"Ah! Michael Fane," he went on in the same low tones, "thou overgrown young shoot of perfidy; thou offshoot of that gnarled old tree of evil, Gilbert Fane, I----"
"Stop!" I broke in hotly. "Your power to hang me doth not include the right to smirch a fair, good name. My father was as true and brave a gentleman as e'er----"
MICHAEL FANE BEFORE JUDGE JEFFREYS
"What's that, sirrah?" shrieked the judge with throttling fury. "You dare to interrupt me! Behold him, gentlemen!" he added, turning to the jury, while he waved a hand at me. "Hark how yon mountain of iniquity doth brazenly affront and flout me! Didst ever hear the like of such amazing impudence? Oh, Michael Fane, thou cunning, treacherous dog, have a care, yea, have a care, or 'twill be bad indeed for thee! Again I say you are the offspring of as traitorous and false a sire as----"
"And I say again----" I began; but at that his fury burst forth like a cataract.
"Sirrah," he shouted, waving his arms and thumping the desk in front of him, "you dare to interrupt again! Have a care, yea, have a care, you bellowing bull of Bashan! Another word, and, by my life, I'll have you swung off now from yonder beam! Ah! that tames you, does it? Say, how tall are ye?"
"Six feet two."
"Six feet two! Behold him, gentlemen! Measure him with your eyes! Seventy and four inches of such vileness as you ne'er set eyes upon before! And how old are ye, pray?"
"Eighteen."