Page:The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club.djvu/299

233 rilE PICKWICK CLUB.

i>3a

nient struck upon his mind ; and throwing himself back in the rush- bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laug-hed to himself so heartily, that it would have been quite delightful to any man of well -constituted mind to have watched the smiles which expanded his amiable features as they shone forth, from beneath the night-cap.

" It is the best idea," said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he almost cracked the night-cap strings — " It is the best idea, my losing myself in this place, and wandering about those staircases, that I ever heard of. Droll, droll, very droll." Here Mr. Pickwick smiled again, a broader smile than before, and was about to continue the process of undressing, in the best possible humour, when he was suddenly stopped by a most unexpected interruption ; to wit, the entrance into the room of some person with a candle, who, after locking the door, advanced to the dressing table, and set down the light upon it.

The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick's features, was instanta- neously lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken sur- prise. The person, whoever it was, had come in so suddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no time to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be ? A robber ? Some evil-minded person who had seen him come up stairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What was he to do !

The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his mysterious visiter with the least danger of being seen himself, was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the curtains on the opposite side. To this manoeuvre he accordingly reported. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hand, so that nothing more of him could be seen than his face and night-cap, and putting on his spectacles, he mustered up courage, and looked out.

Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before the dressing glass, was a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers, busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their " back hair." However the unconscious middle- aged lady came into that room, it was quite clear that she contemplated remaining there for the night ; for she had brought a rushlight and shade with her, which, with praiseworthy pre- caution against fire, she had stationed in a basin on the floor, where it was glimmering away, like a gigantic lighthouse, in a particularly small piece of water.

" Bless my soul," thought Mr. Pickwick, *' what a dreadful thing ! "

" Hem ! " said the lady ; and in went Mr. Pickwick's head with auto- maton-like rapidity.

" I never met with anything so awful as this," — thought poor Mr. IMckwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops upor his nightcap. " Never. This is fearful."

It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was poing forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect was worse than before. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging her hair; had carefully enveloped it, in a muslin night-cap with a small jdaited border, and was gazing pensively on the fire.

" This matter is growing alarming" — reasoned Mr. Pickwick with himself. " I can't allow things to go on in this way. By the self-pos-