"What do you want?" said Martin. "Come along and see," said the bishop; "that is, if you are not afraid." That was enough, and the young man walked behind him until they reached the spot where the bishop had taken to the water. Then he stopped, and explained to Martin all that had happened. "Now," said he, "what have you got to say?" Martin, now that he knew that the bishop had plunged into the water for the sake of the beautiful Margery, was more jealously angry than when he had supposed he had merely taken her out to row. "I haven't anything to say," he answered, shortly, "except that parsons had better attend to their own business, if they have any, and let young ladies and boats alone." "Oh, that's all, is it?" said the bishop, and with a quick step forward he clutched the young man's arm with his right hand, while he seized his belt with the other, and then with a great heave sent him out into the water fully ten feet from the shore. With a splash like a dropped anchor Martin disappeared from view, but soon arose, his head and shoulders above the surface, where he stood for a moment, spluttering and winking and almost dazed. The bishop stood on the bank and smiled. "Did you fall overboard?" said he. "You must be a pretty sort of a boatman!" Without replying, Martin began to wade ashore. "Come on," said the bishop; "if you can't get up the bank, I'll help you." But Martin needed no help; he scrambled to the bank, shook himself, and then advanced upon the bishop, fire in his eye and his fist clinched. "Stop, young man," said the other. "It would not be fair to you if I did not tell you that I am a boxer and a heavy-weight, and that I threw you into the water because I didn't want to damage your face and eyes. You were impertinent, but I am satisfied, and the best thing you can do is to go and change your clothes before any one sees you in that plight. You are better off than I am, because I have no clothes with which to make a change." So saying, he sat down and began to put on his shoes. Martin stood for a moment and looked at the bishop, he thought of Margery and a possible black eye, and then he walked as fast as he could to his tent to get some dry clothes. He was very wet, he was very hot, he was very angry, and what made him more angry than anything else was a respect for the bishop which was rising in him in spite of all his efforts to keep it down.