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.