“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!