sed to be audible. There
was little excuse for staying longer; and I wished to find none. I had
acquired quite knowledge enough of Mr. Mannion to assure me, that any
attempt on my part at extracting from him, in spite of his reserve,
the secrets which might be connected with his early life, would prove
perfectly fruitless. If I must judge him at all, I must judge him by
the experience of the present, and not by the history of the past. I had
heard good, and good only, of him from the shrewd master who knew him
best, and had tried him longest. He had shown the greatest delicacy
towards my feelings, and the strongest desire to do me service--it would
be a mean return for those acts of courtesy, to let curiosity tempt me
to pry into his private affairs.

I rose to go. He made no effort to detain me; but, after unbarring the
shutter and looking out of the window, simply remarked that the rain had
almost entirely ceased, and that my umbrella would be quite sufficient
protection against all that remained. He followed me into the passage to
light me out. As I turned round upon his door-step to thank him for his
hospitality, and to bid him good night, the thought came across me, that
my manner must have appeared cold and repelling to him--especially when
he was offering his services to my acceptance. If I had really produced
this impression, he was my inferior in station, and it would be cruel to
leave it. I tried to set myself right at parting.

"Let me assure you again," I said, "that it will not be my fault if
Margaret and I do not thankfully employ your good offices, as the good
offices of a well-wisher and a friend."

The lightning was still in the sky, though it only appeared at long
intervals. Strangely enough, at the moment when I addressed him, a flash
came, and seemed to pass right over his face. It gave such a hideously
livid hue, such a spectral look of ghastliness and distortion to his
features, that he absolutely seemed to be glaring and grinning on me
like a fiend, in the one instant of its duration. For the moment, it
required all my knowledge of the settled calmness of his countenance,
to convince me that my eyes must have been only dazzled by an optical
illusion produced by the lightning.

When the darkness had come again, I bade him good night--first
mechanically repeating what I had just said, almost in the same words.

I walked home thoughtful. That night had given me much matter to think
of.

IV.