There was nothing for her to do but to run after the chaise and call to Mr. Abel to stop. Being out of breath, she was unable to make him hear. The case was desperate, for the pony was quickening his pace. The Marchioness hung on behind for a few moments, and feeling she could go no farther, clambered by a vigorous effort into the hinder seat, where she remained in silence, until she had to some degree recovered her breath, and become accustomed to the novelty of her position, when she uttered close into Mr. Abel's ear the words,--

"I say, sir."

He turned his head quickly enough then, and stopping the pony, cried with some trepidation, "God bless me! what is this?"

"Don't be frightened, sir," replied the still panting messenger. "Oh, I've run such a way after you!"

"What do you want with me?" said Mr. Abel. "How did you come here?"

"I got in behind," replied the Marchioness. "Oh, please drive on, sir--don't stop--and go towards the City, will you? and oh--do please make haste, because it is of consequence. There's somebody wants to see you there. He sent me to say, would you come directly, and that he knows all about Kit, and could save him yet, and prove his innocence."

"What do you tell me, child?"

"The truth, upon my word and honor, I do. But please to drive on--quick, please! I've been such a time gone, he'll think I'm lost"

Mr. Abel urged the pony forward, and at last they arrived at the door of Mr. Swiveller's lodgings.

"See! It's that room up there," said the Marchioness, pointing to one where there was a faint light. "Come!"

Mr. Abel who was naturally timid, hesitated; for he had heard of people being decoyed into strange places, to be robbed and murdered, under circumstances very like the present, by guides very like the Marchioness. His regard for Kit, however, overcame every other consideration. So he suffered his companion to lead him up the dark and narrow stair, into a dimly lighted sick-chamber, where a man was lying tranquilly in bed, in whose wasted face he recognized the features of Richard Swiveller.

"Why, how is this?" said Mr. Abel, kindly, "You have been ill?"

"Very," replied Dick, "Nearly dead. You might have chanced to hear of your Richard on his bier, but for the friend I sent to fetch you. Another shake of the hand, Marchioness, if you please. Sit down, sir."

Mr. Abel seemed rather astonished to hear of the quality of his guide, and took a chair by the bedside.

"I have sent for you, sir," said Dick--"but she told you on what account?"

"She did. I am quite bewildered by all this. I really don't know what to say or think," replied Mr. Abel.

"You'll say that presently," retorted Dick. "Marchioness, take a seat on the bed, will you? Now, tell this gentleman all that you told me, and be particular."

The story was repeated, without any deviation or omission, after which Richard Swiveller took the word again;

"You have heard it all," said Richard. "I'm too giddy and queer to suggest anything, but you and your friends will know what to do. After this long delay, every minute is an age. Don't stop to say one word to me, but go! If you lose another minute in looking at me, sir, I'll never forgive you!"

Mr. Abel needed no more persuasion. To Dick's unbounded delight he was gone in an instant, and Mr. Swiveller, exhausted by the interview, was soon asleep, murmuring 'Strew, then, oh strew a bed of rushes. Here will we stay till morning blushes.' "Good-night, Marchioness!"

On awaking in the morning, he became conscious of whispering voices in his room, and espied Mr. Garland, Mr. Abel, and two other gentlemen talking earnestly with the Marchioness. Upon perceiving the invalid to be awake, Mr. Garland stretched out his hand, and inquired how Mr. Swiveller felt; adding

"And what can we do for you?"

"If you could make the Marchioness yonder, a Marchioness in real, sober earnest," returned Dick, "I'd thank you to get it done offhand. But as you