y the death of relations, had
succeeded since his marriage to a large fortune, possessed considerable
political interest, and lived in what is called great style.

When Waverley knocked at his door he found it at first difficult to
procure admittance, but at length was shown into an apartment where the
Colonel was at table. Lady Emily, whose very beautiful features were
still pallid from indisposition, sate opposite to him. The instant he
heard Waverley's voice, he started up and embraced him. 'Frank Stanley,
my dear boy, how d'ye do? Emily, my love, this is young Stanley.'

The blood started to the lady's cheek as she gave Waverley a reception in
which courtesy was mingled with kindness, while her trembling hand and
faltering voice showed how much she was startled and discomposed. Dinner
was hastily replaced, and while Waverley was engaged in refreshing
himself, the Colonel proceeded--'I wonder you have come here, Frank; the
Doctors tell me the air of London is very bad for your complaints. You
should not have risked it. But I am delighted to see you, and so is
Emily, though I fear we must not reckon upon your staying long.'

'Some particular business brought me up,' muttered Waverley.

'I supposed so, but I shan't allow you to stay long. Spontoon' (to an
elderly military-looking servant out of livery),'take away these things,
and answer the bell yourself, if I ring. Don't let any of the other
fellows disturb us. My nephew and I have business to talk of.'

When the servants had retired, 'In the name of God, Waverley, what has
brought you here? It may be as much as your life is worth.'

'Dear Mr. Waverley,' said Lady Emily, 'to whom I owe so much more than
acknowledgments can ever pay, how could you be so rash?'

'My father--my uncle--this paragraph,'--he handed the paper to Colonel
Talbot.

'I wish to Heaven these scoundrels were condemned to be squeezed to death
in their own presses,' said Talbot. 'I am told there are not less than a
dozen of their papers now published in town, and no wonder that they are
obliged to invent lies to find sale for their journals. It is true,
however, my dear Edward, that you have lost your father; but as to this
flourish of his unpleasant situation having grated upon his spirits and
hurt his health--the truth is--for though it is harsh to say so now, yet
it will relieve your mind from the idea of weighty responsibility--the
truth then is, that Mr. Richard Waverley, through this wh