ears. But to have got there was a comfort, and
she found Mr. Abel in the act of entering his pony-chaise and driving
away. There was nothing for her to do but to run after the chaise and
call to Mr. Abel to stop. Being out of breath, she was unable to make
him hear. The case was desperate, for the pony was quickening his pace.
The Marchioness hung on behind for a few moments, and feeling she could
go no farther, clambered by a vigorous effort into the hinder seat,
where she remained in silence, until she had to some degree recovered
her breath, and become accustomed to the novelty of her position, when
she uttered close into Mr. Abel's ear the words,--

"I say, sir."

He turned his head quickly enough then, and stopping the pony, cried
with some trepidation, "God bless me! what is this?"

"Don't be frightened, sir," replied the still panting messenger. "Oh,
I've run such a way after you!"

"What do you want with me?" said Mr. Abel. "How did you come here?"

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

"What do you tell me, child?"

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

Mr. Abel urged the pony forward, and at last they arrived at the door of
Mr. Swiveller's lodgings.

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

Mr. Abel who was naturally timid, hesitated; for he had heard of people
being decoyed into strange places, to be robbed and murdered, under
circumstances very like the present, by guides very like the
Marchioness. His regard for Kit, however, overcame every other
consideration. So he suffered his companion to lead him up the dark and
narrow stair, into a dimly lighted sick-chamber, where a man was lying
tranquilly in bed, in whose wasted face he recognized the features of
Richard Swiveller.

"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