So go, my friend, ere I become discourteous." The minister stood in silence for a moment; then setting his lanthorn upon the table, he raised his hands and eyes towards the low ceiling of the chamber.
"Vouchsafe, O Lord," he prayed, "to touch yet the callous heart of this obdurate, incorrigible sinner, this wicked, perjured and blasphemous malignant, whose--" He got no further.

Crispin was upon his feet, his harsh countenance thrust into the very face of the minister; his eyes ablaze.
"Out!" he thundered, pointing to the door.

"Out! Begone! I would not be guilty at the end of my life of striking a man in petticoats.

But go whilst I can bethink me of it! Go--take your prayers to hell." The minister fell back before that blaze of passion.

For a second he appeared to hesitate, then he turned towards Kenneth, who stood behind in silence.