Mrs. Sherwin’s conduct was far from resembling her daughter’s, when I spoke to her on the same subject.  She always listened intently to what I said; but her answers were invariably brief, confused, and sometimes absolutely incomprehensible.  It was only after great difficulty that I induced her to confess her dislike of Mr. Mannion.  Whence it proceeded she could never tell.  Did she suspect anything?  In answering this question, she always stammered, trembled, and looked away from me.  “How could she suspect anything?  If she did suspect, it would be very wrong without good reason:  but she ought not to suspect, and did not, of course.”

I never obtained any replies from her more intelligible than these.  Attributing their confusion to the nervous agitation which more or less affected her when she spoke on any subject, I soon ceased making any efforts to induce her to explain herself; and determined to search for the clue to Mr. Mannion’s character, without seeking assistance from any one.

Accident at length gave me an opportunity of knowing something of his habits and opinions; and so far, therefore, of knowing something about the man himself.

One night, I met him in the hall at North Villa, about to leave the house at the same time that I was, after a business-consultation in private with Mr. Sherwin.  We went out together.  The sky was unusually black; the night atmosphere unusually oppressive and still.  The roll of distant thunder sounded faint and dreary all about us.  The sheet lightning, flashing quick and low in the horizon, made the dark firmament look like a thick veil, rising and falling incessantly, over a heaven of dazzling light behind it.  Such few foot-passengers as passed us, passed running—­for heavy, warning drops were falling already from the sky.  We quickened our pace; but before we had walked more than two hundred yards, the rain came down, furious and drenching; and the thunder began to peal fearfully, right over our heads.

“My house is close by,” said my companion, just as quietly and deliberately as usual—­“pray step in, Sir, until the storm is over.”

I followed him down a bye street; he opened a door with his own key; and the next instant I was sheltered under Mr. Mannion’s roof.

He led me at once into a room on the ground floor.  The fire was blazing in the grate; an arm-chair, with a reading easel attached, was placed by it; the lamp was ready lit; the tea-things were placed on the table; the dark, thick curtains were drawn close over the window; and, as if to complete the picture of comfort before me, a large black cat lay on the rug, basking luxuriously in the heat of the fire.  While Mr. Mannion went out to give some directions, as he said, to his servant, I had an opportunity of examining the apartment more in detail.  To study the appearance of a man’s dwelling-room, is very often nearly equivalent to studying his own character.