The conversation between us turned at first on trivial subjects, and was but ill sustained on my part—­there were peculiarities in my present position which made me thoughtful.  Once, our talk ceased altogether; and, just at that moment, the storm began to rise to its height.  Hail mingled with the rain, and rattled heavily against the window.  The thunder, bursting louder and louder with each successive peal, seemed to shake the house to its foundations.  As I listened to the fearful crashing and roaring that seemed to fill the whole measureless void of upper air, and then looked round on the calm, dead-calm face of the man beside me—­without one human emotion of any kind even faintly pictured on it—­I felt strange, unutterable sensations creeping over me; our silence grew oppressive and sinister; I began to wish, I hardly knew why, for some third person in the room—­for somebody else to look at and to speak to.

He was the first to resume the conversation.  I should have imagined it impossible for any man, in the midst of such thunder as now raged above our heads, to think or talk of anything but the storm.  And yet, when he spoke, it was merely on a subject connected with his introduction to me at North Villa.  His attention seemed as far from being attracted or impressed by the mighty elemental tumult without, as if the tranquillity of the night were uninvaded by the slightest murmur of sound.

“May I inquire, Sir,” he began, “whether I am right in apprehending that my conduct towards you, since we first met at Mr. Sherwin’s house, may have appeared strange, and even discourteous, in your eyes?”

“In what respect, Mr. Mannion?” I asked, a little startled by the abruptness of the question.

“I am perfectly sensible, Sir, that you have kindly set me the example, on many occasions, in trying to better our acquaintance.  When such advances are made by one in your station to one in mine, they ought to be immediately and gratefully responded to.”

Why did he pause?  Was he about to tell me he had discovered that my advances sprang from curiosity to know more about him than he was willing to reveal?  I waited for him to proceed.

“I have only failed,” he continued, “in the courtesy and gratitude you had a right to expect from me, because, knowing how you were situated with Mr. Sherwin’s daughter, I thought any intrusion on my part, while you were with the young lady, might not be so acceptable as you, Sir, in your kindness, were willing to lead me to believe.”

“Let me assure you,” I answered; relieved to find myself unsuspected, and really impressed by his delicacy—­“let me assure you that I fully appreciate the consideration you have shown—­”

Just as the last words passed my lips, the thunder pealed awfully over the house.  I said no more:  the sound silenced me.

“As my explanation has satisfied you, Sir,” he went on; his clear and deliberate utterance rising discordantly audible above the long, retiring roll of the last burst of thunder—­“may I feel justified in speaking on the subject of your present position in my employer’s house, with some freedom?  I mean, if I may say so without offence, with the freedom of a friend.”