and
drove to Colonel Talbot's house, in one of the principal squares at the
west end of the town. That gentleman, by the death of relations, had
succeeded since his marriage to a large fortune, possessed considerable
political interest, and lived in what is called great style.

When Waverley knocked at his door, he found it at first difficult to
procure admittance, but at length was shown into an apartment where the
Colonel was at table. Lady Emily, whose very beautiful features were
still pallid from indisposition, sat opposite to him. The instant he
heard Waverley's voice, he started up and embraced him. 'Frank Stanley,
my dear boy, how d'ye do?--Emily, my love, this is young Stanley.'

The blood started to the lady's cheek as she gave Waverley a reception,
in which courtesy was mingled with kindness, while her trembling hand
and faltering voice showed how much she was startled and discomposed.
Dinner was hastily replaced, and while Waverley was engaged in
refreshing himself, the Colonel proceeded--'I wonder you have come
here, Frank; the doctors tell me the air of London is very bad for your
complaints. You should not have risked it. But I am delighted to see
you, and so is Emily, though I fear we must not reckon upon your staying
long.'

'Some particular business brought me up,' muttered Waverley.

'I supposed so, but I sha'n't allow you to stay long.--Spontoon' (to
an elderly military-looking servant out of livery), 'take away these
things, and answer the bell yourself, if I ring. Don't let any of the
other fellows disturb us.--My nephew and I have business to talk of.'

When the servants had retired, 'In the name of God, Waverley, what has
brought you here? It may be as much as your life is worth.'

'Dear Mr. Waverley,' said Lady Emily,' to whom I owe so much more than
acknowledgements can ever pity, how could you be so rash?'

'My father--my uncle--this paragraph,'--he handed the paper to Colonel
Talbot.

'I wish to Heaven' these scoundrels were condemned to be squeezed to
death in their own presses,' said Talbot. 'I am told there are not less
than a dozen of their papers now published in town, and no wonder that
they are obliged to invent lies to find sale for their journals. It is
true, however, my dear Edward, that you have lost your father; but as
to this flourish of his unpleasant situation having grated upon his
spirits, and hurt his health--the truth is--for though it is harsh
to say so now, yet i