The man, accordingly, went back again to the rescue, and presently returned with Miss Miggs, limp and doubled up, and very damp from much weeping.
As the young lady had given no tokens of consciousness on their way downstairs, the bearer reported her either dead or dying; and being at some loss what to do with her, was looking round for a convenient bench or heap of ashes on which to place her senseless form, when she suddenly came upon her feet by some mysterious means, thrust back her hair, stared wildly at Mr Tappertit, cried, 'My Simmuns's life is not a wictim!' and dropped into his arms with such promptitude that he staggered and reeled some paces back, beneath his lovely burden.
'Oh bother!' said Mr Tappertit.

'Here.

Catch hold of her, somebody.

Lock her up again; she never ought to have been let out.' 'My Simmun!' cried Miss Miggs, in tears, and faintly.

'My for ever, ever blessed Simmun!' 'Hold up, will you,' said Mr Tappertit, in a very unresponsive tone, 'I'll let you fall if you don't.