Old Twyne was cautious, even in his cups, in his choice of an audience,
and was a little enigmatical in his revelations. For he was afraid of
Sir Bale, though he hated him for employing a lawyer who lived seven
miles away, and was a rival. So people were not quite sure whether Mr.
Twyne was telling lies or truth, and the principal fact that
corroborated his story was Sir Bale's manifest hatred of his secretary.
In fact, Sir Bale's retaining him in his house, detesting him as he
seemed to do, was not easily to be accounted for, except on the
principle of a tacit compromise--a miserable compensation for having
robbed him of his rights.

The battle about the bank-note proceeded. Sir Bale certainly had doubts,
and vacillated; for moral evidence made powerfully in favour of poor
Feltram, though the evidence of circumstance made as powerfully against
him. But Sir Bale admitted suspicion easily, and in weighing
probabilities would count a virtue very lightly against temptation and
opportunity; and whatever his doubts might sometimes be, he resisted and
quenched them, and never let that ungrateful scoundrel Philip Feltram so
much as suspect their existence.

For two days Sir Bale had not spoken to Feltram. He passed by on stair
and passage, carrying his head high, and with a thundrous countenance,
rolling conclusions and revenges in his soul.

Poor Feltram all this time existed in one long agony. He would have left
Mardykes, were it not that he looked vaguely to some just power--to
chance itself--against this hideous imputation. To go with this
indictment ringing in his ears, would amount to a confession and flight.

Mrs. Julaper consoled him with might and main. She was a sympathetic and