It was growing late. The thunder still rumbled at long intervals, with
a dull, distant sound; and the wind showed no symptoms of subsiding.
But the pattering of the rain against the window ceased 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."