In another minute he was forth into the storm, pursuing what remained of his long march to Pindar's Bield.
"Upon my soul!" said Sir Bale, recovering from his sort of stun which the sudden and strange visit had left, "that's a cool old fellow! Come to rate me and teach me my own business in my own house!" and he rapped out a fierce oath.

"Change his mind or no, here he sha'n't stay to-night--not an hour." Sir Bale was in the lobby in a moment, and thundered to his servants: "I say, put that fool out of the door--put him out by the shoulder, and never let him put his foot inside it more!" But the old man's yea was yea, and his nay nay.

He had quite meant what he said; and, as I related, was beyond the reach of the indignity of extrusion.
Sir Bale on his return shut his door as violently as if it were in the face of the old prophet.
"Ask Feltram's pardon, by Jove! For what?
Why, any jury on earth would have hanged him on half the evidence; and I, like a fool, was going to let him off with his liberty and my hundred pound-note! Ask his pardon indeed!" Still there were misgivings in his mind; a consciousness that he did owe explanation and apology to Feltram, and an insurmountable reluctance to undertake either.

The old dislike--a contempt mingled with fear--not any fear of his malevolence, a fear only of his carelessness and folly; for, as I have said, Feltram knew many things, it was believed, of the Baronet's Continental and Asiatic life, and had even gently remonstrated with him upon the dangers into which he was running.

A simple fellow like Philip Feltram is a dangerous depository of a secret.