ular name, he
had recourse to the solicitor who came down in Fergus's behalf. This
gentleman told him that it was thought the public mind was in danger of
being debauched by the account of the last moments of these persons, as
given by the friends of the Pretender; that there had been a resolution,
therefore, to exclude all such persons as had not the plea of near
kindred for attending upon them. Yet he promised (to oblige the heir of
Waverley-Honour) to get him an order for admittance to the prisoner the
next morning, before his irons were knocked off for execution.

'Is it of Fergus Mac-Ivor they speak thus,' thought Waverley, 'or do I
dream? Of Fergus, the bold, the chivalrous, the free-minded, the lofty
chieftain of a tribe devoted to him? Is it he, that I have seen lead the
chase and head the attack, the brave, the active, the young, the noble,
the love of ladies, and the theme of song,--is it he who is ironed like a
malefactor, who is to be dragged on a hurdle to the common gallows, to
die a lingering and cruel death, and to be mangled by the hand of the
most outcast of wretches? Evil indeed was the spectre that boded such a
fate as this to the brave Chief of Glennaquoich!'

With a faltering voice he requested the solicitor to find means to warn
Fergus of his intended visit, should he obtain permission to make it. He
then turned away from him, and, returning to the inn, wrote a scarcely
intelligible note to Flora Mac-Ivor, intimating his purpose to wait upon
her that evening. The messenger brought back a letter in Flora's
beautiful Italian hand, which seemed scarce to tremble even under this
load of misery. 'Miss Flora Mac-Ivor,' the letter bore, 'could not refuse
to see the dearest friend of her dear brother, even in her present
circumstances of unparalleled distress.'

When Edward reached Miss Mac-Ivor's present place of abode he was
instantly admitted. In a large and gloomy tapestried apartment Flora was
seated by a latticed window, sewing what seemed to be a garment of white
flannel. At a little distance sat an elderly woman, apparently a
foreigner, and of a religious order. She was reading in a book of
Catholic devotion, but when Waverley entered laid it on the table and
left the room. Flora rose to receive him, and stretched out her hand, but
neither ventured to attempt speech. Her fine complexion was totally gone;
her person considerably emaciated; and her face and hands as white as the
purest statuary ma