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

'What do you tell me, child?'

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

Mr Abel involuntarily urged the pony forward. The pony, impelled by
some secret sympathy or some new caprice, burst into a great pace, and
neither slackened it, nor indulged in any eccentric performances, until
they arrived at the door of Mr Swiveller's lodging, where, marvellous
to relate, he consented to stop when Mr Abel checked him.

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

Mr Abel, who was one of the simplest and most retiring creatures in
existence, and naturally timid withal, hesitated; for he had heard of
people being decoyed into strange places to be robbed and murdered,
under circumstances very like the present, and, for anything he knew to
the contrary, by guides very like the Marchioness. His regard for Kit,
however, overcame every other consideration. So, entrusting Whisker to
the charge of a man who was lingering hard by in expectation of the
Job, he suffered his companion to take his hand, and to lead him up the
dark and narrow stairs.

He was not a little surprised to find himself conducted into a
dimly-lighted sick chamber, where a man was sleeping tranquilly in bed.

'An't it nice to see him lying there so quiet?' said his guide, in an
earnest whisper. 'Oh! you'd say it was, if you had only seen him two
or three days ago.'

Mr Abel made no answer, and, to say the truth, kept a long way from the
bed and very near the door. His guide, who appeared to understand his
reluctance, trimmed the candle, and taking it in her hand, approached
the bed. As she did so, the sleeper started up, and he recognised in
the wasted face the features of Richard Swiveller.

'Why, how is this?' said Mr Abel kindly, as he hurried towards him.
'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.'