With this same sword I once did hew my way through a score of Saracens.

Think you a dozen Worcester cut-throats could keep me from reaching my wife ?" Something in the tone with which the Knight spoke these final words calmed the Bishop; something in the glance of his eye quelled the angry Prelate.

In the former he recognised a depth of love such as he had not hitherto believed possible to Hugh d'Argent; in the latter, calm courage, nay, a serene joy at the prospect of danger, against which his threats and fury could but break themselves, even as stormy waves against the granite rocks of the Cornish coast.
The Bishop possessed that somewhat rare though valuable faculty, the ability to recognise instantly, and instantly to accept, the inevitable.

Also when he had made a false move, he knew it, and was preparing to counteract it almost before his opponent had perceived the mistake.
So rarely was the Bishop angry, that his anger now affected him physically, with a sickening sense of faintness.

With closed eyes, he leaned his head against the back of the chair.