that letter?" Van Diemen asked. "Let me look at that letter.
Don't tell me it's private correspondence."

"My dear Philip, dear friend, kind thanks; it's not a letter," said
Tinman.

"Not a letter! why, I read the address, 'Horse Guards.' I read it as it
passed into your hands. Now, my man, one look at that letter, or take the
consequences."

"Kind thanks for your assistance, dear Philip, indeed! Oh! this? Oh! it's
nothing." He tore it in halves.

His face was of the winter sea-colour, with the chalk wash on it.

"Tear again, and I shall know what to think of the contents," Van Diemen
frowned. "Let me see what you've said. You've sworn you would do it, and
there it is at last, by miracle; but let me see it and I'll overlook it,
and you shall be my house-mate still. If not!----"

Tinman tore away.

"You mistake, you mistake, you're entirely wrong," he said, as he pursued
with desperation his task of rendering every word unreadable.

Van Diemen stood fronting him; the accumulation of stores of petty
injuries and meannesses which he had endured from this man, swelled under
the whip of the conclusive exhibition of treachery. He looked so black
that Annette called, "Papa!"

"Philip," said Tinman. "Philip! my best friend!"

"Pooh, you're a poor creature. Come along and breakfast at Elba, and you
can sleep at the Crouch, and goodnight to you. Crickledon," he called to
the houseless couple, "you stop at Elba till I build you a shop."

With these words, Van Diemen led the way, walking alone. Herbert was
compelled to walk with Tinman.

Mary and Annette came behind, and Mary pinched Annette's arm so sharply
that she must have cried out aloud had it been possible for her to feel
pain at that moment, instead of a personal exultation, flying wildly over
the clash of astonishment and horror, like a sea-bird over the foam.

In the first silent place they came to, Mary murmured the words: "Little
Jane."

Annette looked round at Mrs. Crickledon, who wound up the procession,
taking little Jane by the hand. Little Jane was walking demurely, with a
placid face. Annette glanced at Tinman. Her excited feelings nearly rose
to a scream of laughter. For hours after, Mary had only to say to her:
"Little Jane," to produce the same convulsion. It rolled her heart and
senses in a headlong surge, shook her to burning tears, and seemed to her
ideas the most wonderful running together of opposite things ever known
on this earth. The y