ing.
I am indebted to your uncle for benefits greater than those which a son
owes to a father. I acknowledge to him the duty of a son; and as I know
there is no manner in which I can requite his kindness so well as by
serving you, I will serve you, if possible, whether you will permit me
or no. The personal obligation which you have this day laid me under
(although in common estimation as great as one human being can bestow
on another) adds nothing to my zeal on your behalf; nor can that zeal be
abated by any coolness with which you may please to receive it.'

'Your intentions may be kind, sir,' said Waverley, drily; 'but your
language is harsh, or at least peremptory.'

'On my return to England,' continued Colonel Talbot, 'after long
absence, I found your uncle, Sir Everard Waverley, in the custody of a
king's messenger, in consequence of the suspicion brought upon him by
your conduct. He is my oldest friend--how often shall I repeat it?--my
best benefactor; he sacrificed his own views of happiness to mine--he
never uttered a word, he never harboured a thought, that benevolence
itself might not have thought or spoken. I found this man in
confinement, rendered harsher to him by his habits of life, his natural
dignity of feeling, and--forgive me, Mr. Waverley--by the cause through
which this calamity had come upon him. I cannot disguise from you my
feelings upon this occasion; they were most painfully unfavourable
to you. Having, by my family interest, which you probably know is not
inconsiderable, succeeded in obtaining Sir Everard's release, I set
out for Scotland. I saw Colonel Gardiner, a man whose fate alone is
sufficient to render this insurrection for ever execrable. In the course
of conversation with him, I found, that, from late circumstances, from
a re-examination of the persons engaged in the mutiny, and from his
original good opinion of your character, he was much softened towards
you; and I doubted not, that if I could be so fortunate as to discover
you, all might yet be well. But this unnatural rebellion has ruined
all. I have, for the first time in a long and active military life, seen
Britons disgrace themselves by a panic flight, and that before a foe
without either arms or discipline: and now I find the heir of my dearest
friend--the son, I may say, of his affections--sharing a triumph, for
which he ought the first to have blushed. Why should I lament Gardiner?
his lot was happy, compared to mine!'