--just that--without the piano. She
would try the first part, if he would take the second. Mr Grey thought
to himself that his daughter seemed to have adopted his hint about
civility to his guests very dutifully. But Mr Walcot could sing only
the first part, because he had a brother at home who always took the
second. He could soon learn it, he had no doubt, but he did not know it
at present: so he had the duet all to himself; uplifting a slender voice
in a very odd key, which Fanny and Mary did not quite know what to make
of. They looked round into all the faces in their boat to see whether
anyone was going to laugh: but everybody was immoveable, except that
Sophia whispered softly to Miss Young, that Mr Walcot was a most
delightful young man, after all--so accomplished and so refined!

Mr Walcot's song ended with a quaver, from a large, cold, startling
drop of rain falling on his nose, as he closed his eyes to draw out his
last note. He blushed at having started and flinched from a drop of
rain, and so spoiled his conclusion. Some of his hearers supposed he
had broken-down, till assured by others that he had finished. Then
everybody thanked him, and agreed that the rain was really coming on.

There were now odd fleeces of white cloud between the lead colour and
the black. They were hurried about in the sky, evidently by counter
currents. The river was almost inky in its hue, and every large drop
made its own splash and circle. Up went the umbrellas in both boats;
but almost before they were raised, some were turned inside out, and all
were dragged down again. The gust had come, and brought with it a pelt
of hail--large hailstones, which fell in at Fanny's collar behind, while
she put down her head to save her face, and which almost took away
Mary's breath, by coming sharp and fast against her cheeks. Then
somebody descried a gleam of lightning quivering in the grey roof of the
sky; and next, every one saw the tremendous flash which blazed over the
surface of the water, all round about. How Mr Walcot would have
quavered if he had been singing still. But a very different voice was
now to be heard--the hoarse thunder rolling up, like advancing
artillery; first growling, then roaring, and presently crashing and
rattling overhead. The boatmen's thoughts were for the ladies, exposed
as they were, without the possibility of putting up umbrellas. It felt
almost dark to those in the boats, as they cut rapidly-