sengers in the square made for
shelter at the top of their speed, penetrated into the room during the
pause of silence which ensued after they had taken their seats. Mr.
Thorpe spoke first.

"May I inquire your name?" he said, in his lowest and calmest tones.

Mat did not seem to hear the question. He took up the Address from the
table, looked at the list of signatures, and turned to Mr. Thorpe.

"I've been hearing about this," he said. "Are all them names there, the
names of friends of yours?"

Mr. Thorpe looked a little astonished; but he answered after a moment's
hesitation:

"Certainly; the most valued friends I have in the world."

"Friends," pursued Mat, reading to himself the introductory sentence in
the address, _"who have put the most affectionate trust in you."_

Mr. Thorpe began to look rather offended as well as rather astonished.
"Will you excuse me," he said coldly, "if I beg you to proceed to the
business that has brought you here."

Mat placed the Address on the table again, immediately in front of him;
and took a pencil from a tray with writing materials in it, which stood
near at hand. "Friends _'who have put the most affectionate trust in
you,'"_ he repeated. "The name of one of them friends isn't here. It
ought to be; and I mean to put it down."

As the point of his pencil touched the paper of the Address, Mr. Thorpe
started from his chair.

"What am I to understand, sir, by this conduct?" he began haughtily,
stretching out his hand to possess himself of the Address.

Mat looked up with the serpent-glitter in his eyes, and the angry red
tinge glowing in the scars on his cheek. "Sit down," he said, "I'm not
quick at writing. Sit down, and wait till I'm done."

Mr. Thorpe's face began to look a little agitated. He took a step
towards the fireplace, intending to ring the bell.

"Sit down, and wait," Mat reiterated, in quick, fierce, quietly uttered
tones of command, rising from his own chair, and pointing peremptorily
to the seat just vacated by the master of the house.

A sudden doubt crossed Mr. Thorpe's mind, and made him pause before he
touched the bell. Could this man be in his right senses? His actions
were entirely unaccountable--his words and his way of uttering them were
alike strange--his scarred, scowling face looked hardly human at that
moment. Would it be well to summon help? No, worse than useless. Except
the page, who was a mere boy, there were none but women servants in