casion of this alarm and emotion; deeply sorry Ma'am.'

The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr.
Pickwick's character was beautifully displayed at this moment, under
the most trying circumstances. Although he had hastily put on his
hat over his night cap, after the manner of the old patrol; although
he carried his shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and
waistcoat over his arm, nothing could subdue his native politeness.

'I am exceedingly sorry, Ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low.

'If you are, Sir, you will at once leave the room,' said the lady.

'Immediately, Ma'am; this instant, Ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, opening
the door, and dropping both his shoes with a loud crash in so doing.

'I trust Ma'am,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, and
turning round to bow again, 'I trust, Ma'am, that my unblemished
character, and the devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will
plead as some slight excuse for this'--But before Mr. Pickwick could
conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust him into the passage, and
locked and bolted the door behind him.

Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick might have, for
having escaped so quietly from his late awkward situation, his
present position was by no means enviable. He was alone, in an open
passage, in a strange house, in the middle of the night, half
dressed; it was not to be supposed that he could find his way in
perfect darkness to a room which he had been wholly unable to
discover with a light, and if he made the slightest noise in his
fruitless attempts to do so, he stood every chance of being shot at,
and perhaps killed, by some wakeful traveller. He had no resource
but to remain where he was, until daylight appeared. So after
groping his way a few paces down the passage, and to his infinite
alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in so doing, Mr.
Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait for
morning, as philosophically as he might.

He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial of
patience: for he had not been long ensconced in his present
concealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light,
appeared at the end of the passage. His horror was suddenly
converted into joy, however, when he recognized the form of his