At this instant—and since man is human, woman persistent, and courtesy imperative, I did not quarrel with the interruption—a sound came from the room above, strange in a house where Nell lived (if she will pardon so much candour), but oddly familiar to me. I held up my hand and listened. Nell's rippling laugh broke in.
"Plague on him!" she cried. "Yes, he's here. Of a truth he's resolute to convert me, and the fool amuses me."
"Phineas Tate!" I exclaimed, amazed; for beyond doubt his was the voice. I could tell his intonation of a penitential psalm among a thousand. I had heard it in no other key.
"You didn't know? Yet that other fool, your servant, is always with him. They've been closeted together for two hours at a time."
"Psalm-singing?"
"Now and again. They're often quiet too."
"He preaches to you?"
"Only a little; when we chance to meet at the door he gives me a curse and promises a blessing; no more."
"It's very little to come to Dover for."
"You would have come farther for less of my company once, sir."