asion to press my sister upon any man.'

'Nor have I any occasion to court repeated rejection from the same young
lady,' answered Edward, in the same tone.

'I shall make due inquiry, however,' said the Chieftain, without noticing
the interruption, 'and learn what my sister thinks of all this, we will
then see whether it is to end here.'

'Respecting such inquiries, you will of course be guided by your own
judgment,' said Waverley. 'It is, I am aware, impossible Miss Mac-Ivor
can change her mind; and were such an unsupposable case to happen, it is
certain I will not change mine. I only mention this to prevent any
possibility of future misconstruction.'

Gladly at this moment would Mac-Ivor have put their quarrel to a personal
arbitrement, his eye flashed fire, and he measured Edward as if to choose
where he might best plant a mortal wound. But although we do not now
quarrel according to the modes and figures of Caranza or Vincent Saviola,
no one knew better than Fergus that there must be some decent pretext for
a mortal duel. For instance, you may challenge a man for treading on your
corn in a crowd, or for pushing you up to the wall, or for taking your
seat in the theatre; but the modern code of honour will not permit you to
found a quarrel upon your right of compelling a man to continue addresses
to a female relative which the fair lady has already refused. So that
Fergus was compelled to stomach this supposed affront until the whirligig
of time, whose motion he promised himself he would watch most sedulously,
should bring about an opportunity of revenge.

Waverley's servant always led a saddle-horse for him in the rear of the
battalion to which he was attached, though his master seldom rode. But
now, incensed at the domineering and unreasonable conduct of his late
friend, he fell behind the column and mounted his horse, resolving to
seek the Baron of Bradwardine, and request permission to volunteer in his
troop instead of the Mac-Ivor regiment.

'A happy time of it I should have had,' thought he, after he was mounted,
'to have been so closely allied to this superb specimen of pride and
self-opinion and passion. A colonel! why, he should have been a
generalissimo. A petty chief of three or four hundred men! his pride
might suffice for the Cham of Tartary--the Grand Seignior--the Great
Mogul! I am well free of him. Were Flora an angel, she would bring with
her a second Lucifer of ambition and wrath for a brother-i