Thus he amused himself until nearly midnight, when he turned into his hammock with the utmost satisfaction.
The first sound that met his ears in the morning--as he half opened his eyes, and, finding himself so unusually near the ceiling, entertained a drowsy idea that he must have been transformed into a fly or blue-bottle in the course of the night,--was that of a stifled sobbing and weeping in the room.

Peeping cautiously over the side of his hammock, he descried Mrs Quilp, to whom, after contemplating her for some time in silence, he communicated a violent start by suddenly yelling out--'Halloa!' 'Oh, Quilp!' cried his poor little wife, looking up.

'How you frightened me!' 'I meant to, you jade,' returned the dwarf.

'What do you want here?
I'm dead, an't I ?' 'Oh, please come home, do come home,' said Mrs Quilp, sobbing; 'we'll never do so any more, Quilp, and after all it was only a mistake that grew out of our anxiety.' 'Out of your anxiety,' grinned the dwarf.

'Yes, I know that--out of your anxiety for my death.