and grapes, and fowls, and
calvesfoot jelly, and other delicate restoratives, that the small
servant stood rooted to the spot, with her mouth and eyes watering in
unison, and her power of speech quite gone. With the hamper appeared
also a nice old lady, who bustled about on tiptoe, began to make
chicken-broth, and peel oranges for the sick man, and to ply the small
servant with glasses of wine, and choice bits of everything. The whole
of which was so bewildering that Mr. Swiveller, when he had taken two
oranges and a little jelly, was fain to lie down and fall asleep again,
from sheer inability to entertain such wonders in his mind.

Meanwhile the other gentlemen, who had left Richard Swiveller's room,
had retired to a coffee-house near by, from whence they sent a
peremptory and mysterious summons to Miss Sally Brass to favor them with
her company there as soon as possible. To this she replied by an almost
immediate appearance, whereupon, without any loss of time, she was
confronted with the tale of the small servant. While it was being
related for her benefit, Sampson Brass himself suddenly opened the door
of the coffee-house and joined the astonished group. Hearing the certain
proofs of his guilt so clearly related, he saw that evasion was useless,
and made a full confession of the scheme whereby Kit was to have been
doomed, but laying the entire blame, however, upon the rich little
dwarf, Quilp, saying that he could not afford to lose his rich client,
nor the large bribe he offered for the arrest of the lad, Kit.

Having secured the desired confession, the gentlemen hastened back to
Mr. Swiveller's room with the glad tidings, adding that it would now be
possible to accomplish the lad's immediate release, after making which
joyful statement, they took their departure for the night, leaving the
invalid with the small servant and one of their number, Mr. Witherden,
the notary, who remained behind to be the bearer of good news to
the invalid.

"I have been making some inquiries about you," said Mr. Witherden,
"little thinking that I should find you under such circumstances as
those which have brought us together. You are the nephew of Rebecca
Swiveller, spinster, deceased, of Cheselbourne, in Dorsetshire."

"Deceased!" cried Dick.

"Deceased. And by the terms of her will, you have fallen into an annuity
of one hundred and fifty pounds a year; I think I may congratulate you
upon that."

"Sir," said Dick, sobbing a