"Good now, Miss Mac-Ivor," said a young lady of quality, "do you mean to cheat us of our prerogative: will you persuade us love can not subsist without hope, or that the lover must become fickle if the lady is cruel? O fie! 1 did not expect such an unsentimental conclusion.'

“A lover, my dear Lady Betty, may, I conceive, persevere in his suit under very discouraging circumstances. Affection can (now and then) withstand very severe storms of rigour, but not a long polarfrost of down right indifference. Don't, even with your attractions, try the experiment upon any lover whose faith you value. Love will subsist on wonderfully little hope, but not altogether without it."

"It will be just like Duncan Mac-Girdie's mare." said Evan, "if your ladyships please, he wanted to use her by degrees to live without meat, and just as he had put her on a straw a-day the poor thing died." Evan's illustration set the company a-laughing, and the discourse took a different turn. Shortly afterwards the party broke up, and Edward returned home, musing on what Flora had said. "I will love my Rosalind no more," said he; she has given me a broad enough hint for that; and I will speak to her brother, and resign my suit. But for a Juliet-would it be handsome to interfere with Fergus's pretensions? Though it is impossible they can ever succeed: and should they miscarry, what then?-why then alors comme alors." And with this resolution of being guided by circumstances, did our hero commit himself to repose.

CHAPTER XVII.

A brave man in sorrow.

Ir my fair readers should be of opinion that my hero's levity in love is altogether unpardonable, I must remind them that all his griefs and difficulties did not arise from that sentimental source. Even the lyric poet, who complains so feelingly of the pains of love, could not forget, that at the same time, he was" in debt and in drink," which doubtless, were great aggravations of his distress. There were, indeed, whole days in which Waverley thought neither of Flora nor Rose Bradwardine, but which were spent in melancholly conjectures upon the probable state of matters at Waverley-Honour, and the dubious issue of the civil contest in which he was engaged. Colonel Talbot often engaged him in discussions upon the justice of the cause he had espoused. "Not," he said, " that it is possible for you to quit it at this present moment, for come what will, you must stand by your rash engagement. But I wish you to be aware that the right is not with you; that you are fighting against the real interests of your country; and that you ought, as an Englishman and a patriot, to take the first opportunity to leave this unhappy expedition before the snow-ball melt."

In such political disputes, Waverley usually opposed the common arguments of his party, with which it is unnecessary to trouble the reader. But he had little to say when the colonel urged him to compare the strength by which they had undertaken to overthrow the government, with that which was now assembling very rapidly for its support. To this statement Waverley had but one answer: “if the cause I have undertaken be perilous, there would be

the greater disgrace in abandoning it." And in his turn he generally silenced Colonel Talbot, and succeeded in changing the subject.

One night, when, after a long dispute of this nature, the friends had separated, and our hero had retired to bed, he was awakened about midnight by a suppressed groan. He started up and listened; it came from the apartment of Colonel Talbot, which was divided from his own by a wainscotted partition, with a door of communication. Waverley approached this door, and distinctly heard one or two deepdrawn sighs. What could be the matter! The colonel had parted from him, apparently in his usual state of spirits. He must have been taken suddenly ill. Under this impression, he opened the door of communication very gently, and perceived the colonel in his night-gown, seated by a table, on which lay a letter and picture. He raised his head hastily, as Edward stood uncertain whether to advance or retire, and Waverley perceived that his cheeks were stained with tears.

As if ashamed at being found giving way to such emotion, Colonel Talbot rose with apparent displeasure. "I think, Mr. Waverley, my own apartment, and the hour, might have secured even a prisoner against❞—

"Do not say intrusion, Colonel Talbot; I heard you breathe hard, and feared you were ill, that alone could have induced me to break in upon you."

"I am well," ssid the colonel, "perfectly well." "But you are distressed: is there any thing can be done?"

Nothing, Mr. Waverley; I was only thinking of home, and some unpleasant occurrences there. "Good God, my uncle!"

"No, it is a grief entirely my own; I am ashamed you have seen it disarm me so much; but it must have its course at times, that it may be at others more decently supported. I would have kept it secret from

you: for I think it will grieve you, and yet you can administer no consolation. But you have surprised me. I see you are surprised yourself-and I hate mystery. Read that letter."

The letter was from Colonel Talbot's sister, and in these words:

"I received yours, my dearest brother, by Hodges. Sir E. W. and Mr. R. are still at large, but are not permitted to leave London. I wish to heaven I could give you as good an account of matters in the square. But the news of the unhappy affair at Preston came upon us, with the dreadful addition that you were among the fallen. You know the Lady Emily's state of health, when your friendship for E. induced you to leave her. She was much harassed with the sad accounts from Scotland of the rebellion having broken out; but kept up her spirits, as, she said, it became your wife, and for the sake of the future heir, so long hoped for in vain. Alas, my dear brother, these hopes are now ended! Notwithstanding all my watchful care, this unhappy rumour reached her without preparation. She was taken ill immediately; and the poor infant scarce survived its birth. Would to God this were all! But although the contradiction of the horrible report by your own letter has greatly revived her spirits, yet Dr.

appre

hends, I grieve to say, serious, and even dangerous consequences to her health, especially from the uncertainty in which she must necessarily remain for some time, agravated by the ideas she has formed, of the ferocity of those with whom you are a prisoner.

"Do, therefore, my dear brother, as soon as this reaches you, endeavour to gain your release by parole, by ransom, or any way that is practicable. I do not exaggerate Lady Emily's state of health; but I must not dare not-suppress the truth. Ever, my dear Philip, your most affectionate sister, "LUCY TALBOT."

Edward stood motionless when he had perused this letter, for the conclusion was inevitable, that, by the colonel's journey in quest of him he had incurred this heavy calamity. It was severe enough, even in its irremediable part; for Colonel Talbot and Lady Emily, long without a family, had fondly exulted in the hopes which were now blasted. But this disappointment was nothing to the extent of the threatened evil; and Edward, with horror, regarded himself as the original cause of both.

Ere he could collect himself sufficiently to speak, Colonel Talbot had recovered his usual composure of manner, though his troubled eye denoted his mental agony.

"She is a woman, my young friend, who may justify even a soldier's tears." He reached him the miniature, exhibiting features, which fully justified the eulogium; " and yet, God knows what you see of her there, is the least of the charms she possesses -possessed, I should perhaps say-but God's will be done.

"You must fly-you must fly instantly to her relief. It is not-it shall not be too late."

"Fly? how is it possible? I am a prisoner-upon parole.'

"I am you keeper-I restore your parole—I am to answer for you."

"You can not do so consistently with your duty; nor can I accept a discharge from you, with due regard to mine own honour-you will be made responsible."

I

"I will answer it with my head, if necessary. have been the unhappy cause of the loss of your child, make me not the murderer of your wife.”

"No, my dear Edward," said Talbot, taking him kindly by the hand, "you are in no respect to blame; and if I concealed this domestic distress for two days, it was lest your sensibility should view it in that light. You could not think of me, hardly knew