Thorpe's was cut short, by the falling of a heavy shower. The
frost, after breaking up, had been succeeded that year by prematurely
mild spring weather--April seemed to have come a month before its time.
Regardless of the rain, Mat walked slowly up and down the streets round
Baregrove Square, peering every now and then, from afar off, through
the misty shower, to see if the carriages were still drawn up at Mr.
Thorpe's door. The ceremony of presenting the Testimonial was evidently
a protracted one; for the vehicles were long kept waiting for their
owners. The rain had passed away--the sun had reappeared--fresh clouds
had gathered, and it was threatening a second shower, before the
Deputation from the great Religious Society re-entered their vehicles
and drove out of the square.
When they had quitted it, Mat advanced and knocked at Mr. Thorpe's
door. The clouds rolled up darkly over the sun, and the first warning
drops of the new shower began to fall, as the door opened.
The servant hesitated about admitting him. He had anticipated that this
sort of obstacle would be thrown in his way at the outset, and had
provided against it in his own mind beforehand. "Tell your master," he
said, "that his son is ill, and I've come to speak to him about it.
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