"Why are these people assembled, Forrester--is there anything new--is
there more to be done--more bloodletting--more crime and violence--are
they still unsatisfied?"
The earnestness of the inquirer was coupled with a sternness of eye and
warmth of accent which had in them much, that, under other circumstances
and at other times, would have been sorely offensive to the sturdy
woodman; whose spirit, anything in the guise of rebuke would have been
calculated to vex. But he was burdened with thoughts at the moment,
which, in a sufficiently meritorial character, humbled him with a
scourge that lacerated at every stroke.
"God forbid, 'squire, that more harm should be done. There has been more
done already than any of us shall well get rid of. I wish to heaven I
had taken caution from you. But I was mad, 'squire, mad to the heart,
and became the willing tool of men not so mad, but more evil than I! God
forbid, sir, that there should be more harm done."
"Then why this assembly? Why do the villagers, and these ragged and
savage fellows whom you have incorporated among you--why do they lounge
about idly, with arms in their hands, and faces that still seem bent on
mischief?"
"Because, 'squire, it's impossible to do otherwise.
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