"You could have had no better subject of discourse," said Sir Oliver,
smiling, for all that his eyes were hard and something scared--though
his fears did not concern himself.

"Marry, you are right; you make an engrossing topic--you and your
debauched father."

"Sir," replied Sir Oliver, "once already have I deplored your mother's
utter want of discretion."

The words were out of him in a flash under the spur of the gross insult
flung at him, uttered in the momentary blind rage aroused by that
inflamed and taunting face above him. No sooner were they sped than he
repented them, the more bitterly because they were greeted by a guffaw
from the rustics. He would have given half his fortune in that moment
to have recalled them.

Master Godolphin's face had changed as utterly as if he had removed a
mask. From flushed that it had been it was livid now and the eyes were
blazing, the mouth twitching. Thus a moment he glowered upon his enemy.
Then standing in his stirrups he swung aloft his whip.

"You dog!" he cried, in a snarling sob. "You dog!" And his lash came
down and cut a long red wheal across Sir Oliver's dark face.

With cries of dismay and anger the others, the parson, the Justice and
the rustics got between the pair, for Sir Oliver was looking very
wicked, and all the world knew him for a man to be feared.

"Master Godolphin, I cry shame upon you," ex-claimed the parson. "If