adviser,
but as your very true friend, will you let slip the occasion of
attaining all these objects, and doing all this good, for the paltry
consideration of a few pounds finding their way into the pockets of a
couple of rascals, to whom it makes no manner of difference, except that
the more they gain, the more they'll seek, and so the sooner be led
into some piece of knavery that must end in a crash? I have put these
considerations to you, my dear Sir, very feebly and imperfectly, but
I ask you to think of them. Turn them over in your mind as long as you
please. I wait here most patiently for your answer.'

Before Mr. Pickwick could reply, before Mr. Perker had taken one
twentieth part of the snuff with which so unusually long an address
imperatively required to be followed up, there was a low murmuring of
voices outside, and then a hesitating knock at the door.

'Dear, dear,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, who had been evidently roused by
his friend's appeal; 'what an annoyance that door is! Who is that?'

'Me, Sir,' replied Sam Weller, putting in his head.

'I can't speak to you just now, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'I am engaged
at this moment, Sam.'

'Beg your pardon, Sir,' rejoined Mr. Weller. 'But here's a lady here,
Sir, as says she's somethin' wery partickler to disclose.'

'I can't see any lady,' replied Mr. Pickwick, whose mind was filled with
visions of Mrs. Bardell.

'I wouldn't make too sure o' that, Sir,' urged Mr. Weller, shaking his
head. 'If you know'd who was near, sir, I rayther think you'd change
your note; as the hawk remarked to himself vith a cheerful laugh, ven he
heerd the robin-redbreast a-singin' round the corner.'

'Who is it?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Will you see her, Sir?' asked Mr. Weller, holding the door in his hand
as if he had some curious live animal on the other side.

'I suppose I must,' said Mr. Pickwick, looking at Perker.

'Well then, all in to begin!' cried Sam. 'Sound the gong, draw up the
curtain, and enter the two conspiraytors.'

As Sam Weller spoke, he threw the door open, and there rushed
tumultuously into the room, Mr. Nathaniel Winkle, leading after him
by the hand, the identical young lady who at Dingley Dell had worn the
boots with the fur round the tops, and who, now a very pleasing compound
of blushes and confusion, and lilac silk, and a smart bonnet, and a rich
lace veil, looked prettier than ever.

'Miss Arabella Allen!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, rising from