The aspect of the village was somewhat varied from its wont.  Its people were not so far gone in familiarity with occurrences like those of the preceding day, as to be utterly insensible to their consequences; and a chill inertness pervaded all faces, and set at defiance every endeavor on the part of the few who had led, to put the greater number in better spirits, either with themselves or those around them.  They were men habituated, it may be, to villanies; but of a petty description, and far beneath that which we have just recorded.  It is not, therefore, to be wondered at, if, when the momentary impulse had passed away, they felt numerous misgivings.  They were all assembled, as on the day before—­their new allies with them—­arms in their hands, but seemingly without much disposition for their use.  They sauntered unconsciously about the village, in little groups or individually, without concert or combination, and with suspicious or hesitating eye.  Occasionally, the accents of a single voice broke the general silence, though but for a moment; and then, with a startling and painful influence, which imparted a still deeper sense of gloom to the spirits of all.  It appeared to come laden with a mysterious and strange terror, and the speaker, aptly personifying the Fear in Collins’s fine “Ode on the Passions,” “shrunk from the sound himself had made.”

Ralph, in company with Forrester, made his appearance among the squatters while thus situated.  Seeing them armed as on the previous day, he was apprehensive of some new evil; and as he approached the several stray groups, made known his apprehensions to his companion in strong language.  He was not altogether assured of Forrester’s own compunction, and the appearance of those around almost persuaded him to doubt his sincerity.

“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?”