“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 can’t, the question is, what is it best to do for Kit?”

Gathering around Mr. Swiveller’s bedside, the group of gentlemen then proceeded to discuss in detail all the evidence against Sampson Brass, as contained in the confession of the Marchioness, and what course was wisest to pursue in the matter.  After which the gentlemen took their leaves for a time, or Richard Swiveller must assuredly have been driven into another fever, in consequence of having entered into such an exciting discussion.

Mr. Abel alone remained behind, very often looking at his watch and the room-door, until the reason of his watchfulness was disclosed when Mr. Swiveller was roused from a short nap by the delivery at his door of a mighty hamper, which, being opened, disgorged such treasures of tea, and coffee, and wine, and rusk, and oranges, and grapes, and fowls, and calvesfoot jelly, and other delicate restoratives, that the small servant stood rooted to the spot, with her mouth and