"Gentlemen, no food will reach you on the mountains to-day; the harness of your cart has been cut, and cart and provisions are lying on the hillside." At this Thorkell turned white with wrath, and clenched his fists and stamped his foot on the turf, and looked piercingly into the faces of the Bishop's followers. "As sure as I'm Deemster," he said, with an oath, "the man who has done this shall suffer. Don't let him deceive himself--no one, not even the Bishop himself, shall step in between that man and the punishment of the law." The Bishop listened with calmness, and then said, "Thorkell, the Bishop will not intercede for him. Punish him if you can." "And so, by God, I will," cried the Deemster, and his eye traversed the men behind his brother. The Bishop then took a step forward. "_I_ am that man," he said, and then there was a great silence. Thorkell's face flinched, his head fell between his shoulders, his manner grew dogged, he said not a word, his braggadocio was gone. The Bishop approached the Governor. "You have no more right to rent these mountains than to rent yonder sea," he said, and he stretched his arm toward the broad blue line to the west. "They belong to God and to the poor. Let me warn you, sir, that as sure as you set up one stone to enclose these true God's acres, I shall be the first to pull that stone down." The Grand Enquest broke up in confusion, and the mountains were saved to the people. It blew hard on the hilltop that day, and the next morning the news spread through the island that a ship laden with barley had put in from bad weather at Douglas Harbor. "And a terrible wonderful sight of corn, plenty for all, plenty, plenty," was the word that went round. In three hours' time hundreds of men and women trooped down to the quay with money to buy. To all comers the master shook his head, and refused to sell. "Sell, man--sell, sell," they cried. "I can't sell. The cargo is not mine. I'm a poor man myself," said the master. "Well, and what's that it's sayin', 'When one poor man helps another poor man God laughs.'" The Bishop came to the ship's side, and tried to treat for the cargo. "I've given bond to land it all at Whitehaven," said the master. Then the people's faces grew black, and deep oaths rose to their lips, and they turned and looked into each other's eyes in their impotent rage. "The hunger is on us--we can't starve--let every herring hang by its own gill--let's board her," they muttered among themselves. And the Bishop heard their threats. "My people," he said, "what will become of this poor island unless God averts his awful judgments, only God himself can know; but this good man has given his bond, and let us not bring on our heads God's further displeasure."