Jacob and the baby how all this was, for if they thought I had ever been dishonest, when they grew old enough to understand, it would break my heart to know it, if I was thousands of miles away. — Oh! is there no good gentleman here, who will take care of her!’

The hand slips out of his, for the poor creature sinks down upon the earth, insensible. Richard Swiveller comes hastily up, elbows the bystanders out of the way, takes her (after some trouble) in one arm after the manner of theatrical ravishers, and nodding to Kit, and commanding Barbara’s mother to follow, for he has a coach waiting, bears her swiftly off.

Well; Richard took her home. And what astonishing absurdities in the way of quotation from song and poem he perpetrated on the road, no man knows. He took her home, and stayed till she was recovered; and, having no money to pay the coach, went back in state to Bevis Marks, bidding the driver (for it was Saturday night) wait at the door while he went in for ‘change.’

‘Mr Richard, Sir,’ said Brass cheerfully, ‘Good-evening!’

Monstrous as Kit’s tale had appeared at first, Mr Richard did, that night, half suspect his affable employer of some deep villany. Perhaps it was but the misery he had just witnessed which gave his careless nature this impulse; but, be that as it may, it was very strong upon him, and he said in as few words as possible, what he wanted.

‘Money!’ cried Brass, taking out his purse. ‘Ha ha! To be sure, Mr Richard, to be sure, Sir. All men must live. You haven’t change for a five-pound note, have you Sir?’

‘No,’ returned Dick, shortly.

‘Oh!’ said Brass, ‘here’s the very sum. That saves trouble. You’re very welcome I’m sure. — Mr Richard, Sir — ’

Dick, who had by this time reached the door, turned round.

‘You needn’t,’ said Brass, ‘trouble yourself to come back any more, Sir.’

‘Eh?’

‘You see, Mr Richard,’ said Brass, thrusting his hands in his pockets, and rocking himself to and fro upon his stool, ‘the fact is, that a man of your abilities is lost Sir, quite lost, in our dry and mouldy line. It’s terrible drudgery — shocking. I should say now that the stage, or the — or the army, Mr Richard — or something very superior in the licensed victualling way — was the kind of thing that would call out the genius of such a man as you. I hope you’ll look in to see us now and then. Sally, Sir, will be delighted I’m sure. She’s extremely sorry to lose you, Mr Richard, but a sense of her duty to society reconciles her. — An amazing creature that, Sir! You’ll find the money quite correct, I think. There’s a cracked window, Sir, but I’ve not made any deduction on that account. Whenever we part with friends, Mr Richard, let us part liberally. A delightful sentiment, Sir!’

To all these rambling observations, Mr Swiveller answered not one word, but, returning for the aquatic jacket, rolled it into a tight round ball, looking steadily at Brass meanwhile as if he had some intention of bowling him down with it. He only took it under his arm, however, and marched out of the office in profound silence. Directly he had closed the door, he opened it, stared in again for a few moments with the same portentous gravity; and nodding his head once, in a slow and ghost-like manner, vanished.

He paid the coachman and turned his back on Bevis Marks, big with great designs for the comforting of Kit’s mother and the aid of Kit himself.

But the lives of gentlemen devoted to such pleasures as Richard Swiveller, are extremely precarious. The spiritual excitement of the last fortnight, working upon a system affected in no slight degree by the