"Oh no, sir, not at all--they've all been gone since a little after nine; but there's a letter I was to give you!" She opened the door; Titmouse nearly dropping with fright. "I'll get it for you, sir--let me see, where did I put it?--Oh, in the clerk's room, I think." Titmouse followed her in. "Dear me--where can it be?" she continued, peering about, and then snuffing the long wick of the candle, which she had left burning for the last quarter of an hour, during her absence. "I _hope_ none of the clerks has put it away in mistake! Well, it isn't _here_, anyhow." "Perhaps, ma'am, it's in their _own_ room," suggested Titmouse, in a faint tone. "Oh, p'r'aps it is!" she replied. "We'll go and see"--and she led the way, followed closely by Titmouse, who caught his breath spasmodically as he passed the green-baize door. Yes, there was the room--the scene of last night was transacted there, and came crowding over his recollection--there was the green-shaded candlestick--the table covered with papers--an arm-chair near it, in which, probably, Mr. Quirk had been sitting only an hour before to write the letter they were now in quest of, and which might be to forbid him their presence forever! How dreary and deserted the room looked, thought he as he peered about it in search of the dreaded letter! "Oh, here it is!--well, I never!--who could have put it here, now? I'm sure I didn't. Let me see--it was, no doubt"--said the old woman, holding the letter in one hand and putting the other to her head. "Never mind, ma'am," said Titmouse, stretching his hand towards her--"now we've got it, it don't much signify." She gave it to him. "Seem _particularly_ anxious for me to get it--did they, ma'am?" he inquired, with a strong effort to appear unconcerned--the dreaded letter quite quivering, the while, in his fingers. "No, sir--Mr. Quirk only said I was to give it you when you called. B'lieve they sent it to you, but the clerk said he couldn't find your place out; by the way, (excuse me, sir,) but yours _is_ a funny name! How I heard 'em laughing at it, to be sure! What makes people give such queer names? Would you like to read it here, sir?--you're welcome." "No, thank you, ma'am--it's of not the _least_ consequence," he replied, with a desperate air; and tossing it with attempted carelessness into his hat, which he put on his head, he very civilly wished her good-night, and departed--very nearly inclined to sickness, or faintness, or something of the sort, which the fresh air might perhaps dispel. He quickly espied a lamp at a corner, which promised to afford him an uninterrupted opportunity of inspecting his letter. He took it out of his hat. It was addressed--simply, "Mr. Titmouse, _Cocking_ Court, Oxford Street," (which accounted, perhaps, for the clerk's having been unable to find it;) and having been opened with trembling eagerness, thus it read:--