Feeling sure that this verdict was in consequence of his defence of Kit, Mr. Swiveller took his dismissal in profound silence, and turned his back upon Bevis Marks, big with designs for the comforting of Kit's mother, and the aid of Kit himself. His only regret in regard to the matter was in having to leave the Marchioness alone and unprotected in the hands of the Brasses, and little did he dream that to the small servant herself, to the Marchioness, rather than to him, Kit and his mother were to owe their heaviest debt of gratitude--but it was so to be. That very night Mr. Richard was seized with an alarming illness, and in twenty-four hours was stricken with a raging fever, and lay tossing upon his hot, uneasy bed, unconscious of anything but weariness and worry and pain, until at length he sank into a deep sleep. He awoke, and with a sensation of blissful rest better than sleep itself, began to dimly remember, and to think what a long night it had been, and to wonder whether he had not been delirious once or twice. Still, he felt indifferent and happy, and having no curiosity to pursue the subject, remained in a waking slumber until his attention was attracted by a cough. This made him doubt whether he had locked his door last night, and feel a little surprised at having a companion in the room. But he lacked energy to follow up this train of thought, and in a luxury of repose, lay staring at some green stripes on the bed furniture, and associating them strangely, with patches of fresh turf, while the yellow ground between made gravel walks, and so helped out a long perspective of trim gardens. He was rambling in imagination on these terraces, when he heard the cough once more. Raising himself a little in the bed, he looked about him. The same room, certainly, but with what unbounded astonishment did he see bottles, and basins, and articles of linen airing by the fire--all very clean and neat, but quite different from anything he had left there when he went to bed! The atmosphere too filled with a cool smell of herbs and vinegar; the floor newly sprinkled; the--the what?--the Marchioness! Yes; playing cribbage with herself at the table. There she sat, intent upon her game, coughing now and then in a subdued manner, as if she feared to disturb him, going through all the mysteries of cribbage as if she had been in full practice from her cradle! Mr. Swiveller contemplated these things for a short time, then laid his head on the pillow again. "I'm dreaming," thought Richard, "that's clear. When I went to bed my hands were not made of egg-shells, and now I can almost see through 'em. If this is not a dream, I have woke up, by mistake, in an Arabian Night instead of a London one. But I have no doubt I'm asleep. Not the least." Here the small servant had another cough. "Very remarkable!" thought Mr. Swiveller. "I never dreamed such a real cough as that before. There's another--and another--I say!--I'm dreaming rather fast!