"The Lord be praised!" fervently ejaculated Peggy, pointing toward the pallid face that lay surrounded with ashes. A convulsive twitching passed over the features, the lips trembled, the ashes over the breast heaved, and a low moaning sound, which might have come from the bottom of the canal, was heard. Again the moaning sound, and then the eyes opened, but closed almost immediately. "Poor dear soul!" whispered Peggy, "how he suffers in surviving. Lift him up a little. Softly. Don't be afeared. We're only your good angels, like--only poor cinder-sifters--don'tee be afeared." By various kindly attentions and manœuvres such as these poor people had been accustomed to practice on those who were taken out of the canal, the unfortunate gentleman was gradually brought to his senses. He gazed about him, as well he might--now looking in the anxious, though begrimed, faces of the three strange objects, all in their "weeds" and dust--and then up at the huge dust-heap, over which the moon was now slowly rising. "Land of quiet Death!" murmured he, faintly, "or land of Life, as dark and still--I have passed from one into the other; but which of ye I am now in, seems doubtful to my senses." "Here we are, poor gentleman," cried Peggy, "here we are, all friends about you. How did 'ee tumble into the canal?" "The Earth, then, once more!" said the stranger, with a deep sigh. "I know where I am, now. I remember this great dark hill of ashes--like Death's kingdom, full of all sorts of strange things, and put to many uses." "Where do you live?" asked old Doubleyear; "shall we try and take you home, sir?" The stranger shook his head mournfully. All this time, little Jem had been assiduously employed in rubbing his feet and then his hands; in doing which the piece of dirty parchment, with the miniature-frame, dropped out of his breast-pocket. A good thought instantly struck Peggy. "Run, Jemmy dear--run with that golden thing to Mr. Spikechin, the pawnbroker's--get something upon it directly, and buy some nice brandy--and some Godfrey's cordial--and a blanket, Jemmy--and call a coach, and get up outside on it, and make the coachee drive back here as fast as you can." But before Jemmy could attend to this, Mr. Waterhouse, the stranger whose life they had preserved, raised himself on one elbow, and extended his hand to the miniature-frame. Directly he looked at it, he raised himself higher up--turned it about once or twice--then caught up the piece of parchment; and uttering an ejaculation, which no one could have distinguished either as of joy or of pain, sank back fainting.