"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." It was true, but it did not solve my wonder at the presence of Phineas Tate.

What brought the fellow?
Had he too sniffed out something of what was afoot and come to fight for his religion, even as Louise de Querouaille fought for hers, though in a most different fashion?
I had reached the door of the room and was in the passage.