The morning of Friday was as serene and beautiful as if no pleasure
party had been intended; and that is a rare event, whether in
novel-writing or real life. Lovel, who felt the genial influence of the
weather, and rejoiced at the prospect of once more meeting with Miss
Wardour, trotted forward to the place of rendezvous with better spirits
than he had for some time enjoyed. His prospects seemed in many respects
to open and brighten before him--and hope, although breaking like the
morning sun through clouds and showers, appeared now about to illuminate
the path before him. He was, as might have been expected from this state
of spirits, first at the place of meeting,--and, as might also have been
anticipated, his looks were so intently directed towards the road from
Knockwinnock Castles that he was only apprized of the arrival of
the Monkbarns division by the gee-hupping of the postilion, as the
post-chaise lumbered up behind him. In this vehicle were pent up, first,
the stately figure of Mr. Oldbuck himself; secondly, the scarce less
portly person of the Reverend Mr. Blattergowl, minister of Trotcosey,
the parish in which Monkbarns and Knockwinnock were both situated. The
reverend gentleman was equipped in a buzz wig, upon the top of which
was an equilateral cocked hat. This was the paragon of the three yet
remaining wigs of the parish, which differed, as Monkbarns used to
remark, like the three degrees of comparison--Sir Arthur's ramilies being
the positive, his own bob-wig the comparative, and the overwhelming
grizzle of the worthy clergyman figuring as the superlative. The
superintendent of these antique garnitures, deeming, or affecting to
deem, that he could not well be absent on an occasion which assembled
all three together, had seated himself on the board behind the carriage,
"just to be in the way in case they wanted a touch before the gentlemen
sat down to dinner." Between the two massive figures of Monkbarns
and the clergyman was stuck, by way of bodkin, the slim form of Mary
M'Intyre, her aunt having preferred a visit to the manse, and a social
chat with Miss Beckie Blattergowl, to investigating the ruins of the
priory of Saint Ruth.

As greetings passed between the members of the Monkbarns party and Mr.
Lovel, the Baronet's carriage, an open barouche, swept onward to the
place of appointment, making, with its smoking bays, smart drivers,
arms, blazoned panels, and a brace of outriders, a strong contrast wi