"You were wont to be thought a stirring active young fellow, Master,"
was his frequent remonstrance; "yet here you seem determined to live
on and on like a rat in a hole, with this trifling difference, that the
wiser vermin chooses a hermitage where he can find food at least; but as
for us, Caleb's excuses become longer as his diet turns more spare, and
I fear we shall realise the stories they tell of the slother: we have
almost eat up the last green leaf on the plant, and have nothing left
for it but to drop from the tree and break our necks."
"Do not fear it," said Ravenswood; "there is a fate watches for us, and
we too have a stake in the revolution that is now impending, and which
already has alarmed many a bosom."
"What fate--what revolution?" inquired his companion. "We have had one
revolution too much already, I think."
Ravenswood interrupted him by putting into his hands a letter.
"Oh," answered Bucklaw, "my dream's out. I thought I heard Caleb this
morning pressing some unfortunate fellow to a drink of cold water, and
assuring him it was better for his stomach in the morning than ale or
brandy.
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