“Ah, to be sure,” said Perker gravely. “You must take this matter in hand for them, my dear sir. These young men will respect you, when they would listen to nobody else. You must prevent mischief, my dear Sir. Hot blood, hot blood.” And the little man took a warning pinch, and shook his head doubtfully.

“You forget, my love,” said Mr. Pickwick gently, “you forget that I am a prisoner.”

“No, indeed I do not, my dear Sir,” replied Arabella. “I never have forgotten it. I have never ceased to think how great your sufferings must have been in this shocking place. But I hoped that what no consideration for yourself would induce you to do, a regard to our happiness might. If my brother hears of this, first, from you, I feel certain we shall be reconciled. He is my only relation in the world, Mr. Pickwick, and unless you plead for me, I fear I have lost even him. I have done wrong, very, very wrong, I know.” Here poor Arabella hid her face in her handkerchief, and wept bitterly.