‘Lor, Miss Smithers, dear,’ said the other nine-and-twenty boarders.
‘Oh, the man—the man—behind the door!’ screamed Miss Smithers.
The lady abbess no sooner heard this appalling cry, than she retreated to her own bedroom, double-locked the door, and fainted away comfortably. The boarders, and the teachers, and the servants, fell back upon the stairs, and upon each other; and never was such a screaming, and fainting, and struggling beheld. In the midst of the tumult, Mr. Pickwick emerged from his concealment, and presented himself amongst them.
‘Ladies—dear ladies,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Oh. he says we’re dear,’ cried the oldest and ugliest teacher. ‘Oh, the wretch!’
‘Ladies,’ roared Mr. Pickwick, rendered desperate by the danger of his situation. ‘Hear me. I am no robber. I want the lady of the house.’
‘Oh, what a ferocious monster!’ screamed another teacher. ‘He wants Miss Tomkins.’
Here there was a general scream.
‘Ring the alarm bell, somebody!’ cried a dozen voices.
‘Don’t—don’t,’ shouted Mr. Pickwick. ‘Look at me. Do I look like a robber! My dear ladies—you may bind me hand and leg, or lock me up in a closet, if you like. Only hear what I have got to say—only hear me.’