In the morning Bucklaw rushed into his host's apartment with a loud
halloo, which might have awaked the dead.
"Up! up! in the name of Heaven! The hunters are out, the only piece of
sport I have seen this month; and you lie here, Master, on a bed that
has little to recommend it, except that it may be something softer than
the stone floor of your ancestor's vault."
"I wish," said Ravenswood, raising his head peevishly, "you had forborne
so early a jest, Mr. Hayston; it is really no pleasure to lose the very
short repose which I had just begun to enjoy, after a night spent in
thoughts upon fortune far harder than my couch, Bucklaw."
"Pschaw, pshaw!" replied his guest; "get up--get up; the hounds are
abroad. I have saddled the horses myself, for old Caleb was calling for
grooms and lackeys, and would never have proceeded without two hours'
apology for the absence of men that were a hundred miles off. Get up,
Master; I say the hounds are out--get up, I say; the hunt is up." And
off ran Bucklaw.
"And I say," said the Master, rising slowly, "that nothing can concern
me less.
Pages:
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194