“If he has I heard nothing of it,” replied Hartwell, “it might be as well to say a word of warning to Mr. Snowdon respecting him; he is a madman, and dangerous. You do not forget the mad thing he said about you on Sunday, sir?”
“I have not forgotten it,” said Wesley in a low voice. “I have not forgotten it. I think that I shall set out upon my journey this afternoon.”
The pause that he made between his sentences was so slight as to suggest that they were actually connected—that there was some connection between the thing that Bennet had said and his own speedy departure.
His host, who was in good spirits after his walk in the early sunshine, gave a laugh and asked him in no spirit of gravity if he felt that it was necessary for him to fly lest Captain Snowdon should develop the same spirit of jealousy that had made Bennet fit for Bedlam.
Wesley shook his head and smiled.
“Need I ask your pardon for a pointless jest, sir?” cried Hartwell. “Nay, dear sir and brother, I hope you will find good reason for remaining with us for a few days still. You have had a trying time since you came, Mr. Wesley; and I do not think that you are fit to set out on so rude a journey.”
“I confess that I feel somewhat exhausted,” said Wesley, “but I have hope that an hour or two in the saddle will restore me.”
Hartwell did his best to persuade him to reconcile himself to the idea of staying in the neighbourhood for at least another day, but without success.
“I must go. I feel that I must go, grateful though I be to you for your offer of hospitality,” said Wesley.
“Then I will not say a further word. If it be a matter of feeling with you, I do not feel justified in asking you to change your intention,” said Hartwell. “I shall give orders as to your horse without delay.”