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“Been a ’tising of me–’tising, you know, in the newspapers,” rejoined the Marchioness.

“Aye, aye,” said Dick, “Advertising?”

The small servant nodded and winked.

“Tell me,” continued Richard, “how it was that you thought of coming here?”

“Why, you see,” returned the Marchioness, “when you was gone, I hadn’t any friend at all, and I didn’t know where you was to be found, you know. But one morning, when I was near the office keyhole I heard somebody saying that she lived here, and was the lady whose house you lodged at, and that you was took very bad, and wouldn’t nobody come and take care of you. Mr. Brass, he says, ‘It’s no business of mine,’ he says; and Miss Sally she says, ‘He’s a funny chap, but it’s no business of mine;’ and the lady went away. So I run away that night, and come here, and told ’em you was my brother, and I’ve been here ever since.”

“This poor little Marchioness has been wearing herself to death!” cried Dick.

“No, I haven’t,” she replied, “not a bit of it. Don’t you mind about me. I like sitting up, and I’ve often had a sleep, bless you, in one of them chairs. But if you could have seen how you tried to jump out o’ winder, and if you could have heard how you used to keep on singing and making speeches, you wouldn’t have believed it–I’m so glad you’re better, Mr. Liverer.”

“Liverer, indeed!” said Dick thoughtfully. “It’s well I am a liverer. I strongly suspect I should have died, Marchioness, but for you.”

At this point, Mr. Swiveller took the small servant’s hand in his, struggling to express his thanks, but she quickly changed the theme, urging him to shut his eyes and take a little rest. Being indeed fatigued, he needed but little urging, and fell into a slumber, from which he waked in about half an hour, after which his small friend helped him to sit up again.

“Marchioness,” said Richard suddenly, “What has become of Kit?”

“He has been sentenced to transportation for a great many years,” she said.

“Has he gone?” asked Dick, “His mother, what has become of her?”

His nurse shook her head, and answered that she knew nothing about them. “But if I thought,” said she presently, “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!”