But Brandon was past caution, past wisdom, past discipline. He could see nothing now but Ronder's two rosy cheeks and the round gleaming spectacles that seemed to catch his words disdainfully and suspend them there in indifference. "Excuse me. It is time indeed. It is long past the time. If you think that you can come here, a complete stranger, and do what you like with the institutions here, you are mistaken, and thoroughly mistaken. There are those here who have the interests of the place at heart and guard and protect them. Your conceit has blinded you, allow me to tell you, and it's time that you had a more modest estimate of yourself and doings." "This really isn't the place," murmured Ronder, struggling to avoid Brandon's knees. "Yes, atheism is nothing to you!" shouted the Archdeacon. "Nothing at all! You had better be careful! I warn you!" "_You_ had better be careful," said Ronder, smiling in spite of himself, "or you will be out of the carriage." That smile was the final insult. Brandon, jumped up, rocking on his feet. "Very well, then. You may laugh as you please. You may think it all a very good joke. I tell you it is not. We are enemies, enemies from this moment. You have never been anything _but_ my enemy." "Do take care, Archdeacon, or you really _will_ be out of the carriage." "Very well. I will get out of it. I refuse to drive with you another step. I refuse. I refuse." "But you can't walk. It's six miles." "I will walk! I will walk! Stop and let me get out! Stop, I say!" But Bassett who, according to his back, was as innocent of any dispute as the small birds on the neighbouring tree, drove on. "Stop, I say. Can't you hear?" The Archdeacon plunged forward and pulled Bassett by the collar. "Stop! Stop!" The wagonette abruptly stopped. Bassett's amazed face, two wide eyes in a creased and crumpled surface, peered round. "It's war, I tell you. War!" Brandon climbed out. "But listen, Archdeacon! You can't!" "Drive on! Drive on!" cried Brandon, standing in the road and shaking his umbrella. The wagonette drove on. It disappeared over the ledge of the hill. There was a sudden silence. Brandon's anger pounded up into his head in great waves of constricting passion. These gradually faded. His knees were trembling beneath him. There were new sounds--birds singing, a tiny breeze rustling the hedges. No living soul in sight. He had suddenly a strange impulse to shed tears. What had he been saying? What had he been doing? He did not know what he had said. Another of his tempers.... The pain attacked his head--like a sword, like a sword. He found a stone and sat down upon it. The pain invaded him like an active personal enemy. Down the road it seemed to him figures were moving--Hogg, Davray--that other world--the dust rose in little clouds. What had he been doing? His head! Where did this pain come from?