“You must fly—you must fly instantly to her relief. It is not—it shall not be too late.”
“Fly? how is it possible? I am a prisoner, upon parole.”
“I am your keeper; I restore your parole; I am to answer for you.”
“You cannot do so consistently with your duty; nor can I accept a discharge from you, with due regard to my own honour; you would be made responsible.”
“I will answer it with my head, if necessary,” said Waverley impetuously. “I have been the unhappy cause of the loss of your child, make me not the murderer of your wife.”
“No, my dear Edward,” said Talbot, taking him kindly by the hand, “you are in no respect to blame; and if I concealed this domestic distress for two days, it was lest your sensibility should view it in that light. You could not think of me, hardly knew of my existence, when I left England in quest of you. It is a responsibility, Heaven knows, sufficiently heavy for mortality, that we must answer for the foreseen and direct result of our actions; for their indirect and consequential operation the great and good Being, who alone can foresee the dependence of human events on each other, hath not pronounced his frail creatures liable.”
“But that you should have left Lady Emily,” said Waverley, with much emotion, “in the situation of all others the most interesting to a husband, to seek a—”
“I only did my duty,” answered Colonel Talbot, calmly, “and I do not, ought not, to regret it. If the path of gratitude and honour were always smooth and easy, there would be little merit in following it; but it moves often in contradiction to our interest and passions, and sometimes to our better affections. These are the trials of life, and this, though not the least bitter” (the tears came unbidden to his eyes), “is not the first which it has been my fate to encounter. But we will talk of this tomorrow,” he said, wringing Waverley’s hands. “Good night; strive to forget it for a few hours. It will dawn, I think, by six, and it is now past two. Good night.”
Edward retired, without trusting his voice with a reply.
XXVII
Exertion
When Colonel Talbot entered the breakfast-parlour next morning, he learned from Waverley’s servant that our hero had been abroad at an early hour and was not yet returned. The morning was well advanced before he again appeared. He arrived out of breath, but with an air of joy that astonished Colonel Talbot.
“There,” said he, throwing a paper on the table, “there is my morning’s work. Alick, pack up the Colonel’s clothes. Make haste, make haste.”
The Colonel examined the paper with astonishment. It was a pass from the Chevalier to Colonel Talbot, to repair to Leith, or any other port in possession of his Royal Highness’s troops, and there to embark for England or elsewhere, at his free pleasure; he only giving his parole of honour not to bear arms against the house of Stuart for the space of a twelvemonth.
“In the name of God,” said the Colonel, his eyes sparkling with eagerness, “how did you obtain this?”
“I was at the Chevalier’s levee as soon as he usually rises. He was gone to the camp at Duddingston. I pursued him thither, asked and obtained an audience—but I will tell you not a word more, unless I see you begin to pack.”
“Before I know whether I can avail myself of this passport, or how it was obtained?”
“O, you can take out the things again, you know. Now I see you busy, I will go on. When I first mentioned your name, his eyes sparkled almost as bright as yours did two minutes since. ‘Had you,’ he earnestly asked, ‘shown any sentiments favourable to his cause?’ ‘Not in the least, nor was there any hope you would do so.’ His countenance fell. I requested your freedom. ‘Impossible,’ he said; ‘your importance as a friend and confidant of such and such personages made my request altogether extravagant.’ I told him my own story and yours; and asked him to judge what my feelings must be by his own. He has a heart, and a kind one, Colonel Talbot, you may say what you please. He took a sheet of paper and wrote the pass with his own hand. ‘I will not trust myself with my council,’ he said; ‘they will argue me out of what is right. I will not endure that a friend, valued as I value you, should be loaded with the painful reflections which must afflict you in case of further misfortune in Colonel Talbot’s family; nor will I keep a brave enemy a prisoner under such circumstances. Besides,’ said he, ‘I think I can justify myself to my prudent advisers by pleading the good effect such lenity will produce on the minds of the great English families with whom Colonel Talbot is connected.’ ”
“There the politician peeped out,” said the Colonel.
“Well, at least he concluded like a king’s son: ‘Take the passport; I have added a condition for form’s sake; but if the Colonel objects to it, let him depart without giving any parole whatever. I come here to war with men, but not to distress or endanger women.’ ”
“Well, I never thought to have been so much indebted to the Pretend—”
“To the Prince,” said Waverley, smiling.
“To the Chevalier,” said the Colonel; “it is a good travelling name, and which we may both freely use. Did he say anything more?”
“Only asked if there was anything else he could oblige me in; and when I replied in the negative, he shook me by the hand, and wished all his followers were as considerate, since some friends of mine not only asked all he had to bestow, but many things which were entirely out of his power, or that of the greatest sovereign upon earth. Indeed, he said, no prince seemed, in the eyes of his followers, so like
