Waverley; Or, 'Tis Sixty Years Since — Volume 2

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER LV

  A BRAVE MAN IN SORROW

  Ifmy fair readers should be of opinion that my hero's levity inlove is altogether unpardonable, I must remind them that all hisgriefs and difficulties did not arise from that sentimentalsource. Even the lyric poet who complains so feelingly of thepains of love could not forget, that at the same time he was 'indebt and in drink,' which, doubtless, were great aggravations ofhis distress. There were, indeed, whole days in which Waverleythought neither of Flora nor Rose Bradwardine, but which werespent in melancholy conjectures on the probable state of mattersat Waverley-Honour, and the dubious issue of the civil contest inwhich he was pledged. Colonel Talbot often engaged him indiscussions upon the justice of the cause he had espoused. 'Not,'he said, 'that it is possible for you to quit it at this presentmoment, for, come what will, you must stand by your rashengagement. But I wish you to be aware that the right is not withyou; that you are fighting against the real interests of yourcountry; and that you ought, as an Englishman and a patriot, totake the first opportunity to leave this unhappy expedition beforethe snowball melts.'

  In such political disputes Waverley usually opposed the commonarguments of his party, with which it is unnecessary to troublethe reader. But he had little to say when the Colonel urged him tocompare the strength by which they had undertaken to overthrow thegovernment with that which was now assembling very rapidly for itssupport. To this statement Waverley had but one answer: 'If thecause I have undertaken be perilous, there would be the greaterdisgrace in abandoning it.' And in his turn he generally silencedColonel Talbot, and succeeded in changing the subject.

  One night, when, after a long dispute of this nature, the friendshad separated and our hero had retired to bed, he was awakenedabout midnight by a suppressed groan. He started up and listened;it came from the apartment of Colonel Talbot, which was dividedfrom his own by a wainscotted partition, with a door ofcommunication. Waverley approached this door and distinctly heardone or two deep-drawn sighs. What could be the matter? The Colonelhad parted from him apparently in his usual state of spirits. Hemust have been taken suddenly ill. Under this impression he openedthe door of communication very gently, and perceived the Colonel,in his night-gown, seated by a table, on which lay a letter and apicture. He raised his head hastily, as Edward stood uncertainwhether to advance or retire, and Waverley perceived that hischeeks were stained with tears.

  As if ashamed at being found giving way to such emotion, ColonelTalbot rose with apparent displeasure and said, with somesternness, 'I think, Mr. Waverley, my own apartment and the hourmight have secured even a prisoner against--'

  'Do not say INTRUSION, Colonel Talbot; I heard you breathe hardand feared you were ill; that alone could have induced me to breakin upon you.'

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

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

  '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 haveseen it disarm me so much; but it must have its course at times,that it may be at others more decently supported. I would havekept it secret from you; for I think it will grieve you, and yetyou can administer no consolation. But you have surprised me,--Isee you are surprised yourself,--and I hate mystery. Read thatletter.'

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

  'I received yours, my dearest brother, by Hodges. Sir E. W. andMr. 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 inthe square. But the news of the unhappy affair at Preston cameupon us, with the dreadful addition that you were among thefallen. You know Lady Emily's state of health, when yourfriendship for Sir E. induced you to leave her. She was muchharassed with the sad accounts from Scotland of the rebellionhaving broken out; but kept up her spirits, as, she said, itbecame your wife, and for the sake of the future heir, so longhoped for in vain. Alas, my dear brother, these hopes are nowended! Notwithstanding all my watchful care, this unhappy rumourreached her without preparation. She was taken ill immediately;and the poor infant scarce survived its birth. Would to God thiswere all! But although the contradiction of the horrible report byyour own letter has greatly revived her spirits, yet Dr.----apprehends, I grieve to say, serious, and even dangerous,consequences to her health, especially from the uncertainty inwhich she must necessarily remain for some time, aggravated by theideas she has formed of the ferocity of those with whom you are aprisoner.

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

  'Lucy TALBOT.'

  Edward stood motionless when he had perused this letter; for theconclusion was inevitable, that, by the Colonel's journey in questof 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 werenow blasted. But this disappointment was nothing to the extent ofthe threatened evil; and Edward, with horror, regarded himself asthe original cause of both.

  Ere he could collect himself sufficiently to speak, Colonel Talbothad recovered his usual composure of manner, though his troubledeye denoted his mental agony.

  'She is a woman, my young friend, who may justify even a soldier'stears.' He reached him the miniature, exhibiting features whichfully justified the eulogium; 'and yet, God knows, what you see ofher there is the least of the charms she possesses--possessed, Ishould 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 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 bemade responsible.'

  'I will answer it with my head, if necessary,' said Waverleyimpetuously. 'I have been the unhappy cause of the loss of yourchild, 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 domesticdistress for two days, it was lest your sensibility should view itin that light. You could not think of me, hardly knew of myexistence, when I left England in quest of you. It is aresponsibility, Heaven knows, sufficiently heavy for mortality,that we must answer for the foreseen and direct result of ouractions; for their indirect and consequential operation the greatand good Being, who alone can foresee the dependence of humanevents on each other, hath not pronounced his frail creaturesliable.'

  'But that you should have left Lady Emily,' said Waverley, withmuch emotion, 'in the situation of all others the most interestingto a husband, to seek a--'

  'I only did my duty,' answered Colonel Talbot, calmly, 'and I donot, ought not, to regret it. If the path of gratitude and honourwere always smooth and easy, there would be little merit infollowing it; but it moves often in contradiction to our interestand passions, and sometimes to our better affections. These arethe trials of life, and this, though not the least bitter' (thetears came unbidden to his eyes), 'is not the first which it hasbeen my fate to encounter. But we will talk of this to-morrow,'he said, wringing Waverley's hands. 'Good-night; strive to forgetit for a few hours. It will dawn, I think, by six, and it is nowpast two. Good-night.'

  Edward retired, without trusting his voice with a reply.