is at
an end. I have no occasion to press my sister upon any man.'

'Nor have I any occasion to court repeated rejection from the same young
lady,' answered Edward, in the same tone.

'I shall make due inquiry, however,' said the Chieftain, without
noticing the interruption, 'and learn what my sister thinks of all this:
we will then see whether it is to end here.'

'Respecting such inquiries, you will of course be guided by your own
judgement,' said Waverley. 'It is, I am aware, impossible Miss Mac-Ivor
can change her mind; and were such an unsupposable case to happen, it
is certain I will not change mine. I only mention this to prevent any
possibility of future misconstruction.'

Gladly at this moment would Mac-Ivor have put their quarrel to a
personal arbitrament;--his eye flashed fire, and he measured Edward as
if to choose where he might best plant a mortal wound. But although
we do not now quarrel according to the modes and figures of Caranza or
Vincent Saviola, no one knew better than Fergus that there must be some
decent pretext for a mortal duel. For instance, you may challenge a man
for treading on your corn in a crowd, or for pushing you up to the wall,
or for taking your seat in the theatre; but the modern code of honour
will not permit you to found a quarrel upon your right of compelling a
man to continue addresses to a female relative, which the fair lady has
already refused. So that Fergus was compelled to stomach this supposed
affront, until the whirligig of time, whose motion he promised himself
he would watch most sedulously, should bring about an opportunity of
revenge.

Waverley's servant always led a saddle-horse for him in the rear of the
battalion to which he was attached, though his master seldom rode. But
now, incensed at the domineering and unreasonable conduct of his late
friend, he fell behind the column, and mounted his horse, resolving to
seek the Baron of Bradwardine, and request permission to volunteer in
his troop, instead of the Mac-Ivor regiment.

'A happy time of it I should have had,' thought he, after he was
mounted, 'to have been so closely allied to this superb specimen of
pride and self-opinion and passion. A colonel! why, he should have been
a generalissimo. A petty chief of three or four hundred men!--his pride
might suffice for the Cham of Tartary--the Grand Seignior--the Great
Mogul! I am well free of him. Were Flora an angel, she would bring with
her a second Lucifer