'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.