55

“Mr. Richard,” said Brass cheerfully, entering his office, “good-evening!”

Mr. Richard suspected his affable employer of some deep villainy. It was very strong upon him, and he said in few words, what he wanted.

“Money?” cried Brass, taking out his purse. “Ha ha! To be sure, Mr. Richard, to be sure. sir. All men must live. You haven’t change for a five-pound note, have you sir?”

“No,” returned Dick, shortly.

“Oh!” said Brass, “here’s the sum. You’re very welcome, Mr. Richard. You needn’t trouble yourself to come back any more sir.”

“Eh?”

“You see, Mr. Richard,” said Brass, thrusting his hands in his pockets, “the fact is that a man of your abilities is lost here, sir, quite lost, in our company. You’ll find the money quite correct, I think. Mr. Richard, let us part liberally!“

Mr. Swiveller returned for his jacket, rolled it and looked steadily at Brass. When he had closed the door, he re-opened it, stared in and vanished. That very night, Mr. Richard was stricken with a raging fever.

56

Richard awoke. The same room certainly, and still by candlelight; but what do all those bottles, and basins, and articles of linen mean? Everything is very clean and neat, but all quite different from anything he had left there, when he went to bed! The atmosphere, too, filled with a cool smell of herbs and vinegar. And who is that? The Marchioness?

Yes; playing cards with herself at the table. There she sat and feared to disturb him shuffling the cards. Mr. Swiveller contemplated these things for a short time, and laid his head on the pillow again.

“I’m dreaming,” thought Richard, “that’s clear. When I went to bed, my hands were not made of egg-shells; and now I can almost see through them. I have no doubt I’m asleep.”

Here the small servant coughed.

“Very remarkable!” thought Mr. Swiveller. “I never dreamt such a real cough as that, before. I don’t know, indeed, that 1 ever dreamt either a cough or a sneeze. Perhaps it’s part of the philosophy of dreams that one never does. There’s another and another I say! I’m dreaming rather fast!”

For the purpose of testing his real condition, Mr. Swiveller, after some reflection, pinched himself in the arm. The result of his additional inspection was that the objects around him were real, and that he saw them, beyond all question, with his own eyes.

Mr. Swiveller raised the curtain. The Marchioness jumped up quickly, and clapped her hands: “I’m so glad that I don’t know what to do!”

“Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, thoughtfully, “be pleased to draw nearer. First of all, will you have the goodness to inform me where I shall find my voice; and secondly, what has become of my flesh? I begin to think, Marchioness,” said Richard, and smiling with a trembling lip, “that I have been ill.”

“You just have!” replied the small servant, wiping her eyes. “Nearly dead. I never thought you’d get better. Thank Heaven you have!”

Mr. Swiveller was silent for a long while.

“And how long?”

“Three weeks tomorrow,” replied the small servant.

“Three what?” said Dick.

“Weeks,” returned the Marchioness emphatically; “three long, slow weeks.”

The Marchioness felt that his hands and forehead were quite cool, and then prepared some and made some thin dry toast. Mr. Swiveller looked at her with a grateful heart.

“Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, “how’s Sally?”

The small servant shook her head.

“What, haven’t you seen her lately?” said Dick.

“Seen her!” cried the small servant. “Bless you, I’ve run away!”

Mr. Swiveller immediately laid himself down again, and so remained for about five minutes.

“And where do you live, Marchioness?”

“Live!” cried the small servant. “Here!”

“Oh!” said Mr. Swiveller. “And so, you have run away?”

The small servant nodded, and winked. Her eyes were red with waking and crying.

“Tell me,” said Dick, “how it was that you thought of coming here.”

“Why, you see,” returned the Marchioness, “when you were gone, I hadn’t any friend at all, because the lodger never came back, and I didn’t know where to find him or you, you know. But one morning, when I was…”

“Was near a key-hole?” suggested Mr. Swiveller.

“Yes,” said the small servant, nodding; “when I was near the office key-hole, you know, I saw the lady whose house you lodged at, and she was saying that you were very ill, and nobody came to take care of you. Mr. Brass says, ‘It’s no business of mine,’ he says; and Miss Sally, she says, ‘He’s a funny chap, but it’s no business of mine;’ and the lady went away. So I ran away that night, and came here, and told her that you were my brother, and they believed me. So I’ve been here ever since.”

“Oh! I strongly suspect,” said Dick thoughtfully, “I could die, Marchioness, without you.”

At this point, Mr. Swiveller took the small servant’s hand in his.

“The doctor,” she told him, “said you had to lie quite still. Now, take a rest, and then we’ll talk again. I’ll sit by you, you know. If you shut your eyes, perhaps you’ll go to sleep.”

The Marchioness, in saying these words, brought a little table to the bedside, and took her seat at it. Richard Swiveller fell into a slumber, and waking in about half-an-hour, inquired what time it was.

“Half after six,” replied his small friend, helping him to sit up again.

“Marchioness,” said Richard, passing his hand over his forehead, “what has become of Kit?”

“He had been sentenced to transportation for many years,” she said.

“Has he gone?” asked Dick “his mother, how is she, what has become of her?”

His nurse shook her head, and answered that she knew nothing about them.

“But I can tell you something,” said she.

“Yes, do,” said Dick. “It will amuse me.”

“Oh, no!” rejoined the small servant, with a horrified look. “Let’s wait till you’re better and then I’ll tell you.”

Dick looked very earnestly at his little friend.

“Did you hear something through key-hole again?” asked Dick, in a breathless state.

“Yes,” replied the small servant.

“Conversations between Brass and Sally?” pursued Dick hastily.

“Yes,” cried the small servant again.

“Please, go on, darling!” said Dick. “Speak, sister, speak, I beseech you!”

Unable to resist these fervent adjurations, his companion spoke thus:

“Well! Before I ran away, I was sleeping in the kitchen where we played cards, you know. Miss Sally and Mr. Brass were sitting by the fire, and talking softly together. Mr. Brass says to Miss Sally, ‘Upon my word,’ he says, ‘it’s a dangerous thing, and it might get us into a world of trouble, and I don’t like it.’ She says, ‘You’re the chickenest-hearted, feeblest, faintest man I have ever seen!’ she says, ‘Isn’t Quilp our principal support?’ ‘He certainly is,’ says Mr. Brass. ‘So we must ruin this Kit if Quilp desires it.’ Then they whispered and laughed for a long time, and then Mr. Brass pulls out his pocket-book, and says, ‘Well, here it is Quilp’s own five-pound note. Kit is coming tomorrow morning, I know. I’ll put this money in his hat. Then Mr. Richard will find it there, and that will be the evidence!’ Miss Sally laughed, and said that was a good plan. I was afraid and went downstairs. There!”

Mr. Swiveller hastily demanded whether this story had been told to anybody.

“Never,” replied his nurse. “I was afraid to think about it.”

“Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, “I’ll get up.”

“You mustn’t think of such a thing,” cried his nurse.

“I must indeed,” said the patient, looking round the room. “Where are my clothes?”

“I had to sell them, every one, to get the medicine. But don’t think about that, you’re too weak to stand, indeed.”

Dick fell back upon his pillow.

“I am afraid,” said Richard dolefully, “that you’re right. What to do? Wait. The first step is to communicate with the Garlands. Bring the old Mr. Garland to this apartment.”

57

Mr. Garland seemed rather astonished to hear the whole story, and took a chair by the bedside.

“I have sent for you, sir,” said Dick “but did the girl tell 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. Garland.

“Marchioness,” retorted Dick. “take a seat on the bed, will you? Now, tell this gentleman all that you told me; and be particular.”

The story was repeated; it was, in effect, exactly the same as before, without any deviation or omission. Richard Swiveller took the word again.

“You have heard it all, and you’ll not forget it. I’m too weak to suggest anything; but you and your friends will know what to do. After this long delay, every minute is an age! “

Mr. Garland was gone in an instant.

“That’s right!” said Dick; “I honour him from this time. But get some supper, for I am sure you must be tired.”

The little girl put everything in neat order, then she wrapped herself in an old coverlet and lay down upon the rug before the fire.

Mr. Swiveller was by that time murmuring in his sleep, “Good-night, Marchioness!”