Dorothy saved me from the humiliation of an answer.
She took one step from John's side and held him by the hand while she spoke.
"Father," she said, "this man is Sir John Manners. Now you may understand why he could not seek my hand openly, and you also know why I could not tell you his name." She again turned to John, and he put his arm about her. You can imagine much better that I can describe Sir George's fury. He snatched a halberd from the hands of a yeoman who was standing near by and started toward John and Dorothy. Thereupon the hard old warrior, Sir William St. Loe, whose heart one would surely say was the last place where sentiment could dwell, performed a little act of virtue which will balance many a page on the debtor side of his ledger of life. He lifted his sword and scabbard and struck Sir George's outstretched hand, causing the halberd to fall to the ground.
"Don't touch the girl," cried Sir William, hoarsely.
"She is my daughter," retorted Sir George, who was stunned mentally as well as physically by Sir William's blow.
"I care not whose daughter she is," returned Sir William. "You shall not touch her. If you make but one other attempt, I will use my blade upon you."
Sir William and John had been warm friends at London court, and the old captain of the guards quickly guessed the true situation when he saw Dorothy run to John's arms.
"Sir, you shall answer for this," said Sir George, angrily, to Sir William.
"With pleasure," returned Sir William. "I will give you satisfaction whenever you wish it, save this present time. I am too busy now."
Blessed old Sir William! You have been dead these many winters; and were I a priest, I would say a mass for your soul gratis every day in the year.