"Arabian Night certainly," thought Mr. Swiveller; "they always clap
their hands, instead of ringing the bell. Now for the two thousand black
slaves with jars and jewels on their heads!"

It appeared however, that she had only clapped her hands for joy, as
directly afterward she began to laugh, and then to cry, declaring, not
in choice Arabic, but in familiar English, that she was "so glad she
didn't know what to do."

"Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "will you have the goodness to inform
me where I shall find my voice; and what has become of my flesh?"

The Marchioness only shook her head mournfully, and cried again,
whereupon Mr. Swiveller (being very weak) felt his own eyes
affected likewise.

"I begin to infer, Marchioness," said Richard, after a pause, "that I
have been ill."

"You just have!" replied the small servant, wiping her eyes. "Haven't
you been a-talking nonsense!"

"Oh!", said Dick. "Very ill, Marchioness, have I been?"

"Dead, all but," replied the small servant. "I never thought you'd get
better."

Mr. Swiveller was silent for a long period. By and by he inquired how
long he had been there.

"Three weeks to-morrow." replied the small servant, "three long slow
weeks."

The bare thought of having been in such extremity caused Richard to fall
into another silence. The Marchioness, having arranged the bedclothes
more comfortably, and felt that his hands and forehead were quite cool,
cried a little more, and then applied herself to getting tea ready, and
making some thin dry toast.

While she was thus engaged Mr. Swiveller looked on with a grateful
heart, very much astonished to see how thoroughly at home she made
herself. She propped him up with pillows, and looked on with unutterable
satisfaction, while he took his poor meal with a relish which the
greatest dainties of the earth might have failed to provoke. Having
cleared away, and disposed everything comfortably about him again, she
sat down to take her own tea.

"Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "have you seen Sally lately?"

"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. After that lapse of time he resumed his sitting
posture, and inquired,--

"And where do you live, Marchioness?"

"Live!" cried the small servant. "Here!"

"Oh!" said Mr. Swiveller.

With that he fell down flat again, as suddenly as if he had been sh