“Man,” said Fite Folp, the eldest of the three, “the haill shore, frae the Brough to Fort George, ’ll be up in a jiffie, an’ a’ the cuintry, frae John o’ Groat’s to Berwick, ’ill hear hoo the fisher-fowk’s misguidit; an’ at last it’ll come to the king, an’ _syne_ we’ll get oor richts, for he’ll no stan’ to see ’t, an’ maitters ’ll sane be set upon a better futtin’ for puir fowk ’at has no freen’ but God an’ the sea.” The greatness of the result represented laid hold of Peter’s imagination, and the resistance to injustice necessary to reach it stirred the old tar in him. When they took their leave, he walked halfway up the street with them, and then returned to tell his wife what they had been saying, all the way murmuring to himself as he went, “The Lord is a man of war.” And ever as he said the words, he saw as in a vision the great man-of-war in which he had served, sweeping across the bows of a Frenchman, and raking him, gun after gun, from stem to stern. Nor did the warlike mood abate until he reached home and looked his wife in the eyes. He told her all, ending with the half repudiatory, half-tentative words. “That’s what they say, ye see, Annie.” “And what say ye, Joseph?” returned his wife. “Ow! I’m no sayin’,” he answered. “What are ye thinkin’ than, Joseph?” she pursued. “Ye canna say ye’re no thinkin’.” “Na; I’ll no say that, lass,” he replied, but said no more. “Weel, gien ye winna say,” resumed Annie, “I wull; an’ my say is, ’at it luiks to me unco like takin’ things intill yer ain han’.” “An’ whase han’ sud we tak them intill but oor ain?” said Peter, with a falseness which in another would have roused his righteous indignation. “That’s no the p’int. It’s whase han’ ye’re takin’ them oot o’,” returned she, and spoke with solemnity and significance. Peter made no answer, but the words _Vengeance is mine_ began to ring in his mental ears instead of _The Lord is a man of war_. Before Mr Graham left them, and while Peter’s soul was flourishing, he would have simply said that it was their part to endure, and leave the rest to the God of the sparrows. But now the words of men whose judgment had no weight with him, threw him back upon the instinct of self-defence--driven from which by the words of his wife, he betook himself, not alas! to the protection, but to the vengeance of the Lord! The next day he told the three commissioners that he was sorry to disappoint them, but he could not make common cause with them, for he could not see it his duty to resist, much as it would gratify the natural man. They must therefore excuse him if he left Scaurnose at the time appointed. He hoped he should leave friends behind him. They listened respectfully, showed no offence, and did not even attempt to argue the matter with him. But certain looks passed between them. After this Blue Peter was a little happier in his mind, and went more briskly about his affairs. CHAPTER LV. THE WANDERER.