Here, young 'ooman, Miss Sawbones, Mrs.Vinkle, don't!' Whether it was the magic of Mr.Winkle's name, or the coolness of the open air, or some recollection of Mr.Weller's voice, that revived Arabella, matters not.

She raised her head and languidly inquired, 'Who's that, and what do you want ?' 'Hush,' said Sam, swinging himself on to the wall, and crouching there in as small a compass as he could reduce himself to, 'only me, miss, only me.' 'Mr.Pickwick's servant!' said Arabella earnestly.
'The wery same, miss,' replied Sam.

'Here's Mr.Vinkle reg'larly sewed up vith desperation, miss.' 'Ah!' said Arabella, drawing nearer the wall.
'Ah, indeed,' said Sam.

'Ve thought ve should ha' been obliged to strait-veskit him last night; he's been a-ravin' all day; and he says if he can't see you afore to-morrow night's over, he vishes he may be somethin' unpleasanted if he don't drownd hisself.' 'Oh, no, no, Mr.Weller!' said Arabella, clasping her hands.
'That's wot he says, miss,' replied Sam coolly.

'He's a man of his word, and it's my opinion he'll do it, miss.