hurry, you know,
about the earldom." And so he glided off, and left me PLANTE LA.'

'And what did you do?'

'I'll tell you what I could have done at that moment--sold myself to the
devil or the Elector, whichever offered the dearest revenge. However,
I am now cool. I know he intends to marry her to some of his rascally
Frenchmen, or his Irish officers: but I will watch them close; and let
the man that would supplant me look well to himself.--BISOGNA COPRIRSI,
SIGNOR.'

After some further conversation, unnecessary to be detailed, Waverley
took leave of the Chieftain, whose fury had now subsided into a deep and
strong desire of vengeance, and returned home, scarce able to analyse
the mixture of feelings which the narrative had awakened in his own
bosom.

CHAPTER LIV

'TO ONE THING CONSTANT NEVER'

'I am the very child of caprice,' said Waverley to himself, as he bolted
the door of his apartment, and paced it with hasty steps.--'What is it
to me that Fergus Mac-Ivor should wish to marry Rose Bradwardine?--I
love her not.--I might have been loved by her, perhaps; but I rejected
her simple, natural, and affecting attachment, instead of cherishing it
into tenderness, and dedicated myself to one who will never love mortal
man, unless old Warwick, the King-maker, should arise from the dead.
The Baron, too--I would not have cared about his estate, and so the
name would have been no stumbling-block, The devil might have taken the
barren moors, and drawn off the royal CALIGAE, for anything I would have
minded. But, framed as she is for domestic affection and tenderness, for
giving and receiving all those kind and quiet attentions which sweeten
life to those who pass it together, she is sought by Fergus Mac-Ivor. He
will not use her ill, to be sure--of that he is incapable--but he will
neglect her after the first month; he will be too intent on subduing
some rival chieftain, or circumventing some favourite at court, on
gaining some heathy hill and lake, or adding to his bands some new troop
of caterans, to inquire what she does, or how she amuses herself.

And then will canker sorrow eat her bud,
And chase the native beauty from her cheek;
And she will look as hollow as a ghost,
And dim and meagre as an ague fit,
And so she'll die.

And such a catastrophe of the most gentle creature on earth might have
been prevented, if Mr. Edward Waverley had had his eyes! Upon my word,
I cannot understan