that you'd not put yourself
into another fever, I could tell you something--but I won't, now. Wait
till you're better, then I'll tell you."

Dick looked very earnestly at his little friend, and urged her to tell
him the worst at once.

Unable to resist his fervent adjurations, the Marchioness spoke thus:

"Well! Before I run away, I used to sleep in the kitchen. Miss Sally
used to keep the key of the door in her pocket, and she always come down
at night to take away the candle and rake out the fire. Then she left me
to go to bed in the dark, locked the door on the outside, and kept me
locked up till she came down in the morning and let me out. I was
terrible afraid of being kept like this, because if there was a fire, I
thought they might forget me, you know. So, whenever I see an old key, I
picked it up and tried if it would fit the door, and at last I found a
key that did fit it. They kept me very short," said the small servant,
"so I used to come out at night after they'd gone to bed, and feel
about in the dark, for bits of biscuit, or sangwitches, or even pieces
of orange-peel to put into cold water, and make believe it was wine. If
you make believe very much, it's quite nice," continued the small
servant; "but if you don't, you know, it seems as if it would bear a
little more seasoning! Well, one or two nights before the young man was
took, I come upstairs while Mr. Brass and Miss Sally was a-sittin by the
office fire and talking softly together. They whispered and laughed for
a long time, about there being no danger if it was well done; that they
must do what their best client, Quilp, desired, and that for his own
reasons, he hated Kit, and wanted to have his reputation ruined. Then
Mr. Brass pulls out his pocket-book, and says, 'Well, here it
is--Quilp's own five-pound note. Kit is coming to-morrow morning, I
know. I'll hold him in conversation, and put this property in his hat,
and then convict him of theft. And if that don't get Kit out of Mr.
Quilp's way, and satisfy his grudge against the lad,' he said, 'the
devil's in it,' Then they seemed to be moving away, and I was afraid to
stop any longer. There!"

The small servant was so much agitated herself that she made no effort
to restrain Mr. Swiveller when he sat up in bed, and hastily demanded
whether this story had been told to anybody.

"How could it be?" replied his nurse. "When I heard 'em say that you was
gone, and so was the lodger, and ever since I