reached the palace of Holyrood, and were announced
respectively as they entered the apartments.

It is but too well known how many gentlemen of rank, education, and
fortune, took a concern in the ill-fated and desperate undertaking of
1745. The ladies, also, of Scotland very generally espoused the cause of
the gallant and handsome young Prince, who threw himself upon the mercy
of his countrymen, rather like a hero of romance than a calculating
politician. It is not, therefore, to be wondered that Edward, who
had spent the greater part of his life in the solemn seclusion of
Waverley-Honour, should have been dazzled at the liveliness and elegance
of the scene now exhibited in the long-deserted halls of the Scottish
palace. The accompaniments, indeed, fell short of splendour, being such
as the confusion and hurry of the time admitted; still, however, the
general effect was striking, and, the rank of the company considered,
might well be called brilliant.

It was not long before the lover's eye discovered the object of his
attachment. Flora Mac-Ivor was in the act; of returning to her seat,
near the top of the room, with Rose Bradwardine by her side. Among much
elegance and beauty, they had attracted a great degree of the public
attention, being certainly two of the handsomest women present. The
Prince took much notice of both, particularly of Flora, with whom he
danced; a preference which she probably owed to her foreign education,
and command of the French and Italian languages.

When the bustle attending the conclusion of the dance permitted, Edward,
almost intuitively, followed Fergus to the place where Miss Mac-Ivor was
seated. The sensation of hope, with which he had nursed his affection
in absence of the beloved object, seemed to vanish in her presence, and,
like one striving to recover the particulars of a forgotten dream,
he would have given the world at that moment to have recollected
the grounds on which he had founded expectations which now seemed so
delusive. He accompanied Fergus with downcast eyes, tingling ears,
and the feelings of the criminal, who, while the melancholy cart moves
slowly through the crowds that have assembled to behold his execution,
receives no clear sensation either from the noise which fills his ears,
or the tumult on which he casts his wandering look.

Flora seemed a little--a very little--affected and discomposed at his
approach. 'I bring you an adopted son of Ivor,' said Fergus.