Waverley

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> Waverley


'Hush, my dear sir! now you carry your joy at escaping the hands of a
Jacobite recruiting officer to an unparalleled excess of gratitude.'

'Nay, dear Flora, trifle with me no longer; you cannot mistake the
meaning of those feelings which I have almost involuntarily expressed;
and since I have broken the barrier of silence, let me profit by my
audacity--Or may I, with your permission, mention to your brother'--

'Not for the world, Mr. Waverley!'

'What am I to understand?' said Edward. 'Is there any fatal bar--has any
prepossession'--

'None, sir,' answered Flora. 'I owe it to myself to say, that I never
yet saw the person on whom I thought with reference to the present
subject.'

'The shortness of our acquaintance, perhaps--If Miss Mac-Ivor will deign
to give me time--'

'I have not even that excuse. Captain Waverley's character is so
open--is, in short, of that nature, that it cannot be misconstrued,
either in its strength or its weakness.'

'And for that weakness you despise me?' said Edward.

'Forgive me, Mr. Waverley, and remember it is but within this
half-hour that there existed between us a barrier of a nature to me
insurmountable, since I never could think of an officer in the
service of the Elector of Hanover in any other light than as a casual
acquaintance. Permit me then to arrange my ideas upon so unexpected a
topic, and in less than an hour I will be ready to give you such reasons
for the resolution I shall express, as may be satisfactory at least,
if not pleasing to you.' So saying, Flora withdrew, leaving Waverley to
meditate upon the manner in which she had received his addresses.

Ere he could make up his mind whether to believe his suit had been
acceptable or no, Fergus re-entered the apartment. 'What, A LA MORT,
Waverley?' he cried. 'Come down with me to the court, and you shall see
a sight worth all the tirades of your romances. An hundred firelocks, my
friend, and as many broadswords, just arrived from good friends; and two
or three hundred stout fellows almost fighting which shall first possess
them.--But let me look at you closer--Why, a true Highlander would say
you had been blighted by an evil eye.--Or can it be this silly girl that
has thus blanked your spirit?--Never mind her, dear Edward; the wisest
of her sex are fools in what regards the business of life.'

'Indeed, my good friend,' answered Waverley, 'all that I can charge
against your sister is, that she is too sensible, too reasonable.'

'If that be all, I ensure you for a louis d'or against the mood lasting
four-and-twenty hours. No woman was ever steadily sensible for that
period; and I will engage, if that will please you, Flora shall be
as unreasonable to-morrow as any of her sex. You must learn, my dear
Edward, to consider women EN MOUSQUETAIRE.' So saying, he seized
Waverley's arm, and dragged him off to review his military preparations.



CHAPTER XXVII

UPON THE SAME SUBJECT

Fergus Mac-Ivor had too much tact and delicacy to renew the subject
which he had interrupted. His head was, or appeared to be, so full of
guns, broadswords, bonnets, canteens, and tartan hose, that Waverley
could not for some time draw his attention to any other topic.

'Are you to take the field so soon, Fergus,' he asked, 'that you are
making all these martial preparations?'

'When we have settled that you go with me, you shall know all; but
otherwise, the knowledge might rather be prejudicial to you.'

'But are you serious in your purpose, with such inferior forces, to rise
against an established government? It is mere frenzy.'

'LAISSEZ FAIRE A DON ANTOINE--I shall take good care of myself. We shall
at least use the compliment of Conan, who never got a stroke but he gave
one. I would not, however,' continued the Chieftain, 'have you think me
mad enough to stir till a favourable opportunity: I will not slip my dog
before the game's afoot. But once more, will you join with us, and you
shall know all?'

'How can I?' said Waverley; 'I who have so lately held that commission
which is now posting back to those that gave it? My accepting it implied
a promise of fidelity, and an acknowledgement of the legality of the
government.

'A rash promise,' answered Fergus, 'is not a steel handcuff; it may be
shaken off, especially when it was given under deception, and has been
repaid by insult. But if you cannot immediately make up your mind to a
glorious revenge, go to England, and ere you cross the Tweed, you will
hear tidings that will make the world ring; and if Sir Everard be the
gallant old cavalier I have heard him described by some of our HONEST
gentlemen of the year one thousand seven hundred and fifteen, he will
find you a better horse-troop and a better cause than you have lost.'

'But your sister, Fergus?'

'Out, hyperbolical fiend,' replied the Chief, laughing; 'how vexest thou
this man!--Speak'st thou of nothing but of ladies?'

'Nay, be serious, my dear friend,' said Waverley; 'I feel that the
happiness of my future life must depend upon the answer which Miss
Mac-Ivor shall make to what I ventured to tell her this morning.'

'And is this your very sober earnest,' said Fergus, more gravely, 'or
are we in the land of romance and fiction?'

'My earnest, undoubtedly. How could you suppose me jesting on such a
subject?'

'Then, in very sober earnest,' answered his friend, 'I am very glad to
hear it; and so highly do I think of Flora, that; you are the only man
in England for whom I would say so much.--But before you shake my hand
so warmly, there is more to be considered.--Your own family--will they
approve your connecting yourself with the sister of a highborn Highland
beggar?'

'My uncle's situation,' said Waverley, 'his general opinions, and his
uniform indulgence, entitle me to say, that birth and personal qualities
are all he would look to in such a connexion. And where can I find both
united in such excellence as in your sister?'

'Oh, nowhere!--CELA VA SANS DIRE,' replied Fergus with a smile. 'But
your father will expect a father's prerogative in being consulted.'

'Surely; but his late breach with the ruling powers removes all
apprehension of objection on his part, especially as I am convinced that
my uncle will be warm in my cause.'

'Religion, perhaps,' said Fergus, 'may make obstacles, though we are not
bigoted Catholics.'

'My grandmother was of the Church of Rome, and her religion was never
objected to by my family.--Do not think of MY friends, dear Fergus; let
me rather have your influence where it may be more necessary to remove
obstacles--I mean with your lovely sister.'

'My lovely sister,' replied Fergus, 'like her loving brother, is very
apt to have a pretty decisive will of her own, by which, in this case,
you must be ruled; but you shall not want my interest, nor my counsel.
And, in the first place, I will give you one hint--loyalty is her ruling
passion; and since she could spell an English book, she has been in love
with the memory of the gallant Captain Wogan, who renounced the service
of the usurper Cromwell to join the standard of Charles II, marched a
handful of cavalry from London to the Highlands to join Middleton, then
in arms for the king, and at length died gloriously in the royal cause.
Ask her to show you some verses she made on his history and fate; they
have been much admired, I assure you. The next point is--I think I
saw Flora go up towards the waterfall a short time since--follow, man,
follow! don't allow the garrison time to strengthen its purposes of
resistance--ALERTE A LA MURAILLE! Seek Flora out, and learn her decision
as soon as you can--and Cupid go with you, while I go to look over belts
and cartouch-boxes.'

Waverley ascended the glen with an anxious and throbbing heart. Love,
with all its romantic train of hopes, fears, and wishes, was mingled
with other feelings of a nature less easily defined. He could not but
remember how much this morning had changed his fate, and into what a
complication of perplexity it was likely to plunge him. Sunrise had seen
him possessed of an esteemed rank in the honourable profession of
arms, his father to all appearance rapidly rising in the favour of
his sovereign;--all this had passed away like a dream--he himself was
dishonoured, his father disgraced, and he had become involuntarily the
confidant at least, if not the accomplice, of plans dark, deep, and
dangerous, which must infer either subversion of the government he had
so lately served, or the destruction of all who had participated in
them, Should Flora even listen to his suit favourably, what prospect was
there of its being brought to a happy termination, amid the tumult of
an impending insurrection? Or how could he make the selfish request that
she should leave Fergus, to whom she was so much attached, and, retiring
with him to England, wait, as a distant spectator, the success of her
brother's undertaking, or the ruin of all his hopes and fortunes!--Or,
on the other hand, to engage himself, with no other aid than his single
arm, in the dangerous and precipitate counsels of the Chieftain,--to be
whirled along by him, the partaker of all his desperate and impetuous
motions, renouncing almost the power of judging, or deciding upon the
rectitude or prudence of his actions,--this was no pleasing prospect for
the secret pride of Waverley to stoop to. And yet what other conclusion
remained, saving the rejection of his addresses by Flora, an alternative
not to be thought of in the present high-wrought state of his feelings,
with anything short of mental agony. Pondering the doubtful and
dangerous prospect before him, he at length arrived near the cascade,
where, as Fergus had augured, he found Flora seated.

She was quite alone; and, as soon as she observed his approach, she
arose, and came to meet him. Edward attempted to say something within
the verge of ordinary compliment and conversation, but found himself
unequal to the task. Flora seemed at first equally embarrassed, but
recovered herself more speedily, and (an unfavourable augury for
Waverley's suit) was the first to enter upon the subject of their last
interview, 'It is too important, in every point of view, Mr. Waverley,
to permit me to leave you in doubt on my sentiments.'

'Do not speak them speedily,' said Waverley, much agitated, 'unless they
are such as, I fear from your manner, I must not dare to anticipate. Let
time--let my future conduct--let your brother's influence'--

'Forgive me, Mr. Waverley,' said Flora, her complexion a little
heightened, but her voice firm and composed. 'I should incur my own
heavy censure, did I delay expressing my sincere conviction that I can
never regard you otherwise than as a valued friend. I should do you
the highest injustice did I conceal my sentiments for a moment. I see
I distress you, and I grieve for it, but better now than later; and oh,
better a thousand times, Mr. Waverley, that you should feel a present
momentary disappointment, than the long and heart-sickening griefs which
attend a rash and ill-assorted marriage!'

'Good God!' exclaimed Waverley, 'why should you anticipate such
consequences from a union where birth is equal, where fortune is
favourable, where, if I may venture to say so, the tastes are similar,
where you allege no preference for another, where you even express a
favourable opinion of him whom you reject?'

'Mr. Waverley, I HAVE that favourable opinion,' answered Flora; 'and so
strongly, that though I would rather have been silent on the grounds of
my resolution, you shall command them, if you exact such a mark of my
esteem and confidence.'

She sat down upon a fragment of rock, and Waverley, placing himself near
her, anxiously pressed for the explanation she offered.

'I dare hardly,' she said, 'tell you the situation of my feelings, they
are so different from those usually ascribed to young women at my period
of life; and I dare hardly touch upon what I conjecture to be the nature
of yours, lest I should give offence where I would willingly administer
consolation. For myself, from my infancy till this day, I have had but
one wish--the restoration of my royal benefactors to their rightful
throne. It is impossible to express to you the devotion of my feelings
to this single subject; and I will frankly confess, that it has so
occupied my mind as to exclude every thought respecting what is called
my own settlement in life. Let me but live to see the day of that happy
restoration, and a Highland cottage, a French convent, or an English
palace, will be alike indifferent to me.'

'But, dearest Flora, how is your enthusiastic zeal for the exiled family
inconsistent with my happiness?'

'Because you seek, or ought to seek in the object of your attachment,
a heart whose principal delight should be in augmenting your domestic
felicity, and returning your affection, even to the height of romance.
To a man of less keen sensibility, and less enthusiastic tenderness of
disposition, Flora Mac-Ivor might give content, if not happiness; for
were the irrevocable words spoken, never would she be deficient in the
duties which she vowed.'

'And why--why, Miss Mac-Ivor, should you think yourself a more valuable
treasure to one who is less capable of loving, of admiring you, than to
me?'

'Simply because the tone of our affections would be more in unison, and
because his more blunted sensibility would not require the return of
enthusiasm which I have not to bestow. But you, Mr. Waverley, would for
ever refer to the idea of domestic happiness which your imagination
is capable of painting, and whatever fell short of that ideal
representation would be construed into coolness and indifference, while
you might consider the enthusiasm with which I regarded the success of
the royal family as defrauding your affection of its due return.'

'In other words, Miss Mac-Ivor, you cannot love me?' said her suitor,
dejectedly.

'I could esteem you, Mr. Waverley, as much, perhaps more, than any man
I have ever seen; but I cannot love you as you ought to be loved. Oh!
do not, for your own sake, desire so hazardous an experiment! The woman
whom you marry ought to have affections and opinions moulded upon yours.
Her studies ought to be your studies;--her wishes, her feelings, her
hopes, her fears, should all mingle with yours. She should enhance your
pleasures, share your sorrows, and cheer your melancholy.'

'And, why will not you, Miss Mac-Ivor, who can so well describe a happy
union,--why will not you be yourself the person you describe?'

'Is it possible you do not yet comprehend me?' answered Flora. 'Have I
not told you, that every keener sensation of my mind is bent exclusively
towards an event, upon which, indeed, I have no power but those of my
earnest prayers?'

'And might not the granting the suit I solicit,' said Waverley, too
earnest on his purpose to consider what he was about to say, 'even
advance the interest to which you have devoted yourself? My family is
wealthy and powerful, inclined in principles to the Stuart race, and
should a favourable opportunity'--

'A favourable opportunity!' said Flora, somewhat scornfully,--'inclined
in principles!--Can such lukewarm adherence be honourable to yourselves,
or gratifying to your lawful sovereign?--Think, from my present
feelings, what I should suffer when I held the place of member in a
family where the rights which I hold most sacred are subjected to cold
discussion, and only deemed worthy of support when they shall appear on
the point of triumphing without it!'

'Your doubts,' quickly replied Waverley, 'are unjust as far as concerns
myself. The cause that I shall assert, I dare support through every
danger, as undauntedly as the boldest who draws sword in its behalf.'

'Of that,' answered Flora, 'I cannot doubt for a moment. But consult
your own good sense and reason, rather than a prepossession hastily
adopted, probably only because you have met a young woman possessed of
the usual accomplishments, in a sequestered and romantic situation. Let
your part in this great and perilous drama rest upon conviction, and not
on a hurried, and probably a temporary feeling.'

Waverley attempted to reply, but his words failed him. Every sentiment
that Flora had uttered vindicated the strength of his attachment; for
even her loyalty, although wildly enthusiastic, was generous and noble,
and disdained to avail itself of any indirect means of supporting the
cause to which she was devoted.

After walking a little way in silence down the path, Flora thus resumed
the conversation.--'One word more, Mr. Waverley, ere we bid farewell to
this topic for ever; and forgive my boldness if that word have the air
of advice. My brother Fergus is anxious that you should join him in his
present enterprise. But do not consent to this: you could not, by your
single exertions, further his success, and you would inevitably share
his fall, if it be God's pleasure that fall he must. Your character
would also suffer irretrievably. Let me beg you will return to your
own country; and, having publicly freed yourself from every tie to the
usurping government, I trust you will see cause, and find opportunity,
to serve your injured sovereign with effect, and stand forth, as your
loyal ancestors, at the head of your natural followers and adherents, a
worthy representative of the house of Waverley.'

'And should I be so happy as thus to distinguish myself, might I not
hope'--

'Forgive my interruption,' said Flora. 'The present time only is ours,
and I can but explain to you with candour the feelings which I now
entertain; how they might be altered by a train of events too favourable
perhaps to be hoped for, it were in vain even to conjecture: only be
assured, Mr. Waverley, that, after my brother's honour and happiness,
there is none which I shall more sincerely pray for than for yours.'

With these words she parted from him, for they were now arrived where
two paths separated. Waverley reached the castle amidst a medley of
conflicting passions. He avoided any private interview with Fergus, as
he did not find himself able either to encounter his raillery, or reply
to his solicitations. The wild revelry of the feast, for Mac-Ivor kept
open table for his clan, served in some degree to stun reflection. When
their festivity was ended, he began to consider how he should again
meet Miss Mac-Ivor after the painful and interesting explanation of the
morning. But Flora did not appear. Fergus, whose eyes flashed when he
was told by Cathleen that her mistress designed to keep her apartment
that evening, went himself in quest of her; but apparently his
remonstrances were in vain, for he returned with a heightened
complexion, and manifest symptoms of displeasure. The rest of the
evening passed on without any allusion, on the part either of Fergus or
Waverley, to the subject which engrossed the reflections of the latter,
and perhaps of both.

When retired to his own apartment, Edward endeavoured to sum up the
business of the day. That the repulse he had received from Flora would
be persisted in for the present, there was no doubt. But could he hope
for ultimate success in case circumstances permitted the renewal of his
suit? Would the enthusiastic loyalty, which at this animating moment
left no room for a softer passion, survive, at least in its engrossing
force, the success or the failure of the present political machinations?
And if so, could he hope that the interest which she had acknowledged
him to possess in her favour, might be improved into a warmer
attachment? He taxed his memory to recall every word she had used, with
the appropriate looks and gestures which had enforced them, and ended
by finding himself in the same state of uncertainty. It was very late
before sleep brought relief to the tumult of his mind, after the most
painful and agitating day which he had ever passed.



CHAPTER XXVIII

A LETTER FROM TULLY-VEOLAN

In the morning, when Waverley's troubled reflections had for some time
given way to repose, there came music to his dreams, but not the voice
of Selma. He imagined himself transported back to Tully-Veolan, and that
he heard Davie Gellatley singing in the court those matins which used
generally to be the first sounds that disturbed his repose while a
guest of the Baron of Bradwardine. The notes which suggested this
vision continued, and waxed louder, until Edward awoke in earnest. The
illusion, however, did not seem entirely dispelled. The apartment was
in the fortress of Ian nan Chaistel, but it was still the voice of Davie
Gellatley that made the following lines resound under the window:--

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.
[These lines form the burden of an old song to which Burns
wrote additional verses.]

Curious to know what could have determined Mr. Gellatley on an excursion
of such unwonted extent, Edward began to dress himself in all haste,
during which operation the minstrelsy of Davie changed its tune more
than once:--

There's naught in the Highlands but syboes and leeks,
And lang-leggit callants gaun wanting the breeks;
Wanting the breeks, and without hose and shoon,
But we'll a' win the breeks when King Jamie comes hame.
[These lines are also ancient, and I believe to the tune of
'We'll never hae peace till Jamie comes hame;'
to which Burns likewise wrote some verses.]

By the time Waverley was dressed and had issued forth, David had
associated himself with two or three of the numerous Highland loungers
who always graced the gates of the castle with their presence, and was
capering and dancing full merrily in the doubles and full career of a
Scotch foursome reel, to the music of his own whistling. In this double
capacity of dancer and musician, he continued, until an idle piper, who
observed his zeal, obeyed the unanimous call of SEID SUAS (i.e. blow
up), and relieved him from the latter part of his trouble. Young and old
then mingled in the dance as they could find partners. The appearance
of Waverley did not interrupt David's exercise, though he contrived, by
grinning, nodding, and throwing one or two inclinations of the body into
the graces with which he performed the Highland fling, to convey to our
hero symptoms of recognition. Then, while busily employed in setting,
whooping all the while, and snapping his fingers over his head, he of a
sudden prolonged his side-step until it brought him to the place where
Edward was standing, and, still keeping time to the music like Harlequin
in a pantomime, he thrust a letter into our hero's hand, and continued
his saltation without pause or intermission, Edward, who perceived that
the address was in Rose's handwriting, retired to peruse it, leaving the
faithful bearer to continue his exercise until the piper or he should be
tired out.

The contents of the letter greatly surprised him. It had originally
commenced with DEAR SIR; but these words had been carefully erased,
and the monosyllable, SIR, substituted in their place. The rest of the
contents shall be given in Rose's own language:--

'I fear I am using an improper freedom by intruding upon you, yet I
cannot trust to any one else to let you know some things which have
happened here, with which it seems necessary you should be acquainted.
Forgive me if I am wrong in what I am doing; for, alas! Mr. Waverley, I
have no better advice than that of my own feelings;--my dear father
is gone from this place, and when he can return to my assistance
and protection, God alone knows. You have probably heard, that in
consequence of some troublesome news from the Highlands, warrants were
sent out for apprehending several gentlemen in these parts, and, among
others, my dear father. In spite of all my tears and entreaties that he
would surrender himself to the Government, he joined with Mr. Falconer
and some other gentlemen, and they have all gone northwards, with a body
of about forty horsemen. So I am not so anxious concerning his immediate
safety, as about what may follow afterwards, for these troubles are only
beginning. But all this is nothing to you, Mr. Waverley, only I thought
you would be glad to learn that my father has escaped, in case you
happen to have heard that he was in danger.

'The day after my father went off, there came a party of soldiers to
Tully-Veolan, and behaved very rudely to Bailie Macwheeble; but the
officer was very civil to me, only said his duty obliged him to search
for arms and papers. My father had provided against this by taking away
all the arms except the old useless things which hung in the hall; and
he had put all his papers out of the way. But oh! Mr. Waverley, how
shall I tell you that they made strict inquiry after you, and asked when
you had been at Tully-Veolan, and where you now were. The officer is
gone back with his party, but a non-commissioned officer and four men
remain as a sort of garrison in the house. They have hitherto behaved
very well, as we are forced to keep them in good humour. But these
soldiers have hinted as if on your falling into their hands you would
be in great danger; I cannot prevail on myself to write what wicked
falsehoods they said, for I am sure they are falsehoods; but you will
best judge what you ought to do. The party that returned carried off
your servant prisoner, with your two horses, and everything that you
left at Tully-Veolan. I hope God will protect you, and that you will get
safe home to England, where you used to tell me there was no military
violence nor fighting among clans permitted, but everything was done
according to an equal law that protected all who were harmless and
innocent. I hope you will exert your indulgence as to my boldness in
writing to you, where it seems to me, though perhaps erroneously, that
your safety and honour are concerned. I am sure--at least I think,
my father would approve of my writing; for Mr. Rubrick is fled to his
cousin's at the Duchran, to be out of danger from the soldiers and the
Whigs, and Bailie Macwheeble does not like to meddle (he says) in other
men's concerns, though I hope what may serve my father's friend at
such a time as this, cannot be termed improper interference. Farewell,
Captain Waverley! I shall probably never see you more; for it would
be very improper to wish you to call at Tully-Veolan just now, even
if these men were gone; but I will always remember with gratitude your
kindness in assisting so poor a scholar as myself, and your attentions
to my dear, dear father.