“It was such a nice-looking morning!  I felt so convinced it would be dry!”

“Anybody would have thought so indeed.  There will be very few people in the pump-room, if it rains all the morning.  I hope Mr. Allen will put on his greatcoat when he goes, but I dare say he will not, for he had rather do anything in the world than walk out in a greatcoat; I wonder he should dislike it, it must be so comfortable.”

The rain continued —­ fast, though not heavy.  Catherine went every five minutes to the clock, threatening on each return that, if it still kept on raining another five minutes, she would give up the matter as hopeless.  The clock struck twelve, and it still rained.  “You will not be able to go, my dear.”

“I do not quite despair yet.  I shall not give it up till a quarter after twelve.  This is just the time of day for it to clear up, and I do think it looks a little lighter.  There, it is twenty minutes after twelve, and now I shall give it up entirely.  Oh!  That we had such weather here as they had at Udolpho, or at least in Tuscany and the south of France! —­ the night that poor St. Aubin died! —­ such beautiful weather!”

At half past twelve, when Catherine’s anxious attention to the weather was over and she could no longer claim any merit from its amendment, the sky began voluntarily to clear.  A gleam of sunshine took her quite by surprise; she looked round; the clouds were parting, and she instantly returned to the window to watch over and encourage the happy appearance.  Ten minutes more made it certain that a bright afternoon would succeed, and justified the opinion of Mrs. Allen, who had “always thought it would clear up.”  But whether Catherine might still expect her friends, whether there had not been too much rain for Miss Tilney to venture, must yet be a question.

It was too dirty for Mrs. Allen to accompany her husband to the pump-room; he accordingly set off by himself, and Catherine had barely watched him down the street when her notice was claimed by the approach of the same two open carriages, containing the same three people that had surprised her so much a few mornings back.

“Isabella, my brother, and Mr. Thorpe, I declare!  They are coming for me perhaps —­ but I shall not go —­ I cannot go indeed, for you know Miss Tilney may still call.”  Mrs. Allen agreed to it.  John Thorpe was soon with them, and his voice was with them yet sooner, for on the stairs he was calling out to Miss Morland to be quick.  “Make haste!  Make haste!” as he threw open the door.  “Put on your hat this moment —­ there is no time to be lost —­ we are going to Bristol.  How d’ye do, Mrs. Allen?”