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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 down, sir."

Mr. Abel seemed rather astonished to hear of the quality of his guide,
and took a chair by the bedside.

"I have sent for you, sir," said Dick--"but she told you on what
account?"

"She did. I am quite bewildered by all this. I really don't know what to


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