'Certainly, ma'am,' interposed Mr Pickwick, very quickly. 'Certainly,

ma'am. I - I - am very sorry, ma'am,' said Mr Pickwick, making his

appearance at the bottom of the bed, 'to have been the innocent

occasion of this alarm and emotion; deeply sorry, ma'am.'

The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr Pickwick's

character was beautifully displayed at this moment, under the most

trying circumstances. Although he had hastily Put on his hat over his

nightcap, after the manner of the old patrol; although he carried his

shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and waistcoat over his

arm; nothing could subdue his native politeness.

'I am exceedingly sorry, ma'am,' said Mr Pickwick, bowing very low.

'If you are, Sir, you will at once leave the room,' said the lady.

'Immediately, ma'am; this instant, ma'am,' said Mr Pickwick, opening

the door, and dropping both his shoes with a crash in so doing.

'I trust, ma'am,' resumed Mr Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, and

turning round to bow again - 'I trust, ma'am, that my unblemished

character, and the devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will plead

as some slight excuse for this - ' But before Mr Pickwick could

conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust him into the passage, and

locked and bolted the door behind him.

Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr Pickwick might have for

having escaped so quietly from his late awkward situation, his present

position was by no means enviable. He was alone, in an open passage,

in a strange house in the middle of the night, half dressed; it was not

to be supposed that he could find his way in perfect darkness to a

room which he had been wholly unable to discover with a light, and if

he made the slightest noise in his fruitless attempts to do so, he stood

every chance of being shot at, and perhaps killed, by some wakeful

traveller. He had no resource but to remain where he was until

daylight appeared. So after groping his way a few paces down the

passage, and, to his infinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of

boots in so doing, Mr Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall,

to wait for morning, as philosophically as he might.

He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial of

patience; for he had not been long ensconced in his present

concealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light,

appeared at the end of the passage. His horror was suddenly

converted into joy, however, when he recognised the form of his

faithful attendant. It was indeed Mr Samuel Weller, who after sitting

up thus late, in conversation with the boots, who was sitting up for

the mail, was now about to retire to rest.

The Pickwick Papers