The viler part of the mob began to slink away by that time, and the better sort to look rather shamefaced.
"But these be the Methodees, parson," one ventured to say.
"They be in league with the Papists and the Pretender," said another.
"Rubbish!" returned the rector. "They are harmless people. Who has been telling you such a pack of lies?"
"His lordship says so," returned the first speaker, looking at Lord Bulmer, who kept his ground, though the other gentleman had drawn off.
"Then his lordship might be in better business," retorted Mr. Cheriton. "You are well set to work, my lord, hounding on these men to such a villainous, cowardly persecution of a few harmless enthusiasts."
"Mr. Cheriton, your cloth protects you," said Lord Bulmer, turning very red. "If it did not—"
"If it did not, I should be safe enough, I dare say," returned Mr. Cheriton, in a tone of the most stinging contempt. "The valor which exerts itself against poor Methodist preachers and helpless women is not likely to be very dangerous to any thing of its own size. Go home, my men, go home, and thank Heaven that you have been saved from the doing of a horrible cowardly crime."
The crowd had much thinned by this time, and the few men who remained looked sheepish enough.
"Then you don't think they be Papistees?" one man ventured to say.