Waverley; Or 'Tis Sixty Years Since — Complete

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER LV

  A BRAVE MAN IN SORROW

  Ifmy fair readers should be of opinion that my hero's levity in love isaltogether unpardonable, I must remind them that all his griefs anddifficulties did not arise from that sentimental source. Even the lyricpoet 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 daysin which Waverley thought neither of Flora nor Rose Bradwardine, butwhich were spent in melancholy conjectures on the probable state ofmatters at Waverley-Honour, and the dubious issue of the civil contestin which he was pledged. Colonel Talbot often engaged him indiscussions upon the justice of the cause he had espoused. 'Not,' hesaid, '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 wishyou to be aware that the right is not with you; that you are fightingagainst the real interests of your country; and that you ought, as anEnglishman and a patriot, to take the first opportunity to leave thisunhappy expedition before the snowball melts.'

  In such political disputes Waverley usually opposed the commonarguments of his party, with which it is unnecessary to trouble thereader. But he had little to say when the Colonel urged him to comparethe strength by which they had undertaken to overthrow the governmentwith that which was now assembling very rapidly for its support. Tothis statement Waverley had but one answer: 'If the cause I haveundertaken be perilous, there would be the greater disgrace inabandoning 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 hadseparated and our hero had retired to bed, he was awakened aboutmidnight by a suppressed groan. He started up and listened; it camefrom the apartment of Colonel Talbot, which was divided from his own bya wainscotted partition, with a door of communication. Waverleyapproached this door and distinctly heard one or two deep-drawn sighs.What could be the matter? The Colonel had parted from him apparently inhis usual state of spirits. He must have been taken suddenly ill. Underthis impression he opened the door of communication very gently, andperceived the Colonel, in his night-gown, seated by a table, on whichlay a letter and a picture. He raised his head hastily, as Edward stooduncertain whether to advance or retire, and Waverley perceived that hischeeks were stained with tears.

  As if ashamed at being found giving way to such emotion, Colonel Talbotrose with apparent displeasure and said, with some sternness, 'I think,Mr. Waverley, my own apartment and the hour might have secured even aprisoner against--'

  'Do not say INTRUSION, Colonel Talbot; I heard you breathe hard andfeared you were ill; that alone could have induced me to break in uponyou.'

  'I am well,' said the Colonel, 'perfectly well.'

  'But you are distressed,' said Edward; 'is there anything can be done?'

  'Nothing, Mr. Waverley; I was only thinking of home, and someunpleasant occurrences there.'

  'Good God, my uncle!' exclaimed Waverley.

  'No, it is a grief entirely my own. I am ashamed you should have seenit disarm me so much; but it must have its course at times, that it maybe at others more decently supported. I would have kept it secret fromyou; for I think it will grieve you, and yet you can administer noconsolation. But you have surprised me,--I see you are surprisedyourself,--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 toHeaven 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 thedreadful addition that you were among the fallen. You know Lady Emily'sstate of health, when your friendship for Sir E. induced you to leaveher. She was much harassed with the sad accounts from Scotland of therebellion having broken out; but kept up her spirits, as, she said, itbecame your wife, and for the sake of the future heir, so long hopedfor in vain. Alas, my dear brother, these hopes are now ended!Notwithstanding all my watchful care, this unhappy rumour reached herwithout preparation. She was taken ill immediately; and the poor infantscarce survived its birth. Would to God this were all! But although thecontradiction of the horrible report by your own letter has greatlyrevived her spirits, yet Dr. ---- apprehends, I grieve to say, serious,and even dangerous, consequences to her health, especially from theuncertainty in which she must necessarily remain for some time,aggravated by the ideas she has formed of the ferocity of those withwhom you are a prisoner.

  'Do therefore, my dear brother, as soon as this reaches you, endeavourto gain your release, by parole, by ransom, or any way that ispracticable. I do not exaggerate Lady Emily's state of health; but Imust not--dare not--suppress the truth. Ever, my dear Philip, your mostaffectionate sister,

  'Lucy TALBOT.'

  Edward stood motionless when he had perused this letter; for theconclusion was inevitable, that, by the Colonel's journey in quest ofhim, he had incurred this heavy calamity. It was severe enough, even inits irremediable part; for Colonel Talbot and Lady Emily, long withouta family, had fondly exulted in the hopes which were now blasted. Butthis 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 hadrecovered his usual composure of manner, though his troubled eyedenoted his mental agony.

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

  ' You must fly--you must fly instantly to her relief. It is not--itshall not be too late.'

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

  'I am your keeper; I restore your parole; I am to answer for you.'

  'You cannot do so consistently with your duty; nor can I accept adischarge from you, with due regard to my own honour; you would be maderesponsible.'

  'I will answer it with my head, if necessary,' said Waverleyimpetuously. 'I 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, 'youare in no respect to blame; and if I concealed this domestic distressfor two days, it was lest your sensibility should view it in thatlight. You could not think of me, hardly knew of my existence, when Ileft England in quest of you. It is a responsibility, Heaven knows,sufficiently heavy for mortality, that we must answer for the foreseenand direct result of our actions; for their indirect and consequentialoperation the great and good Being, who alone can foresee thedependence of human events on each other, hath not pronounced his frailcreatures liable.'

  'But that you should have left Lady Emily,' said Waverley, with muchemotion, 'in the situation of all others the most interesting to ahusband, to seek a--'

  'I only did my duty,' answered Colonel Talbot, calmly, 'and I do not,ought not, to regret it. If the path of gratitude and honour werealways smooth and easy, there would be little merit in following it;but it moves often in contradiction to our interest and passions, andsometimes to our better affections. These are the trials of life, andthis, though not the least bitter' (the tears came unbidden to hiseyes), 'is not the first which it has been my fate to encounter. But wewill talk of this to-morrow,' he said, wringing Waverley's hands.'Good-night; strive to forget it for a few hours. It will dawn, Ithink, by six, and it is now past two. Good-night.'

  Edward retired, without trusting his voice with a reply.