“My God! my God!” exclaimed Karl, in the agony of his soul, “how long is this hovel to be our home?”
Chapter Forty Four.
New Hopes.
That night was passed without much sleep. Painful reflections filled the minds of all and kept them awake—the thoughts that follow disappointed hopes. When they did sleep it was more painful than waking. Their dreams were fearful. They dreamt of yawning gulfs and steep precipices—of being suspended in the air, and every moment about to fall into vast depths where they would be crushed to atoms. Their dreams, that were only distorted pictures of the day’s experience, had all the vividness of reality, and far more vivid in their horror. Often when one or other of them was awakened by the approaching climax of the dream, he endeavoured to keep awake rather than go through even in a vision such horrible scenes.
Even the dog Fritz was not free from similar sufferings. His mournful whimpering told that his sleep like theirs was troubled and uneasy.
A bright sunshiny morning had its beneficial effect upon all of them. It aided the reaction—consequent on a night of such a dismal character—and as they ate their breakfasts of broiled meat they were again almost cheerful. The buoyancy of Caspar’s spirits had well-nigh returned, and his fine appetite showed itself in full vigour. Indeed all of them ate heartily, for on the preceding day they had scarce allowed themselves time to taste food.
“If we must remain here always,” said Caspar, “I see no reason why we need starve ourselves! There’s plenty to eat, and a variety of it, I can say. I don’t see why we shouldn’t have some fish. I am sure I have seen trout leap in the lake. Let us try a fly to-day. What say you, Karl?”
Caspar said this with the intention of cheering his brother.