“From contemplating human misery and worse than human degradation,” replied Wolfe, slowly seating himself.
“Those words specify no place: they apply universally,” said the student, with a sigh.
“Ay, Glendower, for misgovernment is universal,” rejoined Wolfe.
Glendower made no answer.
“Oh!” said Wolfe, in the low, suppressed tone of intense passion which was customary to him, “it maddens me to look upon the willingness with which men hug their trappings of slavery,—bears, proud of the rags which deck and the monkeys which ride them. But it frets me yet more when some lordling sweeps along, lifting his dull eyes above the fools whose only crime and debasement are—what?—their subjection to him! Such a one I encountered a few nights since; and he will remember the meeting longer than I shall. I taught that ‘god to tremble.’”
The female rose, glanced towards her husband, and silently withdrew.
Wolfe paused for a few moments, looked curiously and pryingly round, and then rising went forth into the passage to see that no loiterer or listener was near; returned, and drawing his chair close to Glendower, fixed his dark eye upon him, and said,—
“You are poor, and your spirit rises against your lot, you are just, and your heart swells against the general oppression you behold: can you not dare to remedy your ills and those of mankind?”
“I can dare,” said Glendower, calmly, though haughtily, “all things but crime.”
“And which is crime?—the rising against, or the submission to, evil government? Which is crime, I ask you?”