"Oh, help, help, help!" screamed Lady Standish.
"Really," said the Bishop, "I don't know when I have been so insulted in my life. 'Tis the whole Church, sir, the Church of England, the State itself, that you have assaulted in my person!"
He stood glaring down on the prostrate foe, breathing heavy rebuke through his high dignified nose.
"You have committed blasphemy, simony, sacrilege, rank sacrilege," thundered Dr. Thurlow.
Sir Jasper gathered himself together like a panther, and sprang to his feet; like a panther, too, he took two or three stealthy steps and, half crouching, measured the muscular Bishop with bloodshot eyes, selecting the most vulnerable portion of anatomy. He panted and foamed. The air was thick with flying powder.
Lady Standish flung herself between them.
"In mercy, my lord," she cried, "leave us—leave us!"
Here the door opened and butler and delighted footmen burst into the room.
The Bishop turned slowly. The grace of his vocation prevailed over the mere man.
"May heaven pardon you," he said. "May Heaven pardon you, sir, and help you to chasten this gross violence of temper. And you, madam," said he, turning witheringly upon the unfortunate and long-suffering lady, "may you learn womanly decorum and circumspection!"