Still, however, Sir Francis Tyrrell went on; and we have already remarked that he was eloquent upon such occasions; but he did not succeed in disturbing the calm tranquillity with which the old man listened to him, and, of course, became but the more angry at such being the case. He ended an oration, which would have done honour to a Xantippe, by bidding the old man get out of his park, and never show his face there again, otherwise he would order the servants to horsewhip him. The old man instantly put on his hat, and grasped his cudgel firmly while he replied, "I should be sorry to see any gentleman so disgrace himself by giving such an order as your honour mentions, and still sorrier to see any of your powdered vallys attempt to execute it; for I think, though I be past seventy, I could manage to thrash two or three of them, master and men and all." This still farther excited Sir Francis Tyrrell's indignation; and though the old man began to move off as soon as he had delivered himself of his oration, the baronet continued to load him with abuse, finding no end to his copious vocabulary of harsh terms, till he was suddenly surprised by seeing old Smithson stop and turn short upon him. The old man used no threatening attitude, and nothing on his countenance marked his anger but the gathering together of his heavy white eyebrows as he marched straight up to the baronet. "I'll tell you what, Sir Francis," he said, "you're a passionate man, and a bad man; and if all be true that's said, you treat your own lady and your son as bad as any one else. You'll repent all this some day when you can't mend it. You'll repent it, I say; I'm thinking God has tried you long enough, and it's time you should be taken away. Remember, there's been more than one of your kidney has had his brains knocked out, and what has happened to another may happen to you; so now good-morning to you, master; if the boy must stay in prison, he must, that's all." Thus saying, he turned on his heel and left Sir Francis Tyrrell in a state of bewildered fury that it is impossible to describe. He had not sufficient command over himself to refrain from yielding to the most lamentable display of impotent rage. He shook his clinched fists together in the air; he stamped upon the ground; he almost foamed at the mouth. He cursed and he blasphemed aloud; and, to crown all, with an extravagance of horror that almost reached the ludicrous, he declared that he wished they would murder him, that they might be hanged afterward. Scarcely credible as this may seem, it was none the less true; and for the moment, to such a height was carried his vindictive rage, that he did really and sincerely feel what he said.