Waverley ascended the glen with an anxious and throbbing heart.  Love, with all its romantic train of hopes, fears, and wishes, was mingled with other feelings of a nature less easily defined.  He could not but remember how much this morning had changed his fate, and into what a complication of perplexity it was likely to plunge him.  Sunrise had seen him possessed of an esteemed rank in the honourable profession of arms, his father to all appearance rapidly rising in the favour of his sovereign;—­all this had passed away like a dream—­he himself was dishonoured, his father disgraced, and he had become involuntarily the confidant at least, if not the accomplice, of plans dark, deep, and dangerous, which must infer either subversion of the government he had so lately served, or the destruction of all who had participated in them, Should Flora even listen to his suit favourably, what prospect was there of its being brought to a happy termination, amid the tumult of an impending insurrection?  Or how could he make the selfish request that she should leave Fergus, to whom she was so much attached, and, retiring with him to England, wait, as a distant spectator, the success of her brother’s undertaking, or the ruin of all his hopes and fortunes!—­Or, on the other hand, to engage himself, with no other aid than his single arm, in the dangerous and precipitate counsels of the Chieftain,—­to be whirled along by him, the partaker of all his desperate and impetuous motions, renouncing almost the power of judging, or deciding upon the rectitude or prudence of his actions,—­this was no pleasing prospect for the secret pride of Waverley to stoop to.  And yet what other conclusion remained, saving the rejection of his addresses by Flora, an alternative not to be thought of in the present high-wrought state of his feelings, with anything short of mental agony.  Pondering the doubtful and dangerous prospect before him, he at length arrived near the cascade, where, as Fergus had augured, he found Flora seated.

She was quite alone; and, as soon as she observed his approach, she arose, and came to meet him.  Edward attempted to say something within the verge of ordinary compliment and conversation, but found himself unequal to the task.  Flora seemed at first equally embarrassed, but recovered herself more speedily, and (an unfavourable augury for Waverley’s suit) was the first to enter upon the subject of their last interview, ’It is too important, in every point of view, Mr. Waverley, to permit me to leave you in doubt on my sentiments.’

‘Do not speak them speedily,’ said Waverley, much agitated, ’unless they are such as, I fear from your manner, I must not dare to anticipate.  Let time—­let my future conduct—­let your brother’s influence’—­

‘Forgive me, Mr. Waverley,’ said Flora, her complexion a little heightened, but her voice firm and composed.  ’I should incur my own heavy censure, did I delay expressing my sincere conviction that I can never regard you otherwise than as a valued friend.  I should do you the highest injustice did I conceal my sentiments for a moment.  I see I distress you, and I grieve for it, but better now than later; and oh, better a thousand times, Mr. Waverley, that you should feel a present momentary disappointment, than the long and heart-sickening griefs which attend a rash and ill-assorted marriage!’