Swiveller raised the curtain again, determined to take the first

favourable opportunity of addressing his companion. An occasion

presented itself. The Marchioness dealt, turned up a knave, and

omitted to take the usual advantage; upon which Mr Swiveller called

out as loud as he could - 'Two for his heels!'

The Marchioness jumped up quickly and clapped her hands. 'Arabian

Night, certainly,' thought Mr Swiveller; 'they always clap their hands

instead of ringing the bell. Now for the two thousand black slaves,

with jars of jewels on their heads!'

It appeared, however, that she had only clapped her hands for joy; for

directly afterward she began to laugh, and then to cry; declaring, not

in choice Arabic but in familiar English, that she was 'so glad, she

didn't know what to do.'

Marchioness,' said Mr Swiveller, thoughtfully, 'be pleased to draw

nearer. First of all, will you have the goodness to inform me where I

shall find my voice; and secondly, what has become of my flesh?'

The Marchioness only shook her head mournfully, and cried again;

whereupon Mr Swiveller (being very weak) felt his own eyes affected

likewise.

'I begin to infer, from your manner, and these appearances,

Marchioness,' said Richard after a pause, and smiling with a

trembling lip, 'that I have been ill.'

'You just have!' replied the small servant, wiping her eyes. 'And

haven't you been a talking nonsense!'

Oh!' said Dick. 'Very ill, Marchioness, have I been?'

Dead, all but,' replied the small servant. 'I never thought you'd get

better. Thank Heaven you have!'

Mr Swiveller was silent for a long while. By and bye, he began to talk

again, inquiring how long he had been there.

Three weeks to-morrow,' replied the servant.

Three what?' said Dick.

Weeks,' returned the Marchioness emphatically; 'three long, slow

weeks.'

The bare thought of having been in such extremity, caused Richard to

fall into another silence, and to lie flat down again, at his full length.

The Old Curiosity Shop