elenting and cold as thou art,
My bosom is proud as thine own.

With the feeling expressed in these beautiful lines (which, however,
were not then written) [They occur in Miss Seward's fine verses,
beginning--To thy rocks, stormy Lannow, adieu.], Waverley determined
upon convincing Flora that he was not to be depressed by a rejection,
in which his vanity whispered that perhaps she did her own prospects as
much injustice as his. And, to aid this change of feeling, there lurked
the secret and unacknowledged hope, that she might learn to prize his
affection more highly when she did not conceive it to be altogether
within her own choice to attract or repulse it. There was a mystic tone
of encouragement, also, in the Chevalier's words, though he feared they
only referred to the wishes of Fergus in favour of a union between
him and his sister. But the whole circumstances of time, place, and
incident, combined at once to awaken his imagination, and to call upon
him for a manly and decisive tone of conduct, leaving to fate to dispose
of the issue. Should he appear to be the only one sad and disheartened
on the eve of battle, how greedily would the tale be commented upon by
the slander which had been already but too busy with his fame? Never,
never, he internally resolved, shall my unprovoked enemies possess such
an advantage over my reputation.

Under the influence of these mixed sensations, and cheered at times by
a smile of intelligence and approbation from the Prince as he passed the
group, Waverley exerted his powers of fancy, animation, and eloquence,
and attracted the general admiration of the company. The conversation
gradually assumed the tone best qualified for the display of his talents
and acquisitions. The gaiety of the evening was exalted in character,
rather than checked, by the approaching dangers of the morrow. All
nerves were strung for the future, and prepared to enjoy the present.
This mood of mind is highly favourable for the exercise of the powers
of imagination, for poetry, and for that eloquence which is allied to
poetry. Waverley, as we have elsewhere observed, possessed at times a
wonderful flow of rhetoric; and, on the present occasion, he touched
more than once the higher notes of feeling, and then again ran off in
a wild voluntary of fanciful mirth. He was supported and excited by
kindred spirits, who felt the same impulse of mood and time; and even
those of more cold and calculating habits wer