"Nay; the man is in the right," declared Peter. "A hundred years hence the friendship of America will be better worth having than anything in the world. Yet, where there's jealousy, there can be no real friendship. I hope that they will not always be jealous of us." "You're cowards, both you and Kek," shouted Malherb. "You are worse than infidels, for you leave the Almighty out of your calculations altogether. We make war in the name of Right. We are the supreme example that history furnishes of an absolutely impartial nation. We display justice and mercy to the earth. We conquer by the hand of God. And will He desert us for a cowardice of curs, for a rabble that knows not justice, for a horde of highwaymen who mix the mortar for their dirty towns with negroes' blood?" "Blare till you bust, Malherb," said Kek stoutly. "You won't alter it. God A'mighty's never seen on the side of the weak, an' so soon as thicky folks over the sea get strong enough to lather us, they'll most likely try to do it." With this prophecy Mr. Kekewich departed. "An ancient fool," commented Peter; "yet a witty one. I'm quite of his opinion; but our grandchildren, not we, will see the issue." "Read 'Lear,'" said Malherb. "'Tis the only thing I ever do read in the way of high poetry. Lear is England--America has taken the vile daughter's part." "Doubtless they'll allow it--if you'll carry the similitude through." "Nay--England won't go mad--a little righteous rage--a breath from her nostrils, and these republican wolves will creep back into their dens." "Yes--to breed there; to suckle the rising generations on----" "Upon lies!" roared the other. "Upon vile lies against the mother country. To the Father of Lies let 'em go!" Presently he cooled down, and Mr. Norcot, who had turned to Grace for a while, was wearied to hear Malherb reopen the subject. "If they would but learn the dignity of manhood; if they would use their brains and read in the books that wise Englishmen have written on the highest duty of man, we might hope for the return of the prodigal son even yet," he said; and Peter answered-- "How true; how generous of you to put it so; how grand! 'The whole duty of man'--so vast, yet so simple--like Dartmoor. A dozen words gives one, a dozen lines from an artist's pencil will convey the vision of the other." "'Tis all in the best authors, I'm sure," declared Annabel. "It is, indeed. What does Juvenal say in an inspired moment? 'A sane mind in a sane body. A spirit above the fear of death; a spirit that can endure toil; that counts the labours of Hercules his joys and the joys of a certain goddess her shame; a spirit that can keep its----'" He was going to say "temper," but substituted "self-respect" out of consideration for his host, then made an end. "'Through virtue lies the life of peace! Grasp that fact, and Fortune has no divinity left in her.'"