"Ma'am!" said Mr. Swiveller, in great astonishment.

"I've been obliged to sell them, every one, to get the things that was
ordered for you. But don't take on about that," urged the Marchioness,
as Dick fell back upon his pillow, "you're too weak to stand indeed."

"I'm afraid," said Richard dolefully, "that you're right. Now, what is
to be done?"

It occurred to him, on very little reflection, that the first step to
take would be to communicate with Kit's employer, Mr. Garland, or with
his son Mr. Abel, at once. It was possible that Mr. Abel had not yet
left his office. In as little time as it takes to tell it, the small
servant had the address on a piece of paper, and a description of father
and son, which would enable her to recognize either without difficulty.
Armed with these slender powers, she hurried away, commissioned to bring
either Mr. Garland or Mr. Abel bodily to Mr. Swiveller's apartment.

"I suppose," said Dick, as she closed the door slowly, and peeped into
the room again, to make sure that he was comfortable, "I suppose there's
nothing left--not so much as a waistcoat?"

"No, nothing."

"Its embarrassing," said Mr. Swiveller, "in case of fire--even an
umbrella would be something--but you did quite right, dear Marchioness.
I should have died without you."

The small servant went swiftly on her way, towards the office of the